#i just thought people were referring to being messy and having it rough and finding a chip there
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“oh yeah im autistic but i don’t have a lot of issues with literal thinking” i learned what having a chip on your shoulder meant THIS YEAR. THIS YEAR.
#autism#yes i thought it was a chip like#potato chip#i just thought people were referring to being messy and having it rough and finding a chip there#in my defense#im just a silly little guy
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BEST FRIEND I BEG YPU FOR MORE YAN SCARA/WANDERER 🙏🏾🙏🏾
Imagine him forcing you to accompany him on his travels, and whenever he’s like horny or something he forces you off the path/road and just screws you under a random tree or something 😭
I really liked this little prompt and I wanted to use this idea for my event, hope that's alright anon! ^^
✧･ﾟ:* ->Yandere! Wanderer(Scaramouche) x Fem! Reader
✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: Scaramouche is referred to as Wanderer, Plot isn't really that great, Don't question the logic in this fic,Implied degradation, Dub con/Non con, Yandere/Dark Themes, Forced companionship, Stockholm Syndrome (?), Descriptions of messy sex, uhh not really much else to add!
✧･ﾟ:* ->Minor writing smut! DNI if uncomfy!
✧･ﾟ:* ->Reblogs are greatly appreciated!
He often referred to the both of you as 'travel companions' which usually made people's eyebrows raise in surprise. You couldn't blame them, as you two certainly did not look like equals. Not when your hands were constantly bound together and absolutely not when there was a rope tied around your neck, the end tied to Wanderer's hand. To those who were none the wiser to your situation, it seemed like you were his slave. And at times he did seem to treat you like one, but he also treated you like a friend, maybe even a lover, other times. Most of the times it was the latter but if you behaving particularly rebellious or stubborn, he'd make sure you knew your place.
Sometimes you wonder how you ended up here and it would all come back.
You had met him in Sumeru while on a journey to visit some distant relatives and when you heard he was on a journey too, you offered to let him accompany you. He was taken aback, but also seemed intrigued at the idea of travelling with another person. So he decided to join you.
To two of you walked side by side, admiring the many sights and scenery you passed along the way. The way you smiled so happily made him feel happy as well. Whenever the day turned into night you would find somewhere to stop and rest while he 'kept watch' as he told himself since he didn't actually need sleep, not that you knew and always thought he was just an early bird. The way you treated him, so kind and friendly, it warmed the heart he didn't have and even if he didn't want to admit it, he liked that feeling, the feeling you gave him.
One day however, after you had woken up and gotten ready to set off again, you suddenly noticed that you were going off course and let him know, beckoning him to follow you down another path. He didn't seem to be listening though. His eyes we're focused on something in the distance. Then suddenly, to your shock, he grabbed your arm and pulled you down a different way. You yelped and struggled helplessy and said if his destination needed you to part ways from here, he should let you go. He responded only by saying that he wanted to see the world and you were going to see it with him, like it or not.
Since you wouldn't come quietly, Wanderer was forced to subdue you and tie you up so you couldn't run away, which you tried, each attempt more futile than the last. Now you were stuck by his side, going wherever he wished, 'enjoying' the sights with him, which really was just you waiting for him to finish take it all in before continuing your endless journey.
But that wasn't all journeying him included. Whenever he got horny, however it happened, be prepared to be pinned down and have your guts rearranged until he's satisfied.
It's really random too, one moment you're walking down a dirt path and the next you're being pushed up against the rough bark of a tree. He's not nice about it either, he's mean and rough, holding your hips in place as he pounds into you at a pace you can't keep up with. Drool runs down your chin and your eyes practically roll back into your skull from how good it feels as tears stream down your cheeks at his degrading words he spits at you.
It doesn't matter how many times you've cum, or if you came at all, Wanderer won't stop until he's had his pleasure of finishing inside you as much as he wants. In that moment you're merely a sex doll to him. And when he's done, he simply zips up his pants and pulls on the rope around your neck, a silent gesture telling you to get up and if you can't, well, that isn't really his problem to fault that your mortal self can't taking a little fucking, so you're simply gonna have to be ok with being dragged across the floor, but not before he has a little laugh at your pathetic state, disheveled hair, sweaty clothes, shaking legs and that fucked out face always brings out a dark giggle from.
If there happens to be a water source nearby, say a lake or something, he'll be a bit more generous and help you clean yourself up. Perhaps you two will rest there for a while but most of the times he's too eager to get going.
As time goes by you slowly feel as if you're being eaten alive from the inside. Travelling with him is taking a bigger toll on you than you would have thought. And it shows. Day by day your appearance becomes more and more worn down, you're tired. But you can't do much about your situation now. You're too tired to run away and even if you had the energy to do so, it would only be a matter of time before he found you again and the earth you'd have to face would be borderline unbearable.
Eventually you just accepted it. Accepted that this is your life now, that it's pointless trying to think of escaping. Wanderer noticed it too. The way you were more compliant and less resistant to his advances, it made him happy.
Finally, he's broken you down into the submissive pet he wanted from the start. It's rather sad that he probably won't see you smile naturally anymore, but he can always force one onto your lips, real or not, so he can get over that. He's just pleased that you know your place now, by his side and the both of you will spend the rest of eternity together, he'll make sure of that, one way or another.
#✧･ﾟ:* meena's memos! ✧･ﾟ:*#✧･ﾟ:* meena's memorable moments! ✧･ﾟ:*#smut#x reader smut#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader smut#yandere#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#scaramouche x reader smut#scaramouche smut#yandere scaramouche#yandere smut#wanderer x reader smut#wanderer smut#yandere wanderer#yandere wanderer x reader#yandere wanderer x reader smut
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cw: dom!reader, fem reader, mommy kink, degrading, dirty talk, oral (fem rec), slight mind break, reader is a lil manipulative. just a bit. probably had errors
summary: you find out while on another blind date with one of mina’s friends that kirishima is just the man for you. he wants to be used, and you’re more than willing to use him.
word count: approx 2.9k
“fuckin’ mina. i’m gonna beat her ass.”
this wasn’t the first time your best friend has tried to set you up with one of her friends. and honestly, knowing her, it more than likely wouldn’t be the last time, either. “but he’s so nice” she’d promise, or “she’s just a little shy,” and perhaps the most common line of “you just have to be a little patient with them”
patient my ass.
your damn patience was beginning to run thinner and thinner the longer you sat waiting at the table for your date to arrive. you’re used to mina’s friends not being the most punctual, but to not show up at all? it was almost insulting. here you were, taking the time out of your busy day to spare some of your sweet time with some rando and—
“hey there, beautiful.” your eyes quickly tore away from the spot you’d been staring at for the past few minutes during your internal rant. part of you wished you hadn’t, because you damn near stopped breathing. typically, you’d never allow a man the satisfaction of hindering you speechless, but fuck. the man before you stood tall and strong, the white fabric of his dress shirt clinging onto his muscles in the most delicious way possible. his hair was slicked up in a style that you could only describe as goofy, and his smile? it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but to toss away the piping hot insults you’d been preparing to shoot his way.
“sorry i’m late. was searching all over town to find these for ya. i know mina said they were your favorite, and well—“ pulling his arms from behind his back, the red-haired man handed you a comically large bouquet of flowers. were they your favorite? no, not at all. but you couldn’t help but to be flattered anyway. “had to look all over town for them. turns out they’re actually pretty hard to find around here. can you believe that?” he chuckled to himself as he scratched at the back of his neck. an unfittingly cute gesture for a man of his build.
you grin sweetly as you grab the bouquet from his large hands, setting them down on the table in front of you and batting your lashes. “these are very beautiful! thank you so much, ...um?”
mina always purposely hid the names of her friends away before setting you up, mostly in fears that you’ll end up googling them and find some not so pretty things, just as you had that time when she tried to set you up with katsuki bakugou. (you noted to yourself that day, stay away from him at all costs.)
“ah- eijirou kirishima!” he filled in for you and held a hand out for you to shake. your eyebrows shot up in realization, leaning forward a bit on the table to shake his hand. you don’t miss the way his eyes shamelessly drift down to your cleavage when you do so. the sight made you laugh.
now you saw why he seemed so familiar at first glance. you’d heard mina talk to you about him on numerous occasions. big, handsome, and dumb. that’s how you’ve always perceived him from listening to her stories and descriptions. and if there was one thing you actually enjoyed about a man, it was how simple they could be. perfect for a woman with your desires.
you open your mouth to return his introduction, but he’s already cutting you off with perhaps a little too much eagerness. “and you’re y/n? did i say that right?” he quirks an eyebrow. “uh- i may have asked mina about you already. a lot.” he flashed you a sheepish smile.
talking to him felt like being a kid in a loaded candy shop. he’d be in the palm of your hand in no time.
the rest of dinner went on moderately better than your previous experiences with these stupid dates. kirishima was a bit of a talker, but you didn’t mind listening if it meant you got to watch the way those puppy dog eyes lit up a little more every time he’d begin telling you a story from his hero work (turns out you were just really behind on the latest hero news), only to quickly become side tracked by one details of his story and trail his way to another mini rant.
finally, you figure you’ve had enough of him rambling. it was time to cut to the point. “does it get lonely?” you asked him suddenly, trying your best to hold in a smile at the way he looked at you confusedly. “i mean- not really? i’m a hero so i’m with people all of the time-“ “that’s not what i meant, red.” hearing you refer to him by his hero name sent visible chills down his spine. just the effect you were wishing to have on him. something about your change in tone knocked him from a highly energetic and charismatic sweetheart, to a blushing and stuttering mess who suddenly couldn’t sit still in his seat. and from just one question, too?
he was almost too good to be true.
“no? i-i mean, yes but... i dunno. i’m busy a lot, a-and i don’t really have time for... yaknow.” “what kind of women do you like? in bed, i mean.” you managed to knock his brain around for a second time as he fumbled around his head for an answer.
“i-i guess it depends?” “hm? what do y’mean?” the way he continued to respond to your nasty questions had you licking your lips. you wanted him. badly. in the most selfish ways possible.
“depends on what the chick is into. i mean- they usually like when i’m on top. but..” you don’t respond this time. instead you look at him expectantly and wait for him to continue his previous statement. something about seeing such a grown man grow so embarrassed that quickly does something to you.
“i guess i wouldn’t mind... having someone take control for once?”
everything from that point felt like a blurred flash. you quickly abandoned the bouquet and called for the bill (which he so generously covered for the two of you) and were stumbling out of the door in no time, speedily walking all the way to your humble apartment. the door had just swung open when you were already shoving him inside.
kirishima spent nearly the entirety of the walk psyching himself up for this. did you know he wanted to experiment with this? had mina told you? how would mina even know? did he even really want this? because by the way he was struggling to catch his breath and connect dots in his mind, maybe he’d gotten too far ahead of himself.
but it was too late for that now. you’d already shoved him all the way down the hall, into your bedroom, and onto your bed before he knew it. you were fierce and impatient. and honestly? he found it quite intriguing.
“red...” you drew him back from falling into his thoughts once again, dragging your knuckles across the rough skin of his cheek. “i said, are you sure you want this?” and he swears he’s never nodded faster in his life, already grabbing onto your waist and hoisting you onto his lap. “yes! yes, i’m sure. please y/n?” and with that, a thread in you snapped.
you pushed him roughly until his head rested comfortably against the pillows, muttering a quick ‘stay’ as you began to fumble with his belt. you’d barely even touched him, yet he still lied staring at you with those same big adoring eyes. he was just too cute for his own good.
it made you want to wreck him.
you practically ripped away his pants and boxers before gently palming at his cock. you had expected him to be big, but not this big. he was long and thick, your hand barely managing to wrap completely around it. wordlessly you crouched down and pressed a gentle peck to his swollen tip, the precum that’d gathered there now sticking deliciously to your lips.
kirishima was getting so restless above you that you could’ve mistaken him for a virgin, hands fisting at your sheets with countless pleas tumbling from his lips. “so impatient, cutie. dont you want to be taken care of?” “i do! i do!” it seemed as if he was completely unashamed of how desperate he must’ve looked right now.
but rather than provide the sweet sweet release you knew he was craving, you tsked and backed away from his cock. much to his disappointment. “you know something, red? i didn’t take you for the selfish type. want me to make you feel good when you haven’t even touched me yet? and i thought you were a gentleman...”
kirishima thrashed below you, fingers digging hard into your hips. “i’m a gentleman! i’ll be a gentleman! i promise!” his lip wobbled cutely. you almost felt bad for having to deny such a pretty face.
almost.
he observed closely as you leaned back on your knees, sliding down the straps of your dress and tugging until your lacy bra was revealed to him. you were going to be the fucking death of him. you couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the way he eyed your chest. “i’ll tell you what.” you said as you reached out and pressed a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet your intense eyes.
“be a good boy for me and maybe, maybe, i’ll let you touch. deal?” and kirishima nodded giddily. truly an obedient little thing, he was.
you gave him a large smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before patting him on the cheek, moving up to straddle his face and... shit. you weren’t wearing any panties under your dress. the smell of your arousal right in front of his face nearly made him overload, wanting nothing more but to bury his face between your legs until you’re heaving and begging for a break. but he had to be good for you. wanted you to rake your fingers through his hair and call him your good boy while he plays with your pretty tits.
“well? dont you want a tas—” you gasp when his mouth is suddenly on you, every sense of restraint abandoned as his tongue slid across and pressed against your poor clit. it was messy, no real technique behind his frantic movements, but he still had your eyes crossing and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head as ear muffs, his fingers squeezing and prodding at the flesh to keep himself grounded.
the sounds that came from your cunt and his mouth were embarrassingly lewd, the sound of his slurping making your entire body go hot. you were so close to losing your composure and letting him have you the way he wants, but you couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. not when you’ve been craving this for this long.
“kiri..” you couldnt tell if you were whispering or yelling at this point, brain all scrambled from the amount of pleasure you were receiving. you nearly doubled over from the vibrations of the small ‘hmm’ of acknowledgment he gave you. your fingers tangle themselves in his stiff red locks, holding his face still to allow you to grind yourself on his mouth just the way you wanted.
your breath hitched in your throat each time his nose bumped against your clit, his tongue buried deep in your hole as he was desperate to taste all of your juices. you could already feel your orgasm creeping up on you..
“oh, shit! just like that. good- fuck! such a good boy” the praise sends him into a frenzy, now using the pad of his thumb to rub viciously at your clit as his tongue fucked into you so nicely.
“‘m cumming, cumming, oh my god!” you’re hunched over now, eyes screwed shut when your orgasm suddenly rips through you. kirishima’s tongue continued its assault on your spasming pussy, the overstimulation becoming almost unbearable. you tried everything to get him off of you to make it stop. tugging his hair, lifting yourself up- but nothing seemed to be able to separate him from you until you literally shouted his name.
he released you in an instant and allowed you to back away to fully take in his form. everything about the sight was downright sinful. your juices covered the entire lower half of his face, and his hair remained matted with sweat against his forehead. and most delicious of all? he still looked hungry. you nearly said ‘fuck it’ and climbed back on top of him again...
but he needed to be punished.
and it seemed that he knew this too, because the moment your eyes met he was already begging for mercy. “‘m sorry! p-“ “i thought you promised you’d be a good boy? yaknow, i’m not exactly a big fan of liars, red. how could i let you have me when you can’t even follow simple instructions?” he’s silent at this point, eyes glued to the ground with an unreadable emotion splayed across his face.
you huffed as you climbed off of the bed, standing on wobbly legs with your back turned to him. you shook your head as you quickly slid your dress back into place. you originally planned on leaving it at this and sending him home, and perhaps you’d consider giving him a second shot if he begged you pretty enough. but kiri had other plans.
he wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but when he realized that you were planning on leaving him like that he couldn’t help but to jump up, gripping onto your waist once again. “kiri! what are you doing?” “please.” he whimpered into your ear, hard chest pressing into your back and his painfully hard cock rutting against your ass.
you probably would’ve collapsed right there if it weren’t for his tight grasp. “please don’t leave! ‘m so hard for you. want you so fucking bad. i’ll do anything, just- please let me cum. mommy.” the word rolled off of his tongue so sweetly, so heavenly, you couldn’t stop yourself from shoving him back onto the bed and tearing off his shirt.
you licked your lips when he was left completely bare to you finally, hand already working at pumping his cock. “suck a dirty boy. men like you are scum, you know that? getting so upset that you didn’t get your way after being so disobedient? i should tie you up and edge you for the rest of the night just for that” he began to mindlessly shake his head, muttering quiet a ‘no, no..’
“however,” you began to drag your fingernail across his chest, playing with the hairs that rested there, “think i’m gonna let it slide this time. well, only if you thank me properly..”
“thank you mommy!” the way there wasn’t even an ounce of hesitation or shame in his voice had you clenching around nothing. denying him any longer was beginning to be just as much torture to yourself as it was to him. biting down on your lip, you grabbed his cock and started pressing the tip to your entrance.
you began to feel as though you’ve managed to completely break him, watching as he continued to sputter out ‘thank you’s even as you struggled to take his cock in your dripping cunt. the stretch was nearly unbearable at first, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.
you weren’t going to stop until you knew you’ve completely broken him down into a blubbering mess for you. until you were the only thing he could think of. until you had him quivering and begging just for you. the thought of making him into your slave had you bouncing on his dick with energetic vigor.
kirishima was a sight to behold, too. eyes crossed and occasionally fluttering shut, panting like a dog as every bit of his stamina oozed out of him and he had to hold himself back from cumming too quickly.
at one point you caught his eyes glued on to the way your covered tits bounced while you rode him, still clad in your tight dress. you smirked devilishly before reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra, tugging it down with the dress once again and toying with your puffy nipples for his viewing pleasure.
that seemed to be the final straw for kiri, as he was now bucking up into you like a horny mutt. “gonna cum so hard, mommy. please let me cum in you. g’nna fill you up so good. wanna make you a mommy. i want it- i want it- i want it...” with all of his babbling you weren’t quite sure if he was aware of what he was saying right now, but the lewd words still had you spiraling closer and closer.
“cum in me, baby. be a good boy for mommy and give her your babies, okay?” you told him as you gripped his face in your hands.
and like the obedient little thing he is,, he did exactly that.
thirsts and requests for haikyuu and bnha are open.
