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littlemisslipbalm · 3 years

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“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe.

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

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theresa-nam-nam-me · 3 years

Text

| hybrid seokjin | true love

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Requested?: yes

Sugar glider Hybrid jin x reader

Summary → owners and their hybrids, a magical story of the two falling in love at first sight but jin knew better then anyone that this wasn't the case. Meeting you though, was nothing but a pure miracle.

Warnings: none

"Y/n!" Your friend shouted for you "yes misa?" You said trying to swallow your salad "I and jisoo are going to Italy next week" she said excitedly showing you her plane tickets. "That's great!" You smiled "and i, kind of need a favor" she dragged her words "i was wondering if you could look after jin for a few days, while I'm in Italy." You had forgotten she had that sugar glider hybrid she hadn't talk about him much "you aren't bringing him along with you?" You asked confused "uh, no i don't want him to ruin the mood, so will you please!" She begged clasping her hands together. You knew he was a hybrid but he was also a grown man, couldn't he take care of himself? "Fine" you sighed

The week passed too quickly and now you were standing outside misas door with a small suitcase in hand. "Y/n! Come in" she gestured you inside. "Good evening misa" you greeted, looking forward was rather a tall hybrid with small ears, a long tail that match the soft brown of his hair, and plump red lips. "Good evening jin" you smiled taking off your coat "good evening Miss. L/n," he said "oh please call me y/n" he smiled and nodded "ill show you to your room," misa said dragging you alongside her. "Here you go" she opened the door. The room was just a plane guest room with a bed, small tv, and a few plants.

"Well ill see you in a few days, take care!" Misa waved to you before sprinting out the door. After unpacking your things you left your room and a great creamy smell hit you. You followed it into the kitchen seeing jin make an alfredo sauce. "What is that?" You asked "oh, it's nokey" (Italian dish) "it smells amazing" you complemented making him smile "thank you, would you like some?" He asked, you nodded your head happily. Seokjin placed the bowls on the table and pulled out a seat for you. "Thank you jin" you said before sitting down.

Jin picked up his fork blowing away the steam making his cheeks puff up. "Do you like it?" He asked, tail slightly swinging behind him "yes, it's delicious" you said stuffing your face with more "I thought I'd be making dinner for you though" you commented. He could clearly cook very well without issue so you didn't see why he needed to be babysat. After dinner you decided to take a shower before bed. getting out you wrapped a towel around you, when you opened the door you were met with jins now flustered face “oj jin, can i help you?” you questioned, he shook his head “i was wondering if you would like to watch a movie” he asked “sorry jin maybe tomorrow, i'm really tired right now”

you felt bad seeing jins smile drop and silently moving out of the way “goodnight jin” you smiled making his small ears perk up again “goodnight y/n'' it took you a few minutes to adjust but you slowly started to drift off with heavy eyelids and the sounds of rain hitting the roof. you were barely coneses when you felt the other side of the bed dip. “hello” you grumbled out looking through halfly opened lids. “sorry i just don't like storms...may i stay here” you nodded not thinking much of it until you felt him cuddle into you. his head hid in your neck, you let out a soft sigh before combing your hands through his hair.

The sun shines through the window and you hid under the cover but the sudden smell of pancakes slowly pulled you out of bed leading you to the kitchen “Jin?” You called seeing him flip pancakes over the stove “good morning y/n” he greeted you “please take a seat in almost done with breakfast” you nodded seating yourself at the table watching him flip a few more pancakes before placing them on a plate and setting it in front of you. “ thank you seokjin” he smiled before digging into his plate. You whipped you mouth with a cloth before picking up your plate and washing it “would you like to watch a movie today before I go?”

“Yes, do you like Avengers?” he asked. You nodded after seokjin finished his plate he quickly washed up before sitting on the soft Couch turning on the tv. “Sit with me” he pulled you next to him as you held a bowl of popcorn. You had seen the movie plenty of times before so it