#kirishima smut#bnha smut#mommy kink#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#i’m so sleepy jesus#glad i’m finished doe#my hero academia smut#.chiyo’s works#.chiyo’s works bnha
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Oh Salem, the panicked Keigo idea just speaks to my mean little gremlin heart. I want to see the guy trained to keep calm and cool lose his shit over losing his s/o. RIP his handlers if they try to slow him down. I want to see the relief when he finds them and the reckoning for the people dumb enough to try. This. This is my bedtime snack.
so this is less of reckoning, more relief. soft. ive been thinking about this a LOT and i feel like <3 poor keigo would be ruined:
heres a wittle drabble for your thoughts
warnings: kidnapped reader, descriptions that may trigger claustrophobia (light, just a cave setting), insults in a not fun way, hurt/comfort baby
You were so cold.
The ‘cell’ you were in was more of a hovel, a small hole dug into the elaborate cave system you found yourself trapped in.
You weren’t sure for how long. There was no sun, only a guard that came and went with your meager meals and stale bottle of water. He and the other villains that had captured you spit vitriol and profanity like it was their duty to grind their verbal heels against your fragile psyche.
You tried to block them out, curling up in a tight ball against the rough back wall of your cell. Ignorance was better than hearing their profanities.
The worst part was that you weren’t really sure what was going on. Other than that it had something to do with Keigo, considering you were exclusively referred to as “the number 2′s brain-rotted whore”.
Once again, you tried not to listen.
...
You awoke to the sounds of chaos.
Shouting, crashes, explosions--
The walls of your prison shook as you scramble to stand, smashing your head into the low ceiling as you did.
Your vision spun as your staggered to the rusty bars, bracing yourself and hopelessly tugging as you had so many times before.
There was a crash particularly close, bits of debris falling from stone tunnels, frail support beams falling.
No.
Your blood ran so cold, you couldn’t move. Your body went completely still at the bars as you switched between panic and rage. It wasn’t fair, none of it was, you didn’t even get to say fucking goodbye to him. No last words, you’d been plucked from the street on your commute however long ago.
Keigo had left early that morning too, letting you sleep in with a kiss to the forehead instead of his normal heapings of sleepy, dawn-time affections. You’d been clinging to those sleepy, half-memories as anchor over the days in the cramped caves.
And, in the end, that was all you would have. Cloudy recollections of Keigo’s raspy morning voice as the caves around you began to shift and crumble.
Tears rolled down your cheeks as you tugged at the bars, trying fruitlessly to get past them. Frustration made your hands sweat and fear made them shake as they became littered with small cuts.
With the next crash, just as close, a vibrant blur of red whizzed past your cell. The shock and gust from its speed sent you jolting back, a hand clasping over your heart.
“... Keigo?”
You hadn’t even realized you said it aloud.
Not until the blur, feathers, a bundle of a maybe thirty returned, hovered and spun in front of the bars.
“Keigo?”
The feathers shuddered.
It felt like you were dreaming.
“KEIGO!”
You practically screamed, jolting against the bars. Though it wasn’t him, not really, he’d hear you through the feathers. One of them spilled through the bars, pressing to your chest and pushing you away as the rest of the warm sharpened and began to beat on the thick padlock.
Something about your bodily state must’ve changed, as the feather at your face moved to under your chin, sweeping over your jaw in a small motions.
...
Even from afar, Keigo was trying to comfort you.
When he’d felt you on the end of one of the feather swarms he’d sent into the caves, he thought he’d imagined it. The quiet hesitance with which you practically gasped his name was so fucking soft, he almost missed it.
But, he didn’t, thank fucking god.
The villains had been smart, corralling their captives (beyond just you, unsurprisingly. The string of disappearances over the weeks prior had all been linked. There were at least a dozen other lovers and family members of heroes tucked away into the mountain side with you.)
Hence, it was a whole operation to retrieve you all, with some of the most pissed off, downright enraged heroes leading the charge and preceding investigation.
And Keigo?
He’d been at the front of it.
HIs PA had to convince him to get a few solid hours of sleep every few days, in an actual bed, rather than on the floor of his office, or one of the many conference rooms the rescue team was occupying.
He’d been wasting away, quietly, but he hardly noticed. Food was secondary, drinking was a burden, and his other bodily needs were just holding him back. He had a singular goal--
To find you.
He’d torn up the skies and the earth for just a trace of you, after you’d been taken. And finally, he found it, in the side of a fucking mountain, and an operation was launched to get all of the taken back.
Problem was it was a fucking mountain. A cobbled together base for the villains made of old mine tunnels and shafts, and organic caves.
And infuriatingly, Keigo and his wings were too damn big to properly navigate them. So, even if you were found, he wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there to tell you that everything was okay.
He couldn’t guarantee your safety by his own hands, and it fucking hurt.
That being said, his feathers had done a good enough job.
He could feel your heart hammering as you neared the entrance.
And then Keigo saw you.
...
You stumbled from the blown out opening, a flurry of feathers on either side. The brawl was somewhere else in the cave, shut out from your mind as you followed the tugs and touches of the plumes.
And as you felt the rays of setting sun hit your cheeks, you caught sight of Keigo.
Before you could even open your mouth, and breath the sigh of relief you needed to, or cried his name like you wanted to, Keigo was on you, scooping you up and away from the shuddering caves.
His grip was so tight, it hurt, but neither of you cared. Your arms had looped behind his head, burying themselves in his greasy hair as you hid your face in his neck. Keigo’s hands were shaking as they held you close to him, not wavering even when you returned to the stable, safe ground below. It teemed with heroes and medics, but no one dared to interrupt or get between the two of you.
They’d all seen how wrecked Hawks had become in pursuit of finding his partner.
Keigo lowered the two of you to the ground, all feathers returning and making his feathers thick and broad once more. They rose and curled around the two of you, sealing the world away.
Your mouth felt too dry as you tried to sit up, but Keigo wouldn’t let you. He kept a firm hand on your hip as he tore off one of his gloves with his teeth, keeping you in place in front him.
When you tried to shift, he gathered you by your waist and crushed you to him. HIs chest shuddered and his shoulders quaked with the force he was wrapping you, and you returned it all, as much as you could.
“P-please,” Keigo’s voice broke. “I just gotta hold you for awhile, o-okay, Dove? You’re s-safe now. I’ve got you.”
And he did.
You pressed your cracked lips to his cheeks, lungs going tight as you wrestled for one of his clammy hands to hold.
“I-I know,” You sniffled, tears squished between your cheeks. You pressed your interlocked fingers to your lips, choking on a sob of pure relief. Whatever kisses you had planned to grace his knuckles with were swallowed elsewhere.
Keigo pulled your face to his, hands and mouth hungry as he desperately kissed you, finally, nothing like the fleeting ones you both clung to while cruelly apart. It was messy, sloppy, but ringing with sweetness as Keigo sputtered and nipped at your lips.
“’M sorry,” He breathed, barely pulling away before slotting your lips together once more.
As much as you wanted to reply, remind him that this wasn’t his fault, you words were too gummy and jumbled for anything meaningful.
So, you both settled for touch.
You stroked over each other’s sunken in eyes and dark circles. Keigo nipped at your dry lips, while you tasted the staleness of his breath. His bare hands braced against your back from just under the hem of your shirt, feeling the deep chill in your skin and the residual dirt and grime.
You finally mustered up some words, the mix of so many needs and desires that needed sating.
“K-Keigo?” You lingered as close as you could, craving the heat and mingling of your breaths. “I-I want to go home.”
His breath caught and his grip got tighter still.
“Can we go home?” You asked, soft and breaking as you fell into the safety of his arms.
“Y-yeah,” Keigo pressed his teary cheeks to the top of your head, letting out a final shaking breath of relief. Keeping his words firm as firm as his touch, he put every ounce of ease that he could offer into his words:
“Let’s go home, dove.”
#briggsgottdiggs#salem writes#hawks x reader#hawks#uwu#a wittle hurt/comfort for this early morning#drabble
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amorosa // steve rogers
chapter five: paris, france
chapter one // chapter two // chapter three
chapter four // chapter five
��── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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summary || steve takes you to paris to accompany him to a business gala where you meet an old friend and partner, discovering some secrets about your steven.
pairing || sugar daddy!steve x reader
word count || 2,023 words
warnings || financial struggles, sugar daddy dynamics, daddy kink, undefined age gap, minor panic attack, angst — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI
When Steve said that the private jet was learning first thing in the morning, he meant it. It was three in the morning, the sun not even close to being up as you rode through the empty and dimly lit New York streets with Steve's hand on your thigh.
He decided to drive, sometimes you thought he was superhuman, running off of only a few hours of sleep, yet wide awake and alert.
You envied him as your head lolled to the side as drowsiness washed over you. You yawned, big and loud as Steve chuckled.
"You can sleep on the plane, Princess. I know early mornings aren't your thing." He teased as you shot him a tired look, but smiled as you placed your hand over his.
When you opened your eyes next the car had stopped in the middle of the runway, a sleek private jet in front of you as your eyes went wide with excitement. You'd never gotten anywhere close to a private jet, the closest thing being bumped up to business class on accident.
"Is this it?" You asked, sitting up as Steve opened his door, "sure is, buttercup." He winks, coming around to open your door and help you up. The air was cold, the smell of frost faint in the air as Steve wraps his arm around you.
"I've never been on a private jet," you mumble, more so to yourself as Steve laughs in response. He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs of the jet until you're entering the lavish cabin.
"Then by all means, Princess, let me be the first to introduce you to them." He purrs from behind you, arms snaking around your waist as you take in the clean leather and polished surfaces.
"Steve this is…" you're at a loss for words, mouth agape as you spin around to plant your lips on his. You're standing on your toes, arms hastily thrown around his neck as Steve lets out a surprised grunt before catching his balance on the nearby wall.
"All for you." Steve finishes your sentence and you just about melt in his arms.
He chuckles when you explore the rest of the jet, taking the time to talk with his pilot, Léon, about the flight plan. Their voices are hushed as you enter the back of the plane, walking into the bathroom to take a moment for yourself.
It's a lot, overwhelmingly so and you start to feel your heart racing when you think of Steve.
You've loved before, but have you been in love? The realization causes your breathing to become shallower as you wonder if these past few months have been a whirlwind romance destined to burn out like the brightest flame?
Or perhaps this bubbling feeling deep in the pit of your stomach has been blossoming, nearly blooming into what so many people refer to as love?
You gasp when you hear soft knocking on the door, "are you all right, buttercup?" It's Steve, and the nickname causes butterflies to flock to your chest as you swallow your feelings.
"Just checking out the bathroom," you giggle and well, it wasn't a lie.
He smiles, taking your hand, "pick a seat, Princess, we take-off soon." Steve says before you're sliding into one of the comfortable, almost too comfortable seats and buckling into it. Steve's hand is in yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles as you feel the same swell in your chest.
~
Paris, France.
You'd never been, although you don't think you'll ever want to leave.
When you arrive it's late in the evening, the bustling city life is alive and well as the car drives from one end of the city to the other and you still can't believe your eyes as you pass by the lit up Eiffel Tower.
The hotel room is nothing but lavish, with tall windows, balconies, gold and champagne detailing and the largest bed you'd ever seen. The sheets are soft and clean and you want nothing more than to collapse into bed with Steve.
The bathroom has a claw-foot tub, a full shower, and four sinks along with a velvet chaise.
"How about a shower, Princess?" Steve asks, sitting on the bed as you fall back onto it. His voice is coarse and rough, no doubt tired from the many hours of travelling as your tired eyes meet him as you nod.
"Here," Steve stops you when your fingers hook under your shirt, "let me," he offers before slowly undressing you.
The bathroom is quiet, nothing but the sound of running water heard as Steve removes your clothing before shedding his. The moment is soft, gentle and caring as his touches are featherlight.
Once the water hits your tired body, you let out a sigh of relief. It's warm, your muscles relaxing under the stream as Steve steps behind you. The glass door fogs up, encasing you in your own world as Steve's hands knead over your tight shoulders.
"Just relax, Princess. Let Daddy take care of you tonight." He whispers in your ear, it's not sultry, but instead washes an overwhelming wave of relief over you as you let Steve take care of washing your body.
A fluffy towel is wrapped around your body before the cold air even has time to hit your body. By then the water has lulled you into a state where all you want is for your head to hit the bed, engulfed by the covers as Steve's steady heartbeat soothes you to sleep.
You aren't really aware of when you get into bed, all you know is Steve is telling you goodnight, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you're thrust into a state of comatose.
~
The sound of quiet voices is what wakes you, bright sunlight streaming through the nearly translucent curtains making you squint as you let out a groan. You aren't sure how long you've been asleep, but it's probably far too long.
You roll over, the alarm clock reading 11:37 and yup, you've definitely overslept.
Who cares, you're in fucking Paris.
"There's my girl," Steve beams, walking into the bedroom dressed in a casual, yet professional attire. Simple fitted slacks and a tight button down that's not done up all the way with the sleeves rolled up.
You smile as he presses his lips to yours.
"I've got some business to take care of this morning, okay? I shouldn't be more than a few hours." He explains as you give him a small pout. "I've ordered breakfast to the room, take your time gettin' ready. Tonight's the big gala so your dresses should be here soon, along with hair and makeup."
Your eyes nearly bug out at the sound of his words, hair and makeup? Multiple dresses?
"Don't act so surprised, buttercup. You know Daddy takes care of his girl," he smirks before standing up to his full height.
"Guess I'll just have to find the best pastries alone," you playfully retort, "I love croissants, remember that." Steve winks before he's giving you one last kiss and disappearing out into the Parisian streets.
~
Paris was breathtaking, beautiful, and everything you could've dreamed of.
Yet you couldn't help feel out of place as you walked through the streets alone, soft music playing through your headphones as you tried to scout out the best café in the city.
You felt stares on you as you tried to keep your head down, people stopping as they looked at you. Maybe you were in your own head, but you could've sworn you saw people take out their phones to… take pictures of you?
No, you had to be in your own head.
The hotel was in your sights as you bolted in its direction, a text message from Steve prompting you that everything would be arriving at the hotel soon and that he was on his way back to get ready.
Your heart hammered, thumping as you realized that you would be on Steve's arm as he introduces you as… his girlfriend.
"You okay, Princess? You've been quiet this entire ride." Steve asks, fingers lacing with yours as you look down at the gold satin dress you've chosen for the night. It compliments all your best aspects, the colour great on you as you nod your head.
"Just nervous." You mumble, it was the truth as you felt your stomach churning as you approached the banquet hall. It was gorgeous, lavish from the outside and you couldn't imagine how much nicer it would be on the inside.
"You've got nothin' to worry about. I won't leave your side, promise." Steve says softly, holding out his pinky for you to hook yours against it. You giggle, doing it as your worries vanish for a split second.
When you walk into the hall it's littered with people wearing their most expensive gowns, suits, and jewellery as Steve grabs to flutes of champagne.
"For the nerves," he jokes and you take it, the bubbly alcohol running down your throat distracting you for a second before Steve's hand is on your lower back, leading you through the people.
"Hey Punk!" The voice that shouts it is low and deep, hearty and boisterous as Steve whips around with the biggest grin on his face.
"You Jerk," Steve replies playfully, the two embracing in a hug as you take a good look at the other man.
He's slightly shorter than Steve, dark brown hair in a loose messy bun paired in an all-black suit. If that didn't make him look intimidating enough, he's got a black and gold prosthetic to match his aesthetic.
"So this the dame that's captured your heart?" The man smirks, casting his eyes on you as you can't help but feel your body flush.
"Sure is, this is James." He introduced you, your name squeaking past your lips as you shake his hand. James rolls his eyes at Steve, pressing a kiss to your hand as you admire the cool shade of blue his eyes are.
"Call me Bucky, Doll." He comments as Steve claps his hand over his shoulder, shaking his body as you're thrown into conversation with the two men.
It's a strange sight, seeing Steve being thrown around by whom you learned to be his childhood best friend turned business partner some years ago. Though you must admit that you like Bucky, he seems like a good influence on Steve.
"Here, I'll go grab up some more drinks," Steve offers, standing up to press a kiss to your cheek before striding off to the bar leaving you and Bucky alone.
"You know I gotta admit Doll, I'm real surprised that Steve's found someone." Bucky muses, fixing his collar before turning to you. Your expression is full of confusion as you silently press him to explain himself.
"After Peggy, I really didn't think the kid had it in him to love again, but here we are." He smiles, it's not malicious or venomous, it's a genuine smile but your heart has dropped into your stomach and all you can hear is the ringing in your ears.
"Peggy?" Is all you can manage to ask as your heart begins to hammer in your chest.
"Steve's ex-wife, he didn't tell you about her?" Bucky asks and suddenly he's got a remorseful, regretful look on his face as you shake your head, "no."
"Paris has the best champagne," Steve breaks the conversation as you look up to meet his eyes, trying to hide your hurt as you take the delicate flute between your fingers.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say with a tight-lipped smile. You don't wait a response, quickly seeking out the nearest bathroom before you're holding yourself over the sink, trying to calm your breathing.
Bucky's words continue to replay in your mind, an ex-wife, an ex-wife that he chose to keep secret? You felt tears brimming your eyes and you wanted to scold yourself for thinking a man of his power had no dirty secrets.
How ironic to have your heart broken in the city of love.
tagging // @jennmurawski13 | @nakedrogers | @vollzeitliebe | @kelbabyblue | @jevans2 | @babyyhoneyydarling | @rogerslovesstark | @cloudystevie | @lahoete | @speechlessxx | @aikeia |
any and all feedback is always appreciated! <3
#steve rogers x reader smut#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers smut#steve rogers au#sugar daddy!steve#steve rogers oneshots#steve rogers one shots#steve rogers headcanons#steve rogers headcanon#steve rogers blurbs#steve rogers blurb#steve rogers series
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erotica, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader
summary: Your roommate, Min Yoongi, catches you masturbating. You catch him masturbating. Well then, dear reader... This should be interesting, shouldn’t it?
warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, f and m-masturbation, cum eating); non-idol!AU; switches between Yoongi’s POV and your POV
--
Being in the music industry was rough. It meant long nights struggling for inspiration, fervent mania when it did hit, and crippling anxiety when it was being evaluated. But being a music producer was all Min Yoongi ever wanted.
He had given up a lot to chase his dreams, moving to the big city alone, friendless, trying to find his way, living meal by meal. He needed a roommate, but finding a trustworthy one was difficult. Friend of a friend of a friend and he finally found someone who seemed alright. A young woman in the middle of grad school, who was looking for a place to stay. At first Yoongi thought it would be weird to room with a girl, but one conversation and he realized it would be a good match. Her first question was if he was going to have guests over often. Of course not, Yoongi had music to work on. Her second question was if he was clean, because she couldn’t stand a dirty living situation.
In short, he now had a quiet, paying roommate who kept to herself, holed up in her room all day studying or rushing to class.
Yoongi worked for a small entertainment company, but he also had a home studio because he couldn’t afford to rent a space. This was enough for now. He asked if she was fine with a little noise and she responded by holding up her over-the-ear headphones.
But Min Yoongi had a secret.
Nothing that incriminating. Nothing like drugs or a gambling problem or a recurring STD or something like that. It was in innocent secret, a very small one.
Min Yoongi liked to read erotica blogs.
Now, Yoongi could watch porn. He could go through all the hoops and find some to jack off to. That wasn’t why he preferred to read smut stories online. He just liked to use his own imagination. He liked closing his eyes and painting the scene, but he wasn’t creative enough to dream up all the freaky scenarios he could read online. Some people had some… big brain energy. Some wrinkly brains. He was pretty sure all his gray matter was used on music, so why not let someone else craft the story for him? It took the work out the equation and he could get off. Win-win.
Also, it was much easier to hide it in public. All people would see is him scrolling on his phone, the same thing everyone else did.
Yoongi had his favorites he went back to. They were updated often. Every week there was something new. He checked at least once a week, since that was his usual routine his body wanted. And it was fine. No one knew. He could do it whenever he wanted and relatively quickly. So, all in all, not that bad of a secret, really.
It was six in the morning and Yoongi was scrolling on his phone, mildly horny. Oh! One of his favorite blogs had updated late in the night. Nice. He chewed on his lower lip, reading the summary.
There was a knock on his door.
He nearly dropped his phone. The door was locked, thankfully.
“Yoongi-ssi?” He heard his roommate yawn sleepily. “Did you drink the last of the milk?”
He screwed up his face to think. “Maybe? I’ll buy some the next time I’m at the store.”
He heard the sounds of teeth being brushed and a muffled, “Nah, I’ll place a delivery order right now. I need stuff.”
And that was that. He heard her wander off.
Okay, a very, very, very small part of him did kind of want to get caught. Not embarrassingly or shamefully caught. Just… maybe if it ended in something kind of sexy. Like the stories.
That was would fun.
Yoongi went back to his phone.
-
You cracked your neck in the mirror, yawning again as you brushed your teeth. You rubbed your eyes, inspecting your dark circles. Ugh. Maybe a little concealer today couldn’t hurt.
You had stayed up late again, writing.
You hadn’t meant to. It happened every once in a while, when the scene played out in your head and you needed to write it down immediately. When inspiration struck, you couldn’t let it run away from you. Sometimes the best things come in short bursts of energy.
At least you didn’t have class today. You were caught up on your classes, so you could spend today writing for your blog. What you posted last night was written several days ago. You had a slight backlog so that you could review things multiple times before posting. Even if it was something as meaningless as smut posted on the internet, you took that shit seriously. This was your outlet and you wanted to personally like everything you posted.
If what you wrote didn’t make you horny, it wasn’t going to make anyone else horny either.
You spat and rinsed out your mouth.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, your tired eyes looking back to you. Maybe you needed some socialization. Real socialization, not you eventually venturing outside because you needed to get laid for… research purposes. You chuckled. Well, you weren’t going to get that here. All your male roommate ever did was work on his music or eat. Which was alright; people were allowed to do what makes them happy. And besides, it was better that way, because you did actually need to study and eventually write your thesis. Less distraction at home was always better.
You turned off the lights in the bathroom and stepped out.
A strange noise came from Min Yoongi’s door.
You blinked, staring at the door several feet away from you. Then you shrugged. He probably just tripped. He was kind of clumsy sometimes, knocking shit over with his fat ass. Well, not really, but it was funny to think of it that way.
You went back to your room.
-
Oh fuck.
Yoongi stared at his door, clutching the toilet paper roll he hid in his nightstand. He was usually quite skilled at keeping quiet, but he accidentally moaned a little too loud. His hands were still sticky. He waited.
Her bedroom door down the hall closed and he sighed with relief.
-
When you got back to your room, you made the online grocery order. You needed pads anyway. Then you checked your blog. At this point, you had some familiar usernames you watched for. People rarely commented. Maybe their hands were busy or something. You could forgive. Besides, there were likes and that was enough. To be honest, you never expected anyone to actually do more than read. It felt kind of nice, knowing someone out there was willing to take one second to press one button to let you know.
It made you grateful, even if it was a small thing.
Your eye paused at one particular username. You only noticed it because it was gendered.
daeguboy0613.
Huh.
For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why someone would put their location and gender in their username. Maybe it was a reference to their favorite singer or something. Probably. You shrugged it off and flopped on your bed.
You fell asleep.
Big surprise since you had posted at four in the morning and only gotten up to brush your teeth because your mouth was too disgusting to exist. Ah well. Sleep was good.
-
You woke up, super groggy. You stared out the window, seeing that it was already dark. With a sigh, you looked into the tiny mirror beside your bed. Yikes. A master yikes even. You climbed your hair with your fingers and got out of bed, your purple pajamas rumpled and crazy. Maybe a shower would do you good. Or a bath. Oh! That sounded nice.
You looked around for your slippers. You found one. Ack, so annoying. You weren’t a messy person, but when you were preoccupied with something, you forgot everything else. You straightened your room and found the other slipper. It was in your blankets, oof.
You opened your door and realized you forgot clean underwear. You stuck your head out, looking around. Faint bass was coming from Yoongi’s room. He’d be there for a while. Eh. You still had your violet pajamas, with long sleeves and long pants. Fully covered. He wasn’t going to know in the two seconds it would take you to get to your room. A good shake of the fleece fabric and the wrinkles would fall out. You’d look way less crazy after a good bath.
You hummed to yourself as you made your way to the bathroom.
-
Yoongi rubbed his neck, frowning.
It wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. The sound just wasn’t right. He leaned back in his chair, furrowing his brow. Maybe he needed to move on for now. Leave it and work on something else. He spun around in his chair, lazing about. He hadn’t heard his roommate make much noise all day. Was she dead? Yoongi heard the water running in the bathroom. Oh. She was taking a shower.
He thought about her for a moment. She was generally calm person, quiet and reserved. The only time he had ever seen her panic was when she was late to class, which wasn’t often. Other than that, she was kind of boring. It was like the only thing she thought about was school. She was pretty in a casual sort of way. Yoongi rarely saw her dressed up, but the few times she left at night, she always looked very nice in a short black dress and black heels. Probably a recurring outfit she used at every outing. He could respect that. Being strapped for cash meant a lot of repeating outfits.
Anyway, they didn’t interact much at all. They had their respective things to do, so they co-existed in a mutualistic, symbiotic relationship. It was nice not having to be distracted by a bad roommate, so for that he was grateful.
-
You pushed back the shower curtain, dripping water.
That was nice. You waited as the bathwater drained. Your hair was wet, kind of by accident, but whatever, you needed to wash your hair anyway. Your brushed water off your body absentmindedly, poking your nipples. They were hard from the cold air.
Hm.
The water gurgled as you rubbed them slowly, sighing softly. That was nice. When was the last time you masturbated? You couldn’t remember. You looked at the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked, but what was Yoongi going to do? Open the door on you? Yeah, right. You pinched and pulled your nipples, sucking in a breath. It was nice to touch yourself, to cup your breasts and press them together, grazing your nails over the hardened nubs, imagining someone else’s hands touching you, wanting you.
You slid against the wall, moaning quietly as you played with your breasts, water beading on your skin. One of your hands slid down between your legs and slid around your folds. The wetness of your pussy was different from water, thicker, more viscous. Your eyes closed as you stroked your clit, slow and gentle and pretty. Imagining a tongue there, licking you softly, giving you just the right amount of pressure to build your arousal. No rushing, letting it last.
You ended up sliding to your knees, spreading your thighs wide to give your hand space. Your other hand played with your nipples leisurely, pinching and pulling, making your heart jump. You were quiet, barely making any noise.
Drip.
Your eyes opened hazily. They shifted slowly to the faucet. It was dripping water. Slow, fat plops hitting the bathtub.
Drip.
You pressed harder on your clit, rubbing roughly.
Drip.
Your eyes shifted to the silver faucet again. It was right there, after all.
Fuck it.
You turned the water on again, setting it to a nice temperature. You waited impatiently, touching the water. It heated up quickly. You bit your lower lip, and then raised the temperature a tad. It torrented down and, for a split second, you thought you weren’t going to do it.
Then you adjusted your hips and planted your ass on bottom of the bathtub and slid down to the water.
Instant, unyielding. You shivered, the blasting water jet-streaming right into your pussy. Holy fuck. You slid down a little more and moaned, hoping the water masked your sound as the high-pressure water smacked your clit, lowering to your elbows to get a better angle. Heart beating fast, legs folded flat against the edge of the tub, leaning your head back, tits straight up. It was a difficult position to keep, but a rewarding one, because the water was getting you off fast, gentle enough that you weren’t in pain but hard enough that you could really feel it radiate all over you, the heat adding to the pleasure.
So close, so close…
You closed your eyes, thighs burning, core tightening as your entire body began to throb. A slow hiss escaped your lips as you felt your orgasm unfurl and hit you, wave after wave of delicious pleasure swimming through you, spreading to every point of your body.
“Are you drowning or wasting water, the fuck is–”
Min Yoongi’s voice was trying to cut through your reverie but it was impossible because you were too far gone now, legs collapsing inward, body falling flat against the tub. The door was open and he was staring at you, eyes so wide they looked like dinner plates. Water flowed over your hot body, blanketing you. Slowly, slowly, you came down, like an addict losing their high. His mouth was slightly open, kitten-like. His white t-shirt stuck to his chest and black track pants far too oversized for his slim legs.
You might have been ashamed if you were younger, but you were older now. If he couldn’t handle you getting off every once in a while, then he was the one who needed help.
You reached up and turned the water off, panting. You quirked an eyebrow at him.
“If you’re so worried about it, I’ll pay the whole water bill this month,” you gasped, chest heaving as you glared back at him.
Yoongi sputtered back to life.
“N-no, that’s fine.”
And then he slammed the door.
You sighed, frowning. Now things were going to get weird.
-
Holy shit.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
He just witnessed his roommate masturbating with the goddamn water faucet.
Yoongi scrambled into his room and onto his bed, red in the face. He hadn’t meant to. He thought something weird was going on when he heard all the water. And, oh fuck, something was, but not the something he thought. His mind replayed the image for him, her legs spread, her breasts glistening with water, nipples hard and out, head tipped back and mouth open, tongue peeking out.
He was still hard.
His heart was thumping in his ribcage. Yoongi grabbed his phone and flipped through his liked posts. He had to get off. Now. Anything else could wait.
He slid in, hard, rough, gasping at her pretty lips opened and her eyes closed in bliss, enjoying his cock, just his, enjoying the way he felt, enjoying his hips slapping into hers and his cock twitching inside her.
Impatiently, he reached down and fished his dick out of his pants, sliding to his back and pushing his track pants down. Oh fuck, sweet relief. Yoongi stroked himself, reading, imagining her wet body, her slick hair, those fucking delicious breasts right in front of his face. Had Yoongi ever fantasized about his roommate before? Hell no, he wasn’t a damn pervert. But he was doing it now, because, fuck, how could he not? How could he not want to fuck her, press himself against her, hearing that soft moan against his ear, her wet body and smooth skin on his?
Yoongi dropped his phone, pushing his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Yes, he’d jacked off in the morning, but it was already late and he was so fucking horny it didn’t take very long for him to bite the inside of his cheek, trying to muffle his noise, trying to silence himself as the familiar wind-up came. He cracked his eyes open. His door was slightly ajar. Had he left it like that? Whatever, she was probably too embarrassed to come over here anyway.
Yoongi shut his eyes again, a soft cry leaving his lips as he chased his orgasm.
Then he felt it. A presence to his left. But he was so close, so close, so close, he couldn’t stop. His hand moved at a feverish pace, spreading the pre-cum over his length, adding to the pleasure. He felt lips on his cheek, her soft breathy moans against his skin. Was he imagining it? Then her lips on his, softly licking his tongue, so sensual and sexy that he was losing it, moaning into her mouth. He felt her hot breath glide into his and he groaned, too loud this time, feeling his cock twitch and spurt his cum everywhere, sliding down his hand, his wrist, onto his pants and shirt.
Yoongi panted, opening his eyes.
His roommate moved away from his face. Eyes dark in the low light of his room, pupils blown wide with lust. Her hair was still damp, slicked against her purple pajama shirt. He didn’t know what to do. Hos hand was a mess, covered in his cum. She leaned forward, tongue sliding out.
“Um…”
His thought was cut off as her warm tongue ran over his knuckles, scooping up his cum and eating it off his hand. His eyes went wide as she licked all around his hand, his fingers, dipping her tongue into the crevices. Yoongi could barely process what was happening right now. Was his nerdy, school-obsessed roommate licking his cum off his hand after he just masturbated? After he just witnessed her masturbating? Her mouth enveloped the head and part of his hand and Yoongi moaned, feeling her tongue press against the tip and tease the sensitive opening, licking it all clean.
After a sufficient amount, she removed her mouth and backed off. Yoongi blinked blearily, slowly detaching his hand from his limp cock. He didn’t know what to say. Or do, really. Her eyes were on his phone, screen still lit up. Then she shifted her eyes to his raised hand. Gently, she took him by the wrist and brought his hand to her face, placing his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them.
Yoongi was speechless.
Her tongue slipped between each finger, prodding around his joints, slurping slightly. She was still looking at his phone, eyes pensive. Yoongi wished his cock would wake up, but it wasn’t meant to be.
“I…”
Her eyes went to his, his fingers still in her mouth. Shit. His brain tried to process the thought, trying not to fixate on her pink tongue moving amongst his fingers.
“I can’t fuck you…” he mumbled, swallowing. “I already came twice today.”
She nodded. Slowly, she pulled his fingers out of her mouth, joint by joint. His body jerked at the movement, aroused but unable to get hard. Strings of saliva snapped as she removed her mouth from his hand. She turned it around and licked his palm lightly, making him shiver.
“You like my blog?” she finally said.
He blinked.
“What?”
She pointed to his phone. “That’s my blog.”
Yoongi’s eyes went wide. He stared at his phone and then at her. Then back at the phone. Then back at her. What? She cocked an eyebrow, smiling at him.
“So, you’re daeguboy0613, huh?”
He blinked rapidly. “I… what… ah…?”
“Guess that makes sense when you like my posts at two in the morning and such.”
She climbed on the bed – where were her pajama pants? Her panties? – and laid down next to him.
“You don’t seem like the type to read erotica,” she said absentmindedly. “I thought only girls read erotica.”
Yoongi stared at the ceiling. “Obviously not, since I’m a guy.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t stereotype like that.”
Silence.
“We can always do more in the morning, Yoongi-ssi.”
Two things happened that day. One, Yoongi’s secret was exposed. And two, the source of Yoongi’s secret passed out in bed next to him, head on his shoulder.
-
34+35
--
masterpost
#yoongi x reader#min yoongi x reader#bts smut#yoongi smut#min yoongi smut#min yoongi x you#yoongi x you
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This Time Around
➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned
↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?
word count: 9k
requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)
warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.
A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)
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“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.
“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.
“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.
“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.
“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.
“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.
“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”
----
When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.
Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.
A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.
His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.
The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.
“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.
“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.
“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.
“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.
“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow.
Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile.
“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you.
“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner.
“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest.
“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you.
“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage.
“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door.
----
“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own.
“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch.
The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were?
In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.
“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow.
“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question.
“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger.
“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”
“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated.
Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away.
A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest.
In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance.
“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you.
“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh.
----
Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle.
You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely.
“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back.
“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.”
“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you.
“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
----
When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep.
But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class.
Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.
You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake.
The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another.
The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger.
Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in.
There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said.
The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying.
When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television.
“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion.
“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”.
“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”
----
You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.
“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it.
“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay.
“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-”
“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.”
“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.
“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.”
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka.
“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut.
----
Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect.
The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.
Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours.
The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway.
“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.
But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.
And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s.
“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with.
“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to.
“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.
“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic.
“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”
“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-
“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get.
“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them.
Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet.
His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you.
“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.”
A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better.
“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you.
“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side.
You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument.
But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair.
----
Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms.
“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top.
“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun.
“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.
A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts, and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow.
His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears.
“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you.
“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin.
“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”
“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night.
“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder.
“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality.
“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone.
The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you.
“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it.
“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice.
“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”
“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.”
“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.”
“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you.
“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins.
“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come.
“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.
Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down.
“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it.
“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him.
“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.
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AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️
word count: 22.9k
warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol
//
Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine
Were there clues I didn't see?
- Invisible String, Taylor Swift
//
Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.
His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.
“Rough day?”
“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”
“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”
“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.
He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.
Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”
He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.
He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.
When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.
“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.
“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”
“I’m good.”
Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.
It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.
The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”
“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”
Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.
With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.
Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.
“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.
“The Grammys.”
Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”
“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”
“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”
“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”
He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”
“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”
“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”
“Are you going?”
“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”
Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.
It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.
Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.
It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.
That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.
“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”
“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”
“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”
He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”
“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”
“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”
“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”
“Julia…”
“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.
“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”
“Why not?”
“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”
“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”
“She won’t.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”
“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”
“Not everyday.”
The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.
He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.
Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?
//
Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.
Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.
He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.
Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.
“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.
“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.
You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.
I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me
“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.
Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”
Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”
“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.
You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.
Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.
“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”
You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,
“I love it.”
You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.
She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.
Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?
Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.
So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.
It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.
“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.
“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.
“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”
“I don’t—“
“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”
In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.
So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.
Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.
This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.
Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.
The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.
“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.
“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.
It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”
“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”
“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”
“Sure is.”
Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.
Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.
“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.
“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Nervous?”
The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”
“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”
“I guess.”
“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”
“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.
“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”
“I know. I know.”
“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”
“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.
“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”
“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.
True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.
It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.
From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.
You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.
The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.
A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.
It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.
Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.
It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.
“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.
“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”
“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”
“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”
“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.
From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.
“Nothing I’ve never done before.”
“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”
There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”
You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”
You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”
“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.
“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”
“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”
“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”
A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”
You sigh. “I know.”
“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”
“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”
“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”
The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.
It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.
The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)
What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.
The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.
Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.
It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.
Because they call out your name.
Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.
Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.
Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.
Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.
The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?
There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:
Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?
//
Harry’s not having a good day.
He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.
On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.
But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)
He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.
He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.
Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.
“Fucking--”
His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”
Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”
There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.
At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.
Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.
“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”
“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”
“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”
She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”
“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”
Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.
The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.
Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.
From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.
Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.
It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.
Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.
The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.
So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.
Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.
Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.
“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”
Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.
Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.
It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.
He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.
What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.
He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.
It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.
Why does this place have to be so fucking small?
His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.
Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.
The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.
“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.
His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”
“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”
“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.
“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”
“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”
You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”
“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.
“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.
True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.
As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.
His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).
Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.
“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.
“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”
At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.
Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.
It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.
As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.
His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.
“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.
She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.
The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.
Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.
“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.
With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.
Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.
After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.
During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.
It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.
Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.
It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.
The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.
“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”
Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.
“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”
“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.
“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”
Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.
“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”
“Oh.”
He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”
“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”
Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”
You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”
“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”
“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”
He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.
Which could explain why he feels this nervous.
“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”
“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”
“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”
“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?
“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”
“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”
“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”
He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”
The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.
He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.
“The same one, yeah.”
“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”
“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”
“Still, that’s…”
“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”
The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.
How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.
Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.
After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.
That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.
So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?
The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.
After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.
And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.
Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.
Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.
And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.
The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.
Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.
But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.
You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.
“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”
To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”
You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.
Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.
The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.
Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.
For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.
It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.
Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.
Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”
“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.
He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.
Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.
Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”
“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”
He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”
Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.
You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.
But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”
He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”
“I guess that’s it, yeah.”
There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.
You shake your head. What is wrong with you?
You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.
Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”
“What?”
“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”
You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.
“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”
Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”
“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”
“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”
He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”
Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”
“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”
“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”
You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”
His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”
“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”
You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.
“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”
His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.
It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.
You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.
Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.
You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”
“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”
You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”
“I took the tube here.”
“Let me drive you back.”
“You don’t have--”
“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”
He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”
“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”
“Okay, then.”
//
As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.
That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.
You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.
It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?
But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.
The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.
Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?
He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.
It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).
Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.
Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.
He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.
When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”
“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.
“Hi.”
“Are you home right now?”
His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”
“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”
“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.
“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.
“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.
“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”
“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”
Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.
He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.
From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.
Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”
“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.
“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”
The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.
Oh.
You’re drunk.
“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.
You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.
His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”
He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”
You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.
Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.
Because that’s the thing.
He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.
A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.
He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”
“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.
Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.
He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”
“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.
“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”
“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”
“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ll be right here!”
Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.
He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.
“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”
He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”
“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”
“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”
When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”
“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”
You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come join me here.”
“I don’t think it fits us both.”
“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”
He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”
He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”
“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”
“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”
“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”
He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.
It’s all much too confusing to him.
“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.
The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”
Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”
“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”
“I do.”
“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”
He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”
When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”
Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.
“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”
“Yeah.”
You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”
He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”
“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”
“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”
“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”
Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”
Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”
Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”
Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”
“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”
“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”
“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”
“Sounds great.”
You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”
He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”
“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”
“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”
//
A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing
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Kingslayer AU: Chapter 3
This one is a bit shorter. It’s entirely fluff, nothing bad happens here. I felt bad for my man, I really did. Scott really channeled Ethan Winters in that last chapter.
Also, Jimmy is here!
Once again Scott awoke to something touching his face. This time it decidedly was not water, although he kind of wished it was due to how dirty he felt. Scott groaned when he opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by harsh sunlight. He remembered making it to the desert and presumably passing out. Was he dead?
“Scott?”
Holy shit. Someone just spoke.
“Hey dude, can you hear us?”
Two mystery people hovered over his line of sight. Their faces were unrecognizable due to being backlit by the sun.
“Hey Scott, can you open your eyes?” Someone spoke softly to him. He reached up slightly with his hand and they took it with a loving squeeze.
Back on earth now, Scott recognized a half of his company.
“Is that you Jimmy?” Scott muttered through half lidded eyes, “It’s so bright, I can’t see your face,” he apologized quietly.
Jimmy giggled with a twinge of sadness, his hand traveled up to cup the other’s cheek, “yes it’s me dear. Grian is here too. I’m going to bring you home in no time,” he reassured.
A primal chill went down Scott’s spine. It sent his exhausted brain into an instant overdrive, causing him to loose his breath quite suddenly.
“No..” Scott said. His voice was hoarse and laced with something like fear.
“They’ll kill me,” he whispered pleadingly, “they’ll come back for me and this time they’ll just kill me! Please don’t, they’ll kill us,” he repeated until he had no more air to talk with.
Jimmy’s eyes were wide with shock, he’d pulled his husband into his lap and off of the rough sand so that Scott’s head was off the floor. A hand fruitlessly rubbed circles on his arm in an attempt for comfort, which seemed to be lost on poor Scott.
“Okay- Scott? Count to ten with me will you?” Grian stopped observing and pat his disheveled friend on both of his shoulders to get his attention.
“Deep breath in, then out,” he guided, and Scott followed him shakily.
Grian made Scott do it ten times before shifting to counting up and down from ten. Scott was able to breathe again and he instinctively turned his head away from the sun. Jimmy placed a gentle hand over his eyes.
Scott tuned out of the conversation in favor of slipping into a comfortable numbness. He could infer the pair were considering their options to get him home. Jimmy couldn’t carry him alone, Grian definitely couldn’t.
The sun in the desert was harsh during the summer months, thankfully it was wintertime and a cool wind swept over the land. Scott focused on the calming sound of a breeze on the sand as he fell asleep once more.
*****
“Careful with him Scar, you’ll snap his neck,” Jimmy complained from somewhere under Scott’s line of hearing.
“Dude shut up, you’re being paranoid,” Scar chuckled back at him.
“I’m really not. Don’t let his neck hang like that,” Jimmy replied.
“Guys stop. His neck is perfectly fine,” Grian audibly hit someone on the arm as he scolded them.
*****
The uncomfortable feeling of grime against sheets greeted Scott when he awoke. It looked like late afternoon judging by the light coming through the curtain (which was a white sheet clipped over a window). He sat up, instantly recognizing his whereabouts.
The Sand Castle.
So it wasn’t a dream, he thought, he actually had made it out. Glancing down at his hands, he observed a myriad of bandages adorning his hands and wrists. They must have been pretty messed up. The rest of his body was still covered in dirt and sand, hence why they stuck him in a cot instead of a bed. Figures.
His sheet was also looking worse for wear, so when he stood up on mildly shaky legs he bunched up the ruined blanket and took it with him to go find someone. Making extra sure to hold the railing on the stairs, he came upon a window and took a second to look outside. The desert was expectantly barren, everyone must have been downstairs.
A muffled conversation became clear when Scott made it to the living room. Scar, Grian, and Jimmy had taken up residence on a single couch. They must have been waiting for something to smelt and conversing frivolously with the resident Enderman. A window near the door was propped open to let in the cold afternoon air which dulled the heat and mild stench coming from the furnace. It must be iron, for Scott could taste the faint metal in the back of his mouth.
He leaned on the doorframe casually as all the eyes in the room turned to him.
“Hey look whose awake!” Scar greeted him with an arms open gesture, “the dust man himself,” he added with a smirk.
“You really are quite dirty,” Grian agreed.
Jimmy almost threw himself from the couch, he went to hug Scott but was pushed away to arms length.
“They’re right, I am very gross right now,” Scott cautioned, but his husband would not be deterred.
Jimmy pushed the other’s arms down and pulled him close, leaning his chin on top of the other’s head gently. Scott sighed and gave in as well.
A unanimous decision seemed to be made when Scott was sat down on the couch. Scar, Grian, and Jimmy hovered over him awkwardly with worried faces. Unsure what to ask him and what not to ask him.
“Uh, I’m assuming you have questions?” Scott broke the silence.
“Yes. Many,” Grian said, “I suppose we should start with where you’ve been for the past three days,” he supplied.
“Three days?” Scott replied slightly horrified.
“That’s not good,” Scar said in reference to Scott’s lack of awareness.
“Well okay, let’s start with where you’ve been right? I mean I think we all know the answer, but still”, Jimmy sat down next to Scott. Probably for moral support.
“Right. Yeah, I got kidnapped; if it wasn’t obvious,” Scott said. Everyone nodded with an I knew that expression.
“They whacked me over the head with a stick in the woods and then,” he paused and looked at his hands. They were shaking, so he curled and uncurled his fists a few times.
“They threw me in a hole and left me there,” he said.
“Wait like an actual hole? Underground?” Scar asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes, underground, it was like a cell made of cobblestone. There wasn’t any light, and nobody came to visit me either. That’s probably why I didn’t know how long I was down there,” Scott confirmed.
“What so they just left you in there to die?” Jimmy butted in with a concerned inflection.
“Man that’s messed up, but hey this is good news! Now we have a valid excuse to take Dogwarts down right?” Scar said.
“What?!” yelled Grian, “this is not good news at all. What is wrong with you?”
“We are not building another bomb,” Jimmy said.
“We are completely outnumbered,” added Grian.
“I am not picking another fight with those guys. I think we’ve messed with them enough, look at where that got us,” Jimmy agreed.
“Guys shut up!” Scott said. He stood up from the couch. Everyone seemed to eye him with speculation.
“I need to go wash up,” he excused himself, taking the bedsheet with him out the front door.
*****
Around the back of the base there was an area where the mountain dropped off into a small pond. Scott slid down on the loose sand until he reached the dock where the Red Desert kept their stash of gunpowder. The sky was empty and quiet, eerily so. The only sound came from a slight din of insects and the babble of water lapping against the legs of the dock.
Peaceful.
Scott pulled off his boots, dumping a mound of dirt from both of them before continuing to strip down to his shorts. He waded into the water and submerged himself. He could see the cloud of dirt coming off of him when he ran his fingers through his hair.
Scott stayed under the water for a while. The muffled ambience calmed his nerves. He allowed himself to cry for a moment, then returned to the surface.
“Wow, I didn’t think you were coming back up,” Jimmy said from above him.
Scott yelped with shock, spinning around to face the other.
“Don’t do that!” he scolded with no malice, but he splashed some water in his direction.
“I didn’t even do anything,” Jimmy pleaded and laughed as he was bombarded with cold water.
“Whatever. Were you just standing there watching me?” Scott asked.
Jimmy shrugged dismissively.
“You creep,” Scott splashed him again.
Jimmy made to reach down and get Scott back, but the ladder grabbed his hand when it was near and pulled his unsuspecting husband headfirst into the pond. Jimmy seemed to have already dressed for the occasion and was also wearing his shorts and a T-shirt, so there was no real harm done to him besides his meticulously styled hair.
Scott leaned on the dock to prevent himself from drowning in his laughter. Jimmy resurfaced and a long string of water flew from his now messy hair as he flung it from his eyes.
“You…” Jimmy growled, sending a playful spritz into Scott’s eyes.
“You,” Scott said, “were asking for that,” he teased.
“Ugh. Well I’m glad you still seem to be yourself after all that. Don’t be taking it out on me though,” Jimmy joined the other on leaning on the dock.
“No promises,” Scott responded jokingly, but his smile quickly faded from his face. He pulled himself out of the water and onto the dock, a puddle forming under him where he sat with his legs in the water.
The lake was a deep blue color, just barely able to see the bottom through the dark shadows cast by the mountain in the now setting sun. Scott’s reflection gazed back at him. Cleaner than last time, his bangs were plastered to the front of his face by the water, which had turned his hair into as deep of a blue as the lake below him.
He felt rather exposed. Still afraid that Dogwarts was hot on his trail, they’d no doubt realized he had escaped them.
This was not the life he wanted. Constantly being on the run, feeling unsafe at home, and fearing that your presence could be the reason the people you love get hurt. Scott looked at his mangled hands, his fingers were irritated and red from where they poked out of the bandages; and for the first time in a long time he felt pain.
Not the pain that comes when you catch your finger in a doorframe, or the pain from a bad trip down the porch steps; the pain that grows in your chest when you feel like a burden. When you’ve had to be picked up and glued back together by another person one too many times. When you’ve spent your life running, only to fall into someone else’s arms and suddenly feel safe for once.
When you’re terrified of what will happen if they’re not there anymore.
“Hey,” Jimmy said with a reprimanding tone, “you’ve got that look on your face,” he warned.
Scott threw him a side glance, “what look?”
“That look. The look you get when you start overthinking your life instead of talking to someone about it,” Jimmy recited.
“I hate when you do that,” Scott sighed.
“Do what?”
“Know me,” Scott deadpanned.
Jimmy hoisted himself up and sat next to his husband. He tamed the strands of hair from the other’s eyes, tucking them behind his ears.
“I brought some soap. I was planning on lending it to you before an attempt on my life was made,” he said, leaning backwards and coming back with a bucket and a bar of light orange soap. It was lightly used, it smelled of citrus and mint.
“I feel like I never knew anyone before I knew you,” Scott said as he examined the bar of soap up near his face.
That wasn’t entirely a lie. Jimmy was the first person Scott had seen after entering the border.
“Sometimes it makes me afraid that I know someone so intimately. It makes me feel dangerous,” he said.
“Dangerous?” Jimmy took the soap from his hands and filled up the bucket with fresh water.
“Yeah. In the way that loving something so completely makes it easier to get to me. I’m afraid of people finding out that the way to destroy me is destroying you,” Scott explained.
“That won’t happen,” Jimmy replied, “I can’t even count how many times we’ve almost died and been just fine. Remember that TNT?”
“Oh my god don’t even remind me,” Scott covered his face.
“I am reminding you, because it was cool! I mean I’m the one who took out the Red King without dying,” Jimmy bragged.
“On accident!” Scott reminded him.
“Nobody needs to know that. Also I got him first,” the other added. Scott kicked water at him.
Jimmy put a hand on Scott’s back and pushed him into the lake.
“Hey,” Scott said.
“Stay right here,” Jimmy directed and positioned Scott between his knees so that he could reach his hair easier.
“Don’t let that indestructible mindset get to you,” Scott said. He admired the ripples on the surface of the water.
“Maybe if I believe it enough it’ll be real,” Jimmy said with no particular conviction, focused on making sure he adequately scrubbed his husband’s hair.
#mcyt#3rd life smp#3rdlife#flower husbands#scott smajor#solidarity gaming#grian#goodtimeswithscar#3rdlife smp#cas types
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Yet another thing to celebrate
Dean x reader
Summary (I used the requester’s words) : Reader’s birthday is on Christmas Eve, which generally sucks because everyone is either skint or celebrating Christmas.
Warnings : Fluffy fluff with a little fluff whipped cream on top. Very implied smut.
Wordcount : 3.6k
Note : This is my fic for @girl-next-door-writes Secret Santa (I reaaally hope you like it lovely, merry Christmas and happy birthday) hosted by @negans-lucille-tblr on @spnsecretsantaficexchange.
I also made my participation to the amazing @acklesterritory‘s celebration challenge, in the fic, my prompt was “I saw that, you just checked me out”, it’s bold in the fic.
The song refered to is She’s always a woman, by Billie Joel.
The text dividers are from the great @firefly-graphics
Jay’s Masterlist
Christmas…
Before you even open your eyes, you sigh, grabbing the soft pillow in your fist and nuzzling on its softness in a sleepy grunt.
You don’t hate this day, but it often makes you a little sad despite your will to enjoy it fully. It is your birthday. December 24, the busiest day in the country, damn, in the whole West. And even if you are not the kind to want the full attention on you, to be spoiled or anything, you just wish sometimes that, for once, you could have a proper birthday.
When you were a teen, you more than once even dared dreaming of a party you could throw, but Christmas is about family and basically about everyone. Not you.
You dream of a little birthday party with friends, some drinks, music, maybe dancing a little... But it would be impossible unless you do it way before or way after, and it wouldn't really be the same...
This year is different though.
This winter, even if the celebration of your birth was totally forgotten, you don’t need anything more than what you have now. And what you have is Dean Winchester. Nothing is more important than that, nothing can make you happier.
In fact, nothing can really make you feel any other way than blessed after this summer. After Dean kissed you on that hunt, after you two had sex in the Impala on your way home ; after later he asked you to stay in his bed for the night that other evening you both ended up naked. And finally, after he asked you to stay in his room for good a few weeks later, and started calling you his girlfriend.
You smile thinking of waking up next to him and move your feet to find his behind you. But when you don’t, you turn and rub your eyes before opening them.
Empty. Your shared bed is empty.
“Dean ?” is the first word you say, but the room stays cruelly silent.
Of course… It’s Christmas. He must be busy, like everyone is always on that day… The sting on your heart comes back... You have woken up with the man you love every single morning for the last few months, but not today.
That is how lame your birthday can be.
After staying in bed almost one hour, trying to shake that blues off by thinking of how blessed you are, you finally are about to get up and face that stolen day, but the door opens slowly.
You close your eyes, not really knowing why, maybe just to avoid having to find an explanation for not getting up before if you were awake. The bed moves under Dean’s weight as he crawls on it slowly but you don’t move, even when he clumsily crushes your arm a little while hovering you.
“Happy birthday Baby” he whispers with his coffee breath close to your face. “Have you decided to skip today ? It’s almost noon.”
“Mh…” you hum, lifting your arms to reach his neck, desperate to feel his skin. “Thank you.”
You hesitate a second, wanting to ask him why he got up without you today, why he didn’t wake you with kisses and sweet words like he often does, but you don’t say anything, grateful enough that he got tired of you not being with him and came to get you.
He lets a part of his weight fall on you, making you huff and laugh softly. His scruff scratches your shoulder, the rough fabric of his jeans is uncomfortable and his belt is digging to your hip but you wouldn't change a thing.
Your hand goes to his neck and massages it softly, he hums, and you feel his body softly relax. You always know just how to calm him, how to make him fall back asleep after a nightmare, how to make his muscles calm after the roughest hunts. But after less than a minute, he grunts, sitting up.
"No, no" he shakes his head. "You're not making me skip that day with you ! Get up Baby."
He grabs your shoulders and playfully shake them, not realizing that even his kidding strength is huge.
"Geeet uuuup" he chuckles when your whole body is shaken and your laugh sounds funny because of it.
The warm water runs along your hair and down your spine, and a soft steam fills the bathroom. For sure, that was a great late breakfast, with pancakes Dean had made for you, and his little stolen kisses.
He is really making this day better.
Maybe you can forget about your birthday now, and just enjoy Christmas like a normal person. You are loved, and you are happy, you don't need anything else.
Washing your hair, you smile thinking of the tree the boys have bought, so big that they struggled to carry it up the stairs. You chuckle at thinking of Dean grumbling about the thorns covering Baby's seats. They even bought bags mysterious decorations and fairy lights they never let you see. The library now smells like Christmas tree.
We're celebrating this year, Dean said. And in the years you have known the Winchesters, you indeed never saw them put so much effort in a holiday.
A lot of things keep surprising you.
Sam once told you that his brother had changed a lot since he was with you, making you worry more than anything else. You never wanted Dean to change, you love Dean just the way he is... Then you understood what Sammy was saying...
You understood in the little things. Like Dean's new love for late mornings in bed, like him drinking a little less, being a little less reckless during hunts, humming in the shower, letting go more in bed, allowing himself to give up the constant control he has on himself... And in his will to celebrate Christmas. Dean is not different, he is just happier.
Your eyes get a little wet with joy at the thought while your rub your body with the delicious smelling foam.
Forget your birthday, if Dean's happiness demands this day to be the Christmas he didn't have as a kid, the Christmas he is finally allowing himself to want, then you are honored to help him make it perfect.
You step out of the shower and your eyes meet the big mirror. In the middle of it, written with a big finger on the thick steam : "I love you Y/n".
Your choice is made : This will be Christmas. This will be anything to make that man as lucky as you are.
"How can I help ?" you say, entering the kitchen where Dean is apparently trying to make cookies, wearing this apron he only puts on for great occasions.
"I'm making cookies men like in Shrek" he says pointing to the not-so-bad gingerbread biscuits he already cooked with his finger covered in dough.
You come behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, forehead on his back, just feeling his breathing for a second. Dean doesn't stop what he is doing because he is used to you tenderly and randomly holding him, his clean fingers only come to gently caress your arm for a second before he shapes another cookie, chuckling when he adds a tiny penis to the little guy.
"I love you too" you murmur, nose grazing his back to bath in his smell.
He hums.
"We will eat dinner pretty early, I hope you're hungry" he says, looking at his watch. "I want to enjoy some time with my girl after."
You smile, getting on your tiptoes to kiss the uncovered skin of his neck above the collar of his flannel. He wants a lazy evening, making love like you do, or maybe try a kinky thing ; what is sure is you will gladly give him what he wants.
Time goes by sweetly as you watch this deadly warrior check the turkey while his equally legendary warrior brother prepares another round of eggnog for the three of you. They move around like busy bees in the room and it's a perfect show.
You sit on the counter, talking about silly things, sometimes doing something to help, when your boyfriend lets you. You keep sipping from the sugary drink, and watching the beauty of Dean just be before your eyes. Unaware of how perfect he is in his every moves, he just works with his strong arms and skilled hands.
Your eyes linger a little along his thick thighs, and you bend your head to the side to enjoy the exquisite sight of the sensual curve of his butt.
"I saw that, you just checked me out" he says in a smile without even turning around.
"And ?" you let out in a chuckle. "What are you going to do about that ?"
At your surprise, he starts to rock his hips from right to left slowly in clumsy funny moves of his butt, like he wanted to sexy dance for you without stopping what he is doing, earning an eye roll from his brother when his hip hits him on his way.
Christmas is already perfect.
The table is beautiful. Different courses in pretty plates you didn't know the guys had filling it like you have only seen in the movies. There is way too much food for three people but you are so happy that your beloved Winchester can eat like they want for Christmas eve.
Everything is pretty, the giant messy tree has real bright decorations on it and there are even a few presents at its feet, wrapped messily in colorful papers.
But their most impressive work is the light in the room, changing the place completely. Almost none of the artificial lights of the bunker is on, and a subdued ambiance with fairy lights and candles make it look even more magical than it usually is.
"When did you find the time to do all that ?" you smile with unintended wetness in your enthralled eyes. "It looks... enchanted in here."
"You stayed in bed until noon" Dean says in a light chuckle, pulling a chair for you and putting a kiss on your cheek. "Merry Christmas baby."
"It's perfect, Deanie" you turn your head so his next kiss lands on the corner of your mouth. "Merry Christmas guys."
Sam sits, rubbing his hands at the sight of the turkey, and starts reminding his brother of an old memory of a past Christmas you listen with all your focus. Everything that can make you know more about their life always catches your full attention. You are, after all, their biggest fan.
The story is about a Christmas when Dean was a teen. He had spent the night between 23th and 24th December with a girl and was really late to come back to the motel. Sam thought maybe he wouldn't be back for diner, he had already taken the cereals out of the closet when Dean showed up carrying the whole cooked Turkey he had stolen from the girl's parents.
You look at your boyfriend with all the love in the world and bend to give him a kiss on the forearm while he cuts a piece of this not stolen meat for you.
"Her parents were dicks, and I couldn't let you starve, dad would have killed me" Dean chuckles, filling your plate.
But you know the story must be really different from just that, Dean never brags about how great he was with Sam.
You let out a little moan, tasting the food and Dean’s face is lit by a wide proud grin.
“It’s good ?” he asks before he even tastes, an excited hope in his eyes.
“Delischious” you answer with your mouth full, a hand before it.
And indeed, everything is perfect. Dean, as much as Sam can playfully denies it, is a great cook. He has no technique, no cooking education, but what he has is a real love for food and comfort, a great experience on mixing things and tasting that gives him a perfect intuition. And, above all, the strong selfless will of saying "I love you" with food like some people have.
Sitting on the floor next to the tree, you hold against you the red flannel Dean finally agreed to give you, and the books Sam bought for you. Your head is leaning lovingly on your lover's shoulder while he looks, exited, at the vinyl records he got, humming his favorite songs.
You crawl between his thighs and rest your back on his chest, your head back, temple grazing his scruff.
"Best Christmas ever" you smile, feeling his lips graze your cheek. "So what is the program of a Winchester Christmas after that ?"
You close your eyelid and take a deep breath of Dean's scent, expecting a sexy proposition.
"We're going somewhere" he smiles, and, when you open your eyes, you see Sam put on his coat.
"Now ?" you frown, a little confused. "Where ?"
Dean gets up, putting you on your feet with his strong arm, and takes his coat and yours from Sam's hands.
"I'm not telling you. Take your jacket and get in the car."
He is silent on the road despite all your questions.
You listen to the car's purring and look outside to try to guess where they are taking you. The white snow covers the sides of the road with a very thin and delicate layer, the headlights are hit with little swirling snowflakes, and no clue betrays their surprise.
Sam is smiling, looking out the window. You know they have been planning something, and you know you will love it. Maybe they will show you a place they used to go when they were kids, maybe take you to a special place where you can see the stars so clearly, like this time last summer.
"Come on Dean" you say, kneeling on Baby's back seat to wrap your arms around him from behind, going down a little to feel his firm chest though his shirt under your palms. "Tell me."
"You can't wait just five minutes" he tries to grunt, but it sounds more like a chuckle.
You fall silent, not letting go of him, holding him like the precious treasure he is, occasionally smelling his hair, kissing his shoulder and tracing the contours of his ear. You just can't stop touching him, and since that talk you had after sex once, you know how much he loves it.
"Aw" Sam mocks you like he often does. "You two are so cute."
"Fuck yeah we are" Dean groans, turning right to a one way road.
"You know Christmas is already perfect" you smile. "You don't have to surprise me again."
"Yeah, I know" he says, parking in front of a bar. "But, it's not only Christmas today."
You look around, confused. The guys open the door, letting the freezing cold enter the Impala, and get out in a perfect sync. You follow them, lifting your eyes to the colorful neon lights reflecting in the snowy night. Around on the parking lot, more cars than you would have expected are parked, and you wonder who would spend Christmas eve in a bar like this one.
But before you can wonder why they would have taken you there, to this bar you never heard off, your boyfriend's hand wraps around your waist and he guides you inside, pushing the heavy doors.
The first thing that hits you is the perfect warmth of the inside. The temperature is perfect but not only : the music is smooth like honey, it's this kind of blues that is paradoxically happy and comforting, it smells like wood and whiskey ; and above all, here too, there is something about the light that feels like a hug.
The second thing that hits you is the welcoming familiar face of Garth smiling to you.
"Garth ?" you frown and feel Dean's lips graze your ear. "Happy birthday Baby."
He lets go of you to walk to the people there at the bar, arms open to greet them, letting you stunned.
You are recognizing all you friends there, still in their Christmas clothes, walking to you to hug you and bring you drinks and for a few seconds, your body just stays still.
No one is missing, not one person. And, even if you don't have hundreds of friends since you joined the hunter life, you have never seen a room so full of love.
"Let me take your coat" Jody says, seeing you froze to the spot.
"I... You're here for me ? Th-they planned all that ?" you stammer with some watery emotions filling your eyes.
"Dean did" Jody smiles. "We followed."
You're sipping from that delicious drink the bartender made according to your tastes, unable to take that smile off of your face. Donna, a little tipsy in her pretty outfit, is telling sexy jokes with a full dimpled smile, making Sam chuckle and Charlie high-five her, spilling a little of her drink on you.
From the corner of your eye, you look at him.
He is bending on the pool table with a smirk, his beer next to him. From here, you can't hear what he is saying to the other players, but it seems a little cocky. After only a few seconds staring at him, it's like he felt it and he looks up, giving you the cutest wink.
And you blush. Because even after all you have lived together, even after the kinky experiences, the intimate moments, after seeing him cry, yell, suffer or come... A wink is still enough to turn you to a blushing mess.
All evening, he has been keeping his distance just a little. Not avoiding you at all but not clinging to you, to let you enjoy your friends, to let you have the full experience of a birthday party like you dreamed of since you were a teen.
A birthday with loud silly discussions, a lot of drinks, inventing silly tipsy games with your best friends, trading your clothes in the bathroom, catching up as much as dancing with each other... And you never felt loved that much.
Dean's love is the sun in the middle of your world, but now you can also see the stars, and it is probably the best night of your life so far.
He managed to do something you never could for years and all your friends agreed with his crazy plan. They all had an early Christmas diner to be able to drive here, offer you too many drinks and be there for you. They all made it about you and you're both incredibly grateful and emotional. And since most of them will come sleep at the bunker -and eat all the leftovers with you tomorrow- you don't have to care about the time.
Suddenly, a music note catches your ear.
You know that note by heart. It is the first note of your favorite love song, it is the firsts notes of what Dean hums in your ear sometimes when he holds you after making love to you, pushing your hair on the side to see your sweaty bliss face.
You turn you head and meet green eyes, closer than you expected.
"Hey" he says, taking your hand.
"Hey" you smile.
He tugs gently at your arm, pulling you away from the bar to wrap his arms around your waist.
You have missed him. Of course he was here, but after everything he has done for you, you really have missed holding him, smelling his skin and kissing his lips.
He starts to sway his hips really slightly, humming the love words of the song, and you throw your arms around his neck, looking up at his perfect face.
"She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes..." he whispers the lyrics, fingers grazing the skin of your neck.
And for the hundredth time today, your eyes fill with happy tears while his fingertips go down on your back to hold your waist again.
"Are you having fun ?" he asks low, one hand stroking your lower back tenderly, thumb pushing your shirt up discreetly to feel your skin.
"It's the best night of my life" you give him your most sincere smile. "Dean... You are really incredible, you know that ?"
"Yeah" he nods, hiding his shyness in a kiss on your lips.
"I really was ready to chose Christmas, you know ?" you state, swaying your hips slowly with him, forgetting the rest of the world in your bubble of love.
His plumb lips gently raise on the corner, and he lets go of you to search his pocket.
"I didn't have to choose between hunter life and happy life thanks to you, so I'll make sure you never have to choose between your birthday and Christmas" he murmurs in your ear, before kissing your temple.
His hand reach yours and he opens it to put a little thing on your palm.
"What do you say we had yet another thing to celebrate on that day ?" his breath tickles your neck and you look down to your hand, discovering a little golden ring with a tiny blue stone in the middle of your shaking palm.
"Dean ?"
"Marry me Baby ?"
FEEDBACK IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME
Tags : @parinarain @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @stormchasingchick32 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n @lyss-dw79 @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj @i-love-superhero @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks @mrspeacem1nusone @stylesismyhubs @deanwanddamons @jawritter @peridottea91 @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart @vicmc624 @teresa-67 @jessie-michael @doctor-hp-mcu @hawkerz12 @mariaenchanted @hobby27 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @thoughts-and-funnies @suramyaa @yasreadsfics
#supernatural#Supernatural Dean Winchester#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fic#dean winchester#dean winchester fic#spn dean x reader#dean x reader#dean x y/n#fluff#dean winchester fluff#spnsecretsantaficexchange#jay and dean#christmas
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Everywhere
Characters: Goro Majima x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Filthy smut. Just... So much smut.
Inspiration: Request by Anon – “Hello! May I request a nsfw majima fic? Where it's the majima everywhere (him doing diff roleplays) but he's following his female s/o around instead”
A/n: Y/s/n refers to your stage name. Hope this works for you!
Life with your boyfriend was never boring. A true enigma of a man, Goro Majima never ceased to surprise you. When one of his best friends was released from prison, he was determined to help his friend get back on his feet – by randomly picking fights with him. You were always there after the fights, of course, tending his wounds. Sometimes, between the moments he spent pestering Kiryu, he would surprise you.
The first time he had caught you off-guard was when you were hailing a taxi, absentmindedly sitting in the backseat, texting your coworker while telling the driver where to go. The scheduling conflict had caused problems, and you were on your way home after an extra-long shift and half of the next. You didn’t even look out the window, trying to figure out if you were working in the morning with the adjustments that were being made – of course you didn’t get a straightforward answer. When you finally had it solved you looked up and out the window, realizing you were nowhere near your home. You started to panic a little.
“This isn’t where—” You looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror, locking your eyes on your boyfriend’s eye. “You scared me, Go-chan,” you sighed. His maniacal laugh made your heart flutter.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Y/n-chan,” he was still chuckling at himself.
“Where are we?” You asked, looking around.
“We’re at the pier,” he replied casually. “Yer outta work, right? Thought we could… Maybe…” He wiggled his eyebrows. You laughed.
Before you knew it, the taxi was parked, and Majima had gotten into the back with you. Sex in the backseat of a car is uncomfortable. There’s not much you can do aside from a couple different positions.
You were leaning back against the taxi door, your legs spread and Majima between them. His skill never ceased to amaze you. You braced yourself against the back headrest and the divider, moaning and whining as he worked you over. His fingers curled and pumping like a jackhammer. He looked up at you, watching as your eyes rolled back and the tightening coil in your core snapped. You moaned his name, the familiar fuzzy weightlessness radiating through you. He continued going, slowing his pace a bit as you rode the waves of your orgasm, unable to take his eye off you. The feeling of your pussy’s rhythmic contractions around his fingers made him close his eye.
You were panting, looking at him as he pulled his fingers out, giving you a final lick before pulling away. You couldn’t help and look at the straining bulge in his pants. All you wanted was him inside you again. You looked out the windows, fogged but you could see the lights of the outside world that paid no mind to either of you or what you were doing here.
Another time, you hadn’t expected going to work to find your boyfriend in drag in the dressing room at the hostess club where you worked. He insisted his name was Goromi, so you rolled with it. Goromi was your newest co-worker, and it surprised you just how good of a hostess she was. The post-shift sex in the dressing room was mind-blowing..You were bracing yourself against the counter where you normally did your makeup, Goromi’s dress had been surprisingly easy for her to lift up and she was pounding you from behind, hands on your hips to pull you back as he thrust forward. Occasionally she would reach up and knead your breasts or would reach around and play with your clit. You left the dressing room sore, hair messed up, reeking of sex, and in a hell of a better mood than when you went in, and you found yourself surprised that no one in the club had heard your moans and shouts of pleasure. Goromi giggled as the two of you left the club together.
On your way to work one day, you were stopped by a police officer. It wasn’t until you actually looked at them that you saw your boyfriend. He’d grinned and made many innuendos about what he was going to do with you, but you reminded him you had work and kissed his cheek. He pouted of course, but let you go about your day. He’d get you another time. Bring you into a secluded alleyway and fuck you against a wall. It felt dirty and the thought alone made him hard.
One time, he jumped out from under a traffic cone, scaring you shitless to the point you screamed, jumped, and then fell to the ground. He was quickly at your side, making sure you weren’t hurt and helping you up. By the time you were on your feet, the two of you were laughing your asses off. Neither of you cared about the funny looks you were getting.
Your favorite time was when you were on a pseudo-date with a client at his favorite bar. When your bartender turned around and was revealed to be your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but grin. Neither of you gave any hint to the client about your relationship; it was all part of being a hostess. He knew what he had signed up for when the two of you started dating, just as you were aware that he was yakuza.
“Alright, Y/s/n-chan, let’s get you back to the club,” your client said with a laughter painted sigh. “I’ve taken enough of your time up.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Hiza-kun, I’d like to stay here,” you smiled at him softly. “I’m meeting a friend here later, and it would save me some walking.”
“Alright,” Hizashi pulled out his wallet, handing you enough for a cab home. “If I’m leaving you at a bar, the least I can do is pay for your ride home when you’re ready.” He stared at you for a moment. “I’ll see you next Monday at 3, correct?”
“I think so, but I’d have to check the schedule. I’m also working the day after tomorrow if you’d like to come in. I know I’m free until 4.”
“I might take you up on that, Y/s/n-chan. Be safe tonight, okay?”
“I will. You, too, Hiza-kun.”
You waved at him as he left and focused your attention to the bartender.
“You’re a jack of all trades, aren’t Go-chan?” You teased, sipping your whiskey.
“Eh? So what if I am?” Majima pouted, feigning offense that you knew better than to take seriously. “Eh, whatever. It’s almost closin’ time, I’ll likely be home late.”
“Oh? Family stuff?” You asked, raising your glass to your lips. When nothing but air hit your lips, you realized you were out. You set the glass down with a sigh, your boyfriend already refilling it. His silence made you sigh. “Can’t talk about it here?” You raised the glass to your lips to drink.
“I’d rather fuck ya right here,” Majima said plainly, his signature manic laughter filling the air of the bar as you sprayed your whiskey all over the counter, putting a hand over your mouth after. He kept laughing as you looked at the mess you made and started laughing, too. He started cleaning it up. “Always so messy,” he teased.
“Go-chan, this is a public space,” you reminded quietly.
“Yeah? No one else’s here,” he observed, looking around the room. “I can close early, and we can…” His eyebrow wiggle said it all. “‘Sides, it’s kinda hot, dontcha think? Fuckin’ in public—”
“I don’t think about it,” you admitted. He just tsked at you and came out from behind the bar, walking over and locking the door as you watched. “Are you really—”
“Yeah, really. Ya think I was jokin’?” Majima looked at you. “If you don’t wanna we ain’t gotta.”
“No, I…” You cleared your throat, but that was enough for Majima. You turned to face him as he walked over, placing one hand on the bar, his other hand adjusted his tie. All you could do was stare at him, trying not to melt.
“Say it,” Majima’s voice was low and rough. The bartender act was gone, Daddy was here to play.
“I want to,” you confirmed, and he pressed his lips to your immediately.
The hand that wasn’t on the bar explored your body: grabbing your ass, kneading your breasts, getting tangled in your hair. His touch was electrifying, sending miniature shockwaves through out your body. It was almost shameful how fast you felt your wetness, but you didn’t care. Majima knew how to work you, and it was divine every time the two of your bodies became one.
“Whatta do with ya,” he muttered, his lips grazing yours before he went back to kissing you. He maneuvered his kisses to your neck, and you leaned your head to the side so he had easier access. He pressed his hips to yours. “This is hot,” he admitted. “We should do this more often, dontcha think?”
You were trembling under his touch. Doing this in public was definitely adding to the fun, but it was also giving you anxiety. What if someone saw? You knew the windows were tinted – you could see out, but no one could see in. You looked over, watching people walk by.
“Just think, I could bend ya over this counter and fuck ya ‘til ya pass out, and nunna them would know the difference. Something sexy about that, dontcha think?” You nodded. “Use yer words, Babygirl.”
“Yes,” you answered, breathless.
“Yer just a mess, aintcha?” You could feel his lips curl into a grin against your skin. “I wonder…” His hand went from your ass to your thigh, lifting up your skirt and sliding a hand over your panties. Another maniacal laugh. “Yer soaked.” You blushed. “Awww, don’ be embarrassed, Babygirl. I know how weak ya are for me.” A pause. “There is so much I wanna do to ya, Babygirl.”
“Yeah?” You managed to squeak out.
“Oh yeah.” The next thing you knew you were seated on the counter, barely on it. “Lean back a bit,” he ordered, removing your panties and lifting up your skirt.
You did as you were told, bracing yourself against the back edge so you wouldn’t fall. His kisses moved from your neck, to your collarbone, to your exposed cleavage, to your covered stomach, and to your thighs before he maneuvered them over his shoulders and found home where they met.
The sensation of his tongue inside you made you shiver. His tongue’s pace was steady, before he licked up and refocused on your clit. You were moaning, eyes closed with your head tilted back at the sensation of him running his tongue over your clit. After a moment he inserted a finger, starting to pump. Your breathing was becoming heavier, faster. He inserted a second finger, pumping faster, curling his fingers to hit your g spot.
“I want ya so bad,” Majima growled against you, his fingers still working you over, “but I love the way ya sound.” He bit your thigh before returning.
“Go-chan, I—” You whined, your hand in his hair.
Majima grinned, pumping his fingers faster and flicking his tongue over your clit again, his eyes peeking, watching your face as he felt you start to rhythmically clench around him. He couldn’t help but grin wickedly, knowing he was the cause of the mind-numbing orgasm that had left you speechless. Your vision tunneled, and you rode the waves. He had slowed down his pace, but he didn’t stop until your orgasm had ended.
“You think you can stand?” He asked you.
“I—Yeah, maybe,” you could hardly think.
“Better safe than sorry.” He picked you up, carrying you over to the pool table, laying you down on it. “Are ya comfortable?” He asked, running a hand on your thigh, getting dangerously close to your center before returning down your thigh, repeating the motion.
“Go-chaaan,” you whined.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, knowing exactly what you wanted. Instead of giving it to you, he slid his fingers in again. His other hand unbuttoned your shirt and moved your bra so your breast was exposed. He bent down, taking it in his mouth, causing you to moan even louder. “Baby girl,” he hummed, immediately shifting his kisses from your nipple, to your cleavage, to your collarbone, to your neck. “Whadda ya want?”
“I want youuuu,” you moaned, your eyes closed.
“Yer wish is my command,” his hands already working on his belt.
It didn’t take long before his erection was free and against you. His breath hitched and you felt his dick twitch against your thigh before he pulled you to the edge. Once again, your legs were over his shoulders as he lined himself up at your entrance, slowly working his way in so you had time to adjust.
He had to close his eyes to keep control while you adjusted to him. Once he was in, he slowly started to thrust. His pace started to quicken. His hands found their place on your hips, holding you steady as he picked up the speed. He closed his eye, biting his lip and tilting his head up for a moment before looking down at you.
“Yer beautiful,” he was breathless. You couldn’t stop moaning, but you looked at him, your face still lost in a place of pure bliss. “Fuck, ya feel so good, Y/n.”
“So do you,” you managed to pant, watching him watch you. You groaned, reaching your hands over you to grab the edge of the table. “Fuck, Go-chan.”
Majima moved one hand from your hip to gently rub your clit, trying to focus on you and your pleasure, even though he was getting lost in his own. You’d already came once, and he always made you come at least twice before he got his rocks off. It didn’t take long before you were clenching around him again, quickly approaching your second orgasm. His pace increased, watching your face as your orgasm ripped through you with a loud, animalistic groan. He growled as your rhythmic contractions pushed him closer and closer to the edge before he too fell off. He gave a few more thrusts before braced himself against the pool table, the two of you panting before your lips met in a tender kiss. He pulled out and kissed your calf.
“I love you,” Majima said, not bothering with his fake accent. “I really do. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“I know,” you panted, running a hand through his hair before trying to steady your breathing.
“I mean it,” he leaned down and kissed your cheek, letting himself lower so he was on top of you, careful not to put his full weight on your body. He rested his cheek against yours and closed his eye, still panting. “I am helplessly yours. Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do it.”
“Take me home?” You asked. “Hold me until we fall asleep?”
“As you wish,” another kiss to your cheek and he was up, quickly finding something to clean you up.
The two of you adjusted your clothing and he pulled you in for an embrace, holding you close and tight. You rested your head against him, taking in the moment.
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How I wrote the Demon fic
Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it.
In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”.
FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).
I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.
Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)
Books
I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.
The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work.
The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.
Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)
((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))
Burgundy
Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.
Potential
About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.
Illuminate
Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.
I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)
And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!
Illuminate (Rewrite)
Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.
Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.
Addendum
Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.
Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.
I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.
And that’s about it! <3
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Rocky | JJ Maybank
Gif by @rudypankows
Summary: New to the Pogues, you weren’t familiar with JJ’s fighting habits, when he stumbles into the chateau black and blue, feelings are thrown into the after match.
Words: 1.8K
Warning: none i guess?? aftermatch of a fight??
When your mother announced that you were moving to a smaller town, you weren't expecting this. Kildale, North Carolina was your new resident for the next four years. You weren’t exactly ecstatic but you were curious to see what a simple life can bring you.
After weaving through the labyrinth of roads, the paths eventually coverage and revealed your new home. Broken trees, tangled bushes and chipped paint was now your safe place.
“You’ll love it here. I promise you.” Her mother grinned.
“Yep, paradise on Earth.” You mocked but your mother's smile only grew. “That’s the spirit. You’ll make friends in no time.” She promised, leaving you to take in the salty breeze that tangled through your hair.
Months went by and you were happy, secured with your friends. They were a little dysfunctional but you considered them family. You met Kiara first, one of the best days and memorable days. The Wreck was a safe place where free meals would come your way, if you promised to work there.
Kiara then introduced you to the boys, or you’ll like to call them: Draco, Harry and Ron. They reminded you of fictional characters that were too good to be true.
John B instantly grew a liking towards you. You weren’t predictable as he thought any new girl would be. Pope loved your view on literature, whilst JJ admired your recklessness when it came to messing with the infamous Kooks.
It was an ordinary Friday night which was known as party night, but somehow the Pogues weren’t feeling the need to mope over Tourons. JJ was out, probably finding new ways to get into trouble since he already committed every crime. So, you were quarantined with the rest but your mind was too occupied with JJ's disappearance to focus on the show.
“Has anyone heard, seen or even, spoke to JJ tonight?” You randomly asked which they all immediately shook their heads. If JJ wanted to be found, he would call but something inside your stomach made you feel he was in trouble.
“I think we should look for him. It’s pretty late and he usually arrives around 10pm. It’s 10:30.”
Yourself and JJ had a bond that no one could describe, unless they witnessed the two of you in action. The both of you confined each other when things got rough, he admired the way you never judged him nor lectured him about his choice in actions. Most people would refer to you as Bonnie and Clyde - a pair of outlaws fighting crime with nothing but love.
He loved the simplest things about you, the little nose scrunches when you patch up his cuts. He loves hearing your angelic voice reciting sonnets to him; Sonnet 116 was your favourite. Once he had an understanding of what Shakesphere was saying, he got the number tattooed.
“I’m sure he’s just got lost on the way home. He’s clumsy like that.” Kiara reassured you but your gut was telling you otherwise.
Pope could sense your stress as you began to grip onto JJ’s jumper, his response was placing his arm around you giving your shoulder a tight squeeze.
“He’ll be okay. He’s JJ, he has survival skills of an ant.” Pope whispered letting your head fall into his shoulder as you forced yourself to watch an episode.
It was now 12am, and everyone was out like a light. You, however, were awake standing by the porch waiting for him to come home.
“Where are you, JJ?” You whispered under your breath looking into the darkness. As the breeze was hitting your exposed skin, you sheleted inside wrapping his scent over your body letting some tears escape your eyes.
JJ makes his entrance late. You hear the door swing open more loudly than usual, causing your eyes to open. You don’t look at him, nor acknowledge him. He’s late and he knew you would be made when he doesn’t show up. He tried to say your name, his bruised lip failing at the first syllable, but he doesn’t need to finish, you were already on your feet to stop him from falling. His left eye is swollen, meaning he wouldn’t be able to see for a while. His face still bears congealed blood and his clothes were destroyed.
“JJ, you seriously need to stop getting into fights… Everytime you walk through the door, a new shot of purple ruins your perfect tanned skin.” You sniffled as you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but with a reassuring touch you began to nurse him.
Each bud stained more than the last, you could sense his embarrassment, shame and guilt as he let tears shelter through his cuts.
“I’ve got you, you are safe now.” you whispered as you finished cleaning him up. Although his face was now seen as a punching bag, you gracefully planted a small kiss to his forehead letting him know he was forgiven.
Since the bedrooms were occupied, the two of you had no choice to share the pull out. Helping JJ onto the bed, he immediately buried his head into your chest letting you shelter him from the monsters he ran from.
“I’ve got you..” You whispered once more before your eyes began to fall into a deep slumber as your mind was finally at rest.
The morning after couldn’t come any sooner, it felt like a couple of minutes since you closed your eyes. JJ was still out, his body was curled into yours as his light snores woke you along with the roaster John B decided to keep.
“What a beaut- what happened?” John B croaked, but immediately gave you an apologetic look as you placed your finger to your mouth.
“He got into a fight, he couldn’t talk when he came in last night.” You whispered hoping JJ wouldn’t wake up, as he needed all the sleep he could get.
“Is there anything I can do?” John B always felt hopeless when he would find the two of you asleep on a pull out. It was either you having nightmares or JJ getting beaten up.
“Maybe some water, just in case he needs to feel strong again” You mumbled, looking down at how peaceful he was.
You always loved the way his curly blonde locks invaded his face as he slept. It was usually him, spooning you but occasionally he liked it when you took charge. He liked being taken care of, since no one else bothered too.
“Jesus, He really out did his last fight.” Pope groggily spoke, starching his hair as he came out of the spare bedroom along with Kie who was brushed and ready to start the day.
“Should Pope and I get breakfast from the Wreck? I feel like we all needed a Carrera breakfast.” Kiara jokes to lighten the mood a little.
“Please.” You chuckled letting your finger brush through JJ’s messy hair.
“Okay, let us know if anything happens.” Pope added on, letting Kiara pull his frame out of the picture and towards the car.
You looked over at John B for guidance in what to do, you were fairly new and even the bond you and JJ shared, you still felt hopeless.
“Someone needs to not let him get into all these fights. One day, he might not even make it back. I think you need to talk to him.” John B confined his feelings with you, but you couldn’t be the one to lecture him.
“You’ve known him longer. He’s your best friend.” You argued back, giving John B some serious thinking.
“You’re his girlfriend, you know him more than I do.” John B without realising labelled you, but it wasn’t true. You and JJ were friends, best friends.
“I’m not his girlfriend, and I told you to shut up about that.” You confessed your feelings but you never would admit your desire to be with the blonde rebel.
“Well, I know he likes you and if he wasn’t asleep, I’ll get those bruises myself. “ John B wasn’t good at keeping secrets, nor was Pope, which only left Kiara to be the trusted one in the group.
As JJ arms were secured around you, the bladder inside you was nearly at breaking point. You slowly began to remove his tendered arms away from your waist but a whine escaped JJ’s lip.
“D-Don’t leave.” He choked out, opening an eye to see your face.
“I need to pee… I’ll be back, I promise.” JJ nodded, letting go of you as his arms flopped onto the mattress but his smile grew as your scent stayed with him.
“Watch him.” You nudged John B who was busy scrolling through Sarah Cameron’s Instagram.
“Aye, Aye Captain,” John B closed his phone, walking over to the bed to check on his best friend.
“Dude, what the fuck happened?” He immediately asked, he knew he wasn’t okay so he didn’t bother with that question.
JJ was trying to form words, “I-I ran into Topper and he mentioned Y/N, talking about her as if she was some piece of meat. I couldn’t let him talk about my girl like that.” JJ grumbled, looking up as John B gave him a huge grin.
“I knew you liked her.” JJ shook his head, “I love her, man.” JJ confessed not noticing you were already standing under the door frame, listening to every word.
“I love you, too.” You swooned making your way over to him, planting a small kiss to his cheek.
“I’m so sorry for missing movie night and getting into another fight. I’ll promise I won’t get into more fights.” But you only chuckled as no matter how much you tried, you could never get that boy to stop fighting especially for the one he loves.
“Mhm, get some rest. Food is on the way.” You grinned, letting John B cringe over the way you planted soft kisses to his cuts.
“You two are adorably cringy .” JJ rolled his eyes, “jealousy isn’t a good look, bro.” John B scoffed at the remark looking at you to take his side.
“I agree with rocky. Not going to get anywhere with scrolling through her Instagram.” You sassed, heading JJ chuckle but winced immediately clutching into his stomach.
“Serves yo- Food is here.” John B knew finishing that sentence wouldn’t be ideal so he lunged towards Pope, thanking him for his impeccable timing.
As you let your friend set up the table, you noticed JJ pulling his weight up to face you.
“I mean it, I love you Y/N.” JJ expressed his feelings again, which surprised you as he wasn’t the one to open up about certain things.
“I love you, JJ.” You reached in to kiss his bruised lip, ignoring all the aww’s coming from your friends.
masterlist AND TAGLIST
#outer banks#outer banks cast#obx cast#outer banks imagines#outer banks masterlist#jj maybank#outer banks imagine#rudy pankow#jj x y/n#jj maybank fic#jj maybank fluff#jj mayback x reader#obx jj maybank#outer banks jj#obx imagines#obx jj#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank angst#jj x reader#jj x you#jj maybank smut
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Do Well. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]
warnings: dabi is just a huge asshole, emotional manipulation, implied panic attack
word count: 2.6k.
“Would you be a dear and wait here for a few? I need to take a call.”
Dabi tilts his head alongside his words, glints of amusement present in his sapphire eyes. You’re certain the bastard picks up on every subconscious movement your body makes at the question, feeling like an open book before him. Despite your valiant efforts, human biology doesn’t operate in your personal interest. The challenging premonition causes your lips to curl down, fingers twitching on the wide straw of your milk tea. Pausing mid sip, you pull back, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the subservient behavior he wants to see, and considering the alternatives, you’re tripping over yourself to give it to him.
“... Of course. I should just stay here, right?” It’s more of a question posed for your sake than his, information vital to keep your head above water. Any movements on your behalf that even hint at disobedience could lead to dire consequences, ranging in severity. The worst of which is being confined back to his dingy apartment, with nothing but your thoughts to entertain yourself. All the faux smiles, carefully timed giggles, and strategic brushes of skin against skin would be for naught. You worked too hard for these trips outside for it to fall through your fingers like sand.
Your captor makes a point of giving you a once over, lackadaisical visage a front for a predator in waiting. Condensation builds up against the plastic container in hand, making it tricky to tell if it’s your hands growing clammy or the drink. Time passes by at a snail’s pace, neither of you making the slightest of movements. People go about their lives in happy-go-lucky bliss, none the wiser to the potential harm that Dabi poses. Feeling finally returns to your body as he stands, seemingly content with the exchange.
He shoots you a coy look over his shoulder, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Don’t miss me too much.”
Dabi snickers at how your nose scrunches up, waving and slinking off with his phone in hand. You watch his retreating figure, still in disbelief over the unfolding events. This would be the first time since being kidnapped that you’ve been on your own in public. These special little outings were a privilege, one that you had worked diligently for. Consistently being on your best behavior, day after day, in the presence of someone you abhor from the depths of your soul is no easy task. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your body when he’s out of sight, eyes darting around in excitement.
This is a prime location to make an escape, the outdoors of a crowded mall in the afternoon. Everyone ranging from families, to couples, and employees on their lunch break are walking around. Lively chatter fills your ears, and you observe every possibility as if it’s your last. While it’s likely a futile dream, the rush your quickening pulse brings demands attention. Lithe fingers shake by your side, every ounce of your strength devoted to keeping yourself from unraveling at the mere concept of being free. He has to be watching. You know him well enough that he wouldn’t have offered the opportunity to escape on a silver platter, there’s got to be measures in place.
There’s no way he isn’t keeping an eye on you now, making sure that you hold true to your word of behaving.
Your shoulders slump at this cruel reality. The act of looking around excitedly would be too much of a give away, an observation he’d surely bring up later. An eruption of goosebumps dot your skin, even in the sweltering summer heat. Taking another sip of your drink, you abandon hope of escape, certain it’d be a mistake should you try it. Though he’s purposefully kept you in the dark on most of his relationships with the League of Villains, you can safely assume he’s interconnected with enough unsavory figures to locate you should it be necessary. In contrast to the sugary goodness that coats your tongue, a sour taste in your mouth develops at this blatant flaunting of power. What an asshole.
To be so self-assured that even in the event of your escape, hunting you down and bringing you back into his loving arms is still within the realm of possibility. Your eye twitches at this realization, mentally flinging numerous curses towards him. He didn’t have to make it so obvious, rubbing salt on the theoretical wound of your pride. Too preoccupied with festering thoughts of resentment, you fail to notice a figure taking a seat next to you on the bench.
“Is the drink not good or something?” A light, masculine voice asks from your left. Darting around immediately at the interruption of your venomous thoughts, you spot a man around your age. Sporting messy brunette hair and a casual get up of a tee with a pair of jeans, it tugs painfully on your heart to see someone living an uninhibited life as you used to. This envy mutates into horror, as you realize being caught speaking to a stranger is going to land you in boiling water. Dabi’s consciousness is a minefield in waiting, daring to blow at the slightest wrong movement.
What do you do? It might leave a wrong impression should you not say anything. The current times are plagued by high tension. Numerous League of Villain attacks have rendered the surrounding regions on constant alert, news anchors telling folks to be wary of anyone or anything suspicious. Weighing your options, you decide to dismiss the stranger in kind as fast as humanly possible.
Just act natural, act natural… “W-why do you say that?”
Shit. Your first conversation with someone other than Dabi in over half a year has left you thoroughly horrified, pupils no doubt dilated and voice meeker than a mouse squeak. The stutter has you wincing, your naive companion undoubtedly picking up on it. You want nothing more than to shoo him off, but in fear of drawing unwanted attention, attempt to suppress your frayed nerves. You’ve been through worse than a strained conversation and made it out relatively unscatched, but this feels like a different type of battle.
“You just seemed to be making quite the upset face,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the thought. He must’ve been referring to the glowering thinking about Dabi brought out from you. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything. I was just waiting to pick up my little sister, and happened to catch you scowling.”
“The name’s Ryota. And you?”
Suppressing panic that threatens to drown you, you swallow thickly. “I’m uh, Hina. The drink is fine… I just have a lot on my mind.”
The lie is seasoned with enough truths that you hope it isn’t too transparent. Giving away your actual name could hint back to missing person’s cases, the thought of which would greatly displease Dabi. Besides, if it had been as simple as going to the police, you would’ve done it by now. You’ve grown uncomfortably familiar with Dabi’s workings, killing off a few people or bribing them would be one of the least heinous things in his portfolio. You figure the best case scenario here is that this well meaning Ryota character leaves you be, or else dire consequences will come to fruition.
“Good to know, Hina-san. My lil sis talks about boba often, but I’ve never gotten that into it. I figure since the store’s right here, I should surprise her with a drink. What would you recommend?”
You can’t help but greedily soak in the normalcy an interaction like this brings with it. The irritation from being drawn into a conversation is replaced with pity, a stronger resolve to keep this bystander out of harm’s way blooming. There’s no time to be wasted on the warmth erupting in your chest, or on the first genuine smiles in months that’s settled on your lips. To see the best humanity has to offer, after being subjected to the worst, is a much needed breath of fresh air. While it may be greedy to fixate on these aspects, you find yourself wanting to savor the moment of being a regular person.
Surely, Dabi would understand your logic.
“It depends on her tastes. If she likes sweeter drinks, I’d recommend Thai milk tea. If you’re not sure, classic milk tea is always a safe bet.” You’re proud of how you’ve been able to pull yourself together, speaking like you used to. With this, he should be set to leave, or at least you want to believe this. Unfortunately for you, life is never so easy. He doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, crossing his legs and leaning slightly closer to you. Realizing your mistake of radiating friendliness, your muscles go taut.
You need to do something about this before it’s too late.
Ryota scratches his head, mulling over your advice. “I’ll keep all that in mind. I appreciate your insight.”
“It feels nice to be able to chill and talk like this every now and then. If I’m being honest, I was somewhat against my sister coming out to hang with friends,” Ryota’s tone takes a turn for the somber, face looking crestfallen. “With all the chaos that’s been around, y’know. It feels like everyday I wake up to more of those League of Villain stories. It feels like it’ll just be a matter of time until something happens near here.”
“I’m sorry that--”
“Things sure are rough,” A voice that brings out every negative emotion possible speaks up from behind you, Dabi’s familiar figure slithering into sight. He takes a seat on the bench, close to your person, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow her for a bit. You mind?”
Neither of you were expecting the sudden interruption, Ryota trying to piece everything together. “Oh, uh, not at all.’
Everything hits you like a ton of bricks. From Dabi’s rich cologne that mixes in with the smell of ash, his hair brushing against the side of your face, to the possessiveness of his grip. He squeezes your shoulder, looking from Ryota to you. It takes a moment to register what he’s communicating, but you’re able to decipher the gesture. In a last ditch attempt to salvage this situation, you confirm Dabi’s statement before things get ugly. Nodding your head, you watch with bated breath as Ryota looks from Dabi to you. He gets up from his spot on the bench, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.
“It was nice talking to you.”
Ryota heads off towards the mall doors, leaving you in the clutches of the devil incarnate. You feel how terribly warm Dabi is next to you, words wanting to spill out to justify the actions that led up to this moment. Before you get the opportunity to ramble out your thoughts, Dabi places a finger on your lips, looking at you with the same grin as always.
“Making some new friends, hm?” He inquires, drawing out the syllables. His finger goes south, lifting up your chin, and holding you close to his face. “Awe, babe. You look like you’re aboutta cry. Don’t give me that look.”
You’re not sure if you should feel horrified at his sudden spike in talkativeness, or relieved over not having to speak your piece yet. The words wouldn’t be able to leave your mouth even if you wanted them to, a lump forming in your throat to coincide the dryness of your tongue. Dabi makes a point of emphasizing his engulfing height, having to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. Not wanting to make a scene, you do everything within your power to still the tears that are threatening to spill out. There’s no visible signs of wrath, not that you can pick up on. He watches with great interest as you calm yourself, releasing the grip on your face and leaning back into the bench.
When you appear sufficiently soothed, he speaks up once more, voice grating your ears. “So tell me, doll. What was all that about? I knew you’d be hurting for company in my absence, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to speak to someone else.”
“I… I was approached, and… I swear, nothing happened. He just-- just wanted to know about a drink for his sister, and--”
Dabi gently flicks your forehead, unable to stifle his cackling any longer. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I saw everything.”
It doesn’t settle in immediately, the hypothetical cogs and gears of your head turning in slow motion. Your heart is pounding so violently that you hear it in your ears, your face erupting into a bright red. Humiliation, indignation, and finally, loathing take turns dominating your mind. He’s always had the best of times playing with you at your own expense, poking and prodding to see what reactions he can get. There’s a knee jerk reaction to want to slap him, anything to let out these overflowing feelings. Knowing that getting bothered is what he finds the most pleasure in, you’re further motivated to gain control over yourself.
A deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You continue repeating these steps, biting your tongue to the point it stings. Dabi rests his head on his fist, watching you calm yourself down through lidded eyes. You really do get yourself worked up so easily, it’s endearing. He wants to pinch your cheeks and tease you more, but is feeling generous enough to give you this time to gather yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to play with you later, occupying himself with this cute sight placates him for the time being. When you finally reopen your eyes, you’re met with the deplorable sight of Dabi’s crooked grin.
“Can we just… go home? Please?” You hate how weak your voice sounds. You hate everything about this situation, about the life that you’ve been forced into living. How you have to adapt to unspoken rules, subjected to twists and turns that never let you lower your guard. Most of all, you hate the person who has done this to you. His touch, his scent, his voice, all of it. You want nothing more than to scream at him at the top of your lengths, ripping that satisfied looking off his flesh and ridding yourself of this turmoil once and for all.
“Hm? Already? I thought you were hoping to get some dinner out tonight.” Dabi keeps up an air of nonchalance, likely wanting to hear you repeat yourself. Not willing to give in outright, you instead bunch up the fabric of his jacket with your hand.
“Dabi…”
It’s a low plea. You know you’ve gotten your point across ages ago, but he’s deriving too much pleasure from seeing how you squirm. The painful utterance serves you well, earning the slightest bit of reprieve as he gets up. On shaky legs, you follow after him, head downcast. Fixating on the tops of your shoes, you wonder if distracting yourself might do anything to ease your tormented soul. The events of the day have left you thoroughly exhausting, and nothing sounds better to you than sleeping for as long as he’ll allow you.
“Alright, alright. Let’s head on back,” he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. No longer having strength to muster up in retaliation, you let him do as he pleases, still fighting down sniffles. “Don’t bother your pretty little head about this.”
You don’t bother honoring him with a reaction.
Dabi takes a final glance over his shoulder, spotting the pesky man from before, who is still waiting against a wall. He takes a mental picture of the notable features, lips settling into a deep frown. How troublesome. Before you notice anything, he picks up his pace, continuing the walk back to his apartment. Ideas and resentment swirl within his mind like a tornado, pent up frustration begging to be released.
All in due time, he thinks.
#Dabi#dabi my hero academia#dabi headcanons#dabi imagine#dabi x reader#yandere dabi#yandere dabi imagines#yandere dabi imagine#yandere dabi x reader#my hero academia#my hero academia imagine#yandere my hero academia#bnha#bnha imagine#yandere bnha#bnha x reader#bnha imagines#yandere#yandere x reader#my stuff#commissions
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-‘๑’- excerpt 01
彡 From ‟ born from stone, she was a flower in the night ”.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He can still clearly recall her features and accurately retell them, remembering even to the slightest details like the scar she had on her thigh, obtained through a nasty scuffle with the other gods. She donned a beautiful white gown with golden cranes embroidered in the silk, golden flowers lining the edges and sleeves. On her head would lie a stunning glaze lily, its colors always so vivid and alive despite being removed from its soil.
Her silky white hair was kept up by a delicate golden pin that bore the design of a majestic dragon, accompanied by the many gold accessories that lay in her hair like petals from a cherry tree. Everytime she opened her eyes would be comparable to seeing the ocean, so carefree and livid, full of new things to explore and see. But her eyes had always carried sadness within them, and back then, he had been too young to understand.
Or perhaps he was too naïve instead.
She had the ability to glance into the future, and while she didn't have the strength and willpower of Morax, she would do everything she can to prevent a tragic end, even as to go as far as to beg another god for help. Yet she couldn't prevent the most tragic end of all.
Her own demise.
He can still remember it. Remember everything that happened. Remember the day he had lost her to the corruption.
It wasn't a sudden thing - and he wished that it had been instead, hoped that it would have been short termed. The corruption turned those infected into monsters, beings with no mind nor no emotion. They harbored the cruelest, most ruthless creatures there ever existed, infecting their once pure minds like a plague. It wasn't contagious, as if the virus had a mind of its own, always going for something far stronger than its current host.
It was a parasite.
A parasite that could infect the Gods, but it had been their job to seal away those bad spirits that had been exposed to it. Or even seal the parasite entirely, of which Morax had done and has continued till this day.
He still remembers the day when she had come to him, a gentle smile on her face as they embraced. As they pulled away, he could see the bittersweetness in her clear blue eyes with a strange sense of forewarning. But she didn't warn him of anything, rather, she had told him to promise her something.
"If I ever do get corrupted, please have mercy on my soul and kill me."
He had been shocked to hear that. Completely shocked to the bone.
"I will protect you. I won't let you get infected." He had protested, but all she did was shake her head. Those eyes bore the pain of experience - but of what, he didn't know.
"Please, Morax. It would do us no good if I live as a corrupt being." She continued to plead, her voice shaky.
Not wanting to continue on such an unbearable topic any further, all he could do was nod and promise her her wish. Unknowingly, he had promised her a promise that he'd regret for the rest of his life, for he only thought that the corruption would never reach her soul.
He was wrong to think she would be spared from such a plague.
Decades passed smoothly with no obstacle, until that fateful day came knocking at his door.
It was the middle of the night, where the moon was at its highest, that he heard a loud cry for help in the valleys of Liyue. He had none to do, and decided to investigate. The plea of a commoner that had wandered into the Adepti's territory, he had thought naïvely, but he hadn't expected it to be the plea of a human for a god to save another.
There she lay, shadowed in darkness, cloaked in a black that wasn't her own. It stained her clothes, spread across her body like a plague, corrupting her body and soul with every passing second, the darkness consuming her whole. Only then he truly felt fear - the fear of loss.
How she had been infected, he did not know. But he knew something. He had to help.
He had rushed to her aid, his arms embracing her body as she writhed in his grasp, the darkness gnawing at her skin and bones. Yet her eyes, her eyes still kept the same crystal blue that had always met his with such fondness. Though he knows, he knows that same pureness wouldn't last.
"You promised me something, Morax." She had said to him in his arms, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Despite that, her gaze was solid and strong, her eyes piercing through his own with such intensity. He can recall, he knows what she's referring to, but he cannot bear to think of it.
"Guizhong… please, I cannot-" He had begun, but quickly fell short of his words when he couldn't find anything to say. Nothing but worry clouded his eyes, and he found himself backed into a corner for the very first time. He'd do something - anything - but he well knew that once the corruption had its firm hold on someone, it would not let go.
If she had told him before, showed him her corrupted wounds…
Tears stung his eyes like needles.
"It would be better. For all of us." Her hand rose to caress his cheek, a gentle smile spreading across her features. Her smile was a smile like none other, full of warmth and love for him. It was genuine, real… real. But it was short-lived for she succumbed to a fit of messy coughs right after, dark red mixed with hideous shades of purple splattering onto the ground below them.
He couldn't move. Couldn't think.
"I can't let you go… not like this." Was all he could muster, teeth gritting in regret as he felt her body grow colder. He had desperately cast a sealing spell in hopes of stopping the parasite or perhaps even seal it entirely, but the magic in his palm faded whenever he tried.
She was too far infected to cure, but he didn't let himself come to that conclusion.
"There has to be some way. There has to be." His voice cracked with heartbreak as he continued to try everything he could think of, going so far as to cast the most complicated spells at the risk of his own strength. Everything failed, and all Guizhong could do was look on silently as his efforts took no root.
"It won't be long, Morax." Her voice became raspy, rough from the coughs that erupted from her chest. He could hear her lungs wheeze in effort everytime she spoke, and he could feel his heart shatter all the more. The corruption had begun making its way over to her face, infecting her pale cheeks with a dark shade of devilish purple.
"Guizhong, please, stay with me." His own voice had turned into a meek one, like a child going to their parents after a horrible nightmare. He lay his hand on her chest and rested his head on hers, his eyes shut tight with heartache. Her hand gently caressed over his, their slim fingers intertwining.
"When I turn, I will no longer be Guizhong." She had whispered in such a quiet voice, her once blue eyes heavy with tiredness. The pain fizzled in her body like electricity, and she found herself losing her feelings in her limbs. All she could do was lift her free hand slowly, up to caress Morax's scarred cheek.
"I know that." He'd murmured, biting back his tears, hand squeezing hers with such desperation. He couldn't cry now. He didn't want her last image of him to be one of tears.
"Then you of all people, should know what must be done."
He could feel his nose turn sour. And he felt something cold roll down his cheeks. He knows what it is, feels what it is, but he doesn't hold back - the emotional pain was like a wave, crashing onto him with such force and sheer impact.
"But you're still you. Please, Guizhong. Stay with me." He pleads, his heart cracking with heartache. Every part of him was pitiful, and he was supposed to be a god of stone. Yet he was shattering, breaking into a million pieces before a Goddess that had failed her own people.
"Time is not on our side, Morax." She'd urged him once more, her own hand squeezing his. She smiled sadly, leaning closer into his chest. Tears soaked into his robe, and he realised that it wasn't just his own. "Always remember that I will be by your side, no matter what happens… even after my mortal vessel expires."
She gave him the brightest smile as she spoke, and he burned that smile into his brain for he knew it would be her last.
As she raised her head once more, her eyes flickered open with an aura of hostility, an unreadable look on her face. Her eyes were no longer the crystal blues they once were - now they harbored nothing but the effects of the corruption. They were purple, black slitted, and there was nothing but hatred and anger that flared within like a wildfire.
It was then Morax knew for good that she was gone.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this post is just to kick start things. this is but a small excerpt of the 4k words i wrote while sleep deprived :D
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ anyway, hope you enjoyed, if you’d want to read the entire thing, link is here ✦ !
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin writing#fanfic#genshin fanfic#zhongli#guizhong#zhongli x guizhong#guili#reminisence#morax#angst#genshin angst
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chapter 20
Fake Making-It
Social Media AU
previous chapter
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Jens opens the door either a moment too soon or a moment too late. Sander and Lucas are already standing outside, as he’d thought, and are deep in conversation. Jens stands frozen in the doorway and waits for them to notice him. In that time, he takes in Lucas’s frown and Sander’s comforting hand on his shoulder. Lucas had been speaking before Jens opened the door, then he cut himself off abruptly.
Now they’re both staring at him. Silent.
Jens takes in the tension laced through Lucas and the frustration obvious in his face and feels nerves bubble up in him. He thought he had come prepared today, but now he’s doubting himself. He swallows as Lucas meets his eyes, but miraculously manages not to look away. They’re sort of friends, now, right? They’ve come a long way since their first meeting, at least. He doesn’t have to be so anxious. One simple look from Lucas should not tear his stomach to shreds.
It’s a little nerve-wracking, however, when Lucas slips away from Sander’s hand and brushes past Jens without a word.
Jens twists his head to look after him for a moment, then turns back to Sander and tries not to appear too awkward or concerned. “Everything okay?” he carefully asks.
Sander is still looking after Lucas, seeming pained, and then he looks at Jens and blinks. “Yeah, of course,” he smiles. “Sorry, we’re a little late.”
Nothing about this is very convincing. Jens wouldn’t consider himself a people expert, and he’s especially not overly familiar with Sander, but even he can tell that his smile is a little forced and his body strung a little too tight. He doesn’t think they were fighting. It didn’t even really seem like they were arguing.
But there’s definitely a shared tension between them. Jens doesn’t understand why this makes him simultaneously curious and more anxious.
“You’re fine,” he says, stepping back and beckoning Sander in, shutting the door behind him.
They’re using the front room in Jens’s apartment as a studio space. He hadn’t thought much ahead before offering it up, but Sander had barely paid attention when he first showed up and gave Jens no reason to fret. He hadn’t really cared what Sander would think either way.
He may have taken a little extra care this morning. (Or in the last hour, after waking up late and proceeding to rush around like a mad man.) Robbe may have raised his brows at him in teasing surprise when he showed up, and it may have made Jens feel even more silly for being so nervous.
But no matter how friendly their texts seem to have gotten, Lucas is still very intimidating.
Jens has no idea how they’re supposed to interact in person, and it doesn’t help that Lucas already seems to be in a rather dull mood. He isn’t sure why he expects Sander to continue to try to do something about it. Instead the blond lingers back with him as Lucas greets Robbe, smiling now as Robbe offers him a bro-handshake. Jens lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding at the sight, feeling a smile of his own grow as Robbe immediately strikes up a friendly conversation with the other man.
It’s not that he’d been nervous about Robbe, but well, he imagines that it isn’t easy. He doesn’t know how Robbe does it.
Lucas is already shrugging his bag off his shoulder and pulling out his sketchbook and his camera. Jens feels anticipation bubble in the pit of his stomach.
“Hey,” he greets, once they’re close enough, and to his delight, Lucas glances up and offers him something like a smile. “Everything good?”
Robbe nods as Lucas says, “Yep. Or, well, depends. What’s the plan?”
He looks to Jens for direction, and Jens forces himself not to stutter, instead simply turning to Robbe for help.
“Uh, well,” Robbe thinks, glancing between them all before finally settling on Sander. Jens hopes he’s the only one who notices how Robbe’s cheeks flush. “You don’t urgently need to work with Jens today, do you?”
Sander blinks at him, then quickly shakes his head.
“Okay, well I filmed a little bit of your shoot with Jens the other day, and I’ve been thinking I could edit it into like a promo to sort of announce things before we release the actual pics? But I was hoping I could maybe get your opinion on it first.”
“That’s a really cool idea,” Sander says, brightening. The smile on his face appears much more genuine than before. Jens supposes that’s what a passion can do. He hopes it’ll have the same effect on Lucas.
Robbe looks to Lucas and then to him, smiling as well. “That’s if you guys are happy enough to work this out yourselves? I’m sure Lucas knows what he’s doing, and I mean we’ll just be here if you want another opinion on anything.”
Jens raises his brows as Lucas glances at him.
Lucas offers Robbe a nod and a smile. “Sounds good.”
Jens notes that he doesn’t speak to or even glance at Sander as Robbe guides him to the small table in the corner while Jens and Lucas remain at the island. Jens hesitantly takes a seat, then gestures for Lucas to do the same, trying to remind himself to be both chill and professional. He’s usually able to manage it at meetings. Maybe it’s being in his home that makes it feel a little more personal.
“Hi,” he repeats, watching Lucas’s concentrated frown as he skims through his sketchbook.
Lucas looks up at him and seems, again, vaguely amused. “Hi.” He skims his gaze over Jens, tilting his head curiously. “Are you always this nervous?”
No, Jens thinks. Just with you.
“Sometimes,” he says.
Lucas huffs, smiling now as he looks back down. “Don’t be. I’m the one preparing to be criticised this time.”
“You were very intimidating last time we spoke.”
“Because I told you to watch it?” Lucas raises a brow at him.
Jens blanks, then remembers their text conversation from yesterday and flushes. “No, I mean, the last time we actually spoke. At the first meeting.”
“Ah.” Lucas nods. “In person. That usually makes me less intimidating.”
“Why?” Jens’s brow furrows.
Lucas raises his brows again and gestures at himself. Jens takes him in. His curls are as artfully styled as ever, falling over his forehead in messy waves, and below that his eyes are a stunning blue. He’s wearing another loose shirt, this time black with a light floral pattern. Jens can see the collar of a tee poking out underneath. Along with that, Lucas is wearing skin-tight jeans and shiny black boots along with his usual assortment of jewelry, rings adorning his fingers and silver bracelet glinting from his wrist. Jens wonders if any of them are gifts from Sander.
“I don’t get it,” Jens says. He means it. Lucas is beautiful. He looks like the true model here. It’s part of what intimidates Jens so much.
Lucas wiggles his fingers at him, showing off dark purple nails, then flexes a skinny arm. “Very intimidating, I imagine.”
Jens frowns. “You don’t need to be brawny to be intimidating. Honestly, I think I’m probably more intimidated by pretty people. Especially when they’re confident.”
Lucas stares at him for a minute, and Jens must imagine the flush on his cheeks, because then he snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, you basically just described yourself.”
Jens grins in surprise, but before he can say anything else, Lucas is spinning his sketchbook around and shoving it towards him, then digging back into his bag. Jens drags his gaze away and down to the paper in front of him. It’s littered in designs, different emblems and patterns interlocking across the double page. There are a few combinations of his initials, which he supposes also work well with a self-titled album. As much as Jens felt creative with words in the songwriting process, naming the songs and especially the album had been a frustratingly difficult task, so much so that he’d eventually just settled on JENS.
Robbe has been very skeptical, but Jens’s label seemed to think it was a good choice, and that was good enough for him. It wasn’t about the names or the titles, anyway.
Lucas seems to have also recognised this, and there are some heavy references to the actual music in some of the sketches. Lucas has sprinkled waves and rain and other forms of water throughout some of the designs, or focused on them entirely. Along with that are cages and chains, locks and keys, and beautiful wings.
Jens instantly falls in love with all of them, and then turns the page only to find more. He lets out a long breath. “How much time did this take you?”
He looks up in time to see Lucas shrug. He’s now staring down at an iPad. “Not that long. I might’ve stayed up a little longer than I should have, though.” He shrugs again, and now Jens believes the flush crawling up his neck has to be real. “The album gave me a lot of ideas.”
Jens nods. He hovers his fingers over some of the sketches, leaning down to admire them in closer detail.
Lucas makes a small sound of triumph, and then slides the iPad on top of the sketchbook. “I did a few out then on some rough clothing sketches, just to get an idea what they’d look like brought to life and put together. This doesn’t take that long, so if there’s any ideas you’d like me to group or something we could spend a while messing around with that. Or as long as you tell me, I can do it when I go home.”
“Everything is amazing.” Jens shakes his head, awed. He blows out another breath and laughs slightly as he looks up at Lucas. “I don’t know how you expect me to choose anything. None of these should be left out. Fuck, this one’s amazing.” He taps his finger on a sketch of drooped wings encased in a golden birdcage. He takes the iPad and lets Lucas draw the sketchbook back towards himself to examine, humming quietly in agreement.
He knew Lucas was talented. He’d gone after him for that exact reason. But seeing how quickly he’s managed to create all of this, how easily he’d brought the images in Jens’s words to life—he’s in awe. As well as that, he’s managed to implement the designs onto hoodies and t-shirts and sweatpants and hats and everything in between. Excitement floods through Jens at the prospect of getting to wear one himself, never mind seeing such items on anyone else. He smiles secretly to himself as he imagines Lucas donning a sweatshirt with his initials embroidered on the chest.
He doubts Lucas would ever sacrifice his beloved reputation to such an extent, or like Jens that much in the first place, but he’s allowed to dream.
“Yeah, I’m never going to be able to choose. I’m so sorry for making this more difficult but you’re just—this is just too good.” Jens shakes his head, still scrolling through the different images, and Lucas huffs.
“I didn’t expect you to be such a suck-up,” Lucas teases.
Jens looks up at him, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. Then he lets his expression turn earnest and shrugs. “I’m telling the truth, like I hope you did with me.” He’d been relieved, and pleased, when Lucas had given such a kind review of his album yesterday. It was almost hard to believe. He’d instantly gone and listened to the third and last songs again, the ones Lucas had said were his favourite, and had a smile on his face for the rest of the day.
Lucas’s smile slips now, and some of Jens’s nerves come back. Lucas clears his throat and snaps his sketchbook closed, setting it aside so he can pull his camera towards him. “We can ask Robbe for his opinion, later? It might help. Even if you’re just able to rule things out together.”
Jens suddenly remembers his best friend only a few feet away, and Lucas’s boyfriend with him, and quickly glances over his shoulder. He’s been doing well, every other day, at keeping an eye on them. He knows how easily Robbe could get hurt or upset, no matter how much he protests that he’s getting over his crush perfectly fine. Jens knows it’s far from the truth, both because he knows the full capacity of Robbe’s feelings and because it must be ten times harder to get over someone you see every day. He knows Robbe avoids contacting Sander now outside of work as much as he can. He knows it isn’t easy, and he’s been doing his best to provide a comforting buffer.
Now, though, he turns around just in time for Robbe to start giggling as Sander talks animatedly. Robbe is staring at his laptop screen instead of Sander, and his cheeks are flushed, but he’s smiling wide. Not upset, not yet, but quite possibly digging himself into a hole. Sander, at least, appears oblivious, happy and excited as he makes a dozen hand gestures and leans farther across the table to get a better look.
“Yeah, we’ll do that when they’re done,” he agrees, shooting a smile back at Lucas.
Lucas is watching Robbe and Sander, too, the furrow back between his brows. Jens remembers the sour mood that he’d arrived in, the tension between him and Sander, and resists asking if everything is okay. He’s told Robbe enough times, when he was mourning over Sander, that it’s none of their business. He shouldn’t be the one to butt in now.
He gently hands Lucas’s iPad back to him instead, then raises his brows. “Meanwhile, do you want a snack? Or something to drink?”
Lucas smiles at him. “Oh, he remembers to be a good host.”
Jens pulls a face at him. His heart flutters when Lucas actually laughs in response. “Five seconds and I retract my offer,” he threatens.
“Water would be nice, maybe,” Lucas acquiesces instantly. “And if you have any chocolate, I won’t say no.”
“Huh, sweet tooth. Noted.” Jens winks at him, pushing to his feet and glancing back at the other two co-workers. “Sander, can I get you anything?”
Sander quickly looks at him and shakes his head, and his eyes slide on over to Lucas and he tries for a smile. Lucas either truly misses it or pretends not to notice.
Jens bites down his questions once more. “Robbe?” He waits for his friend to shake his head and then goes to fetch water and chocolate for Lucas. A few minutes later, when Lucas has eaten half of the biscuits on the plate Jens had left out and is taking a sip of his water, Jens decides on a safer line of interrogation. “So, how many times did you actually end up listening to the album?”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “Those two times. And then the first few songs again because Sander joined me and he’d missed those.” Lucas pauses, blinking at Jens with wide eyes. “I hope that’s okay.”
Jens waves him off. “Yeah, obviously. I don’t expect you to keep anything from Sander, especially when you share a room.” He raises a brow. Lucas doesn’t react. “Besides, you both signed the contracts. Sander’s in our trust, too.”
“Okay,” Lucas nods, smiling slightly again. Jens’s chest warms. “That’s good, then.”
Jens smiles back at him, and they sit in silence for a moment, considering each other. Jens realises Lucas’s attention isn’t making him as anxious anymore. Their texting relationship seems to have actually carried over into real life, and he’s relieved.
Lucas takes another sip of his water and then grabs his camera again. “How do you feel about doing a practice shoot? I might even be able to mess around and edit some of the designs onto you then. Plus it’ll be a lot easier when the time comes if I’m already familiar with you and your angles and the lighting and everything.” Lucas waves a hand.
Jens bites down his smile and nods in acceptance. “Okay, sure. Just tell me where you want me.”
It turns out his nerves aren’t entirely gone. It’s different, when he’s sitting on a stool and Lucas is focusing entirely on how he looks. It’s different when there’s a camera pointed at him and Lucas is the one behind it. He doesn’t want to mess up. He doesn’t want to frustrate Lucas, and he doesn’t want to look like an idiot.
It turns out this makes the whole process more difficult.
“Are you always this tense?” Lucas asks, vaguely concerned, and Jens’s shoulders tense further. Lucas sighs. “Don’t act so much like you’re posing. Just, do whatever feels comfortable.”
Jens wriggles on the stool. He draws a leg up. Puts it back down again. He leans forward to rest his arms on his knees and almost falls off the stool, which is too high for that position to work. He leans back and crosses his ankles, tucking his hands in his pockets.
Lucas snaps a photo, then considers it with a frown. He examines Jens again. “Maybe spread your legs?” He suggests.
Jens instantly raises his brows and smirks slightly, just to see Lucas rolls his eyes and set an unimpressed hand on his hip. Jens relents and spreads his legs, planting his feet and letting his hands dangle between his knees.
Lucas takes another photo and stares at it for a moment. Then he says, “How about we go outside?”
Jens blinks at him. “Why?”
“Because if you’re just walking around, not posing, I might get something more natural. I can tell you’re not feeling this.”
Lucas isn’t exactly wrong. The only thing Jens is feeling right now is sick. He’s twitchy and his stomach keeps rolling and Lucas’s gaze is too intense. He can’t sit still. Maybe it will help if he doesn’t have to.
“You’re the expert,” he says. “I can go wherever you want me.”
Lucas shakes his head. “No. Wherever you want. Somewhere you’re a little more in your element.”
Jens thinks, then nods. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Lucas grins, letting his camera settle around his neck. He moves back to the island and collects the coat he’d abandoned there, the same denim jacket with the fluffy collar he’d worn the first time they’d met. He slides his arms into the sleeves and turns to the other two men in the flat, clicking his fingers once to get their attention. “We’re going out to take some photos. Do you two wanna come with?”
Jens doesn’t know if he wants them to. The possibility of being alone with Lucas is terrifying and thrilling all at once. He decides this thought in itself is enough to make up his mind. He shoots a panicked, pleading look at Robbe, but Robbe is already looking at Lucas and nodding his head. He doesn’t seem to notice Sander’s frown.
“Yeah, sure,” Robbe agrees, and Jens lets out a breath of relief. He supposes his friend likely doesn’t want to be left here alone with Sander, either. “Where are we going?”
“Wherever Jens wants.” Lucas fiddles with his camera for a moment. “He needs to chill.”
Robbe raises his brows as Sander blinks. There’s a hint of a laugh in Robbe’s tone. “Jens needs to chill?”
“He’s always been chill with me,” Sander agrees, confused.
Lucas looks up to blink at them, then at Jens, amused. “Do I scare you that much?”
Jens flushes and pointedly ignores Robbe’s giggle. “No. I’m just, stressed. We’re releasing the first music video and announcing the album in two weeks and I’m very aware of all the things that could go wrong and how shitty I’ll probably feel.”
That shuts them up fairly quickly. Sander simply offers a sympathetic smile and Lucas’s expression softens as he seems to search for something to say. It’s Robbe, however, who raises to his feet and grabs Jens by the shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. “You won’t. It’ll be amazing, and we’re going to spend the entire day celebrating. Right now, Lucas is right. We should go out and have fun.”
“You definitely need it,” Lucas agrees, tilting his head towards the door, brows raised.
“Come on.” Robbe slaps his shoulder. “Skate park? It’s been a long time.”
Jens sucks in a breath, then slowly lets it out as he nods. They spend a moment collecting coats, keys, and boards, and then Jens ushers them all out and locks the door behind them. Robbe leads the way outside and down the sidewalk, and Jens half hopes Lucas will instantly rope him into conversation and start giving orders. Instead Sander slips an arm over Lucas’s shoulders and speaks to him quietly, and after a moment Lucas is nodding and leaning into his side.
Jens looks away and catches Robbe’s gaze, then falls into step alongside his best friend, bumping his shoulder. “Okay?” he asks quietly.
Robbe gives him a tight smile and a nod and Jens ruffles his hair.
The skatepark is relatively empty, but the people who are there continuously sneak glances at the group, whispering and grinning between themselves. Jens sees a guy pointing his phone at them. This isn’t entirely unusual, but it doesn’t help him destress.
“Just ignore them,” Robbe reminds him. “But be aware I’m gonna post a few stories because people are starting to ask if you’ve died.”
Jens rolls his eyes, but he does his best to listen. He looks to Lucas first, who merely waves his hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture. He realises soon that it does help. It’s been a while since he’s skated, but it still loosens him up like it used to, still gets his blood rushing and allows him a few moments of freedom. He flips off Robbe’s phone and winks at Lucas’s camera and doesn’t really allow himself to think about either, or the way Sander is watching over Lucas’s shoulder and occasionally directing him, both of them smiling and bickering now.
He finally rejoins them and plops himself down on top of the half pipe, where Lucas immediately comes to kick at his thigh. “Weird question, but can I have a go?”
Jens blinks up at him, noticing how he’s rocking on his heels with barely constrained energy, and raises his brows. “Skating?”
“Yeah?” Lucas raises his eyebrows back. “Is that a no?”
“Uh, no, go for it. I mean, if you can.”
Lucas huffs, carefully setting his camera and his jacket on the ground next to Jens before picking up his board. He plants it at the top of the ramp, a foot balancing it on the edge, and cocks an eyebrow at Jens again before he’s racing down the ramp with a wave.
Jens stares after him, astonished, as he navigates the park on Jens’s board with ease. He barely notices Robbe and Sander sitting down with him until Sander wolf-whistles and Lucas flips him off as he passes. Jens feels something thrum in his stomach as he watches Lucas and can’t quite figure out what it is.
When Lucas finally comes to a stop below them, flicking his hair off his forehead, Jens gives an exaggerated clap. Lucas simply grins up at him, eyes considering as he holds the board up for Jens to take, then requests, “Pass me my camera?”
Jens does so without question, and Lucas’s lips curl as he looks up at him and then snaps a photo. “I just have to capture the utter shock and awe on your face right now.”
Jens sets a hand on his thigh and stares down at him, unimpressed, but his brow furrows slightly as the camera goes off again.
Lucas takes it away from his face and examines the image he’d taken, pursing his lips slightly. “Not bad. Who knew you could actually be sort of photogenic.”
Jens pulls a face at him as he grins and draws himself up next to Sander, who immediately leans in to look at the photos he’s taken. Lucas doesn’t hesitate to lean towards him, this time, and then he’s laughing at whatever Sander says, turning towards him with a dazzling smile Jens hasn’t seen yet. Their faces are so close they could kiss.
Robbe seems to have the same thought and looks away, showing Jens his hurt expression for an instant before focusing steadily out at the skatepark, his pinched lips the only visible sign of jealousy.
Jens has to look away, too, and finds himself mimicking the expression. It’s only then that he recognises the heavy feeling in his own stomach as the same emotion. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before. Jealousy has never been foreign to him.
He darts another glance at Lucas, in shock and slowly expanding terror, and notes how his heart flutters and then pinches as he throws his head back and laughs and Sander reaches out and fixes his hair for him.
Oh, fuck.
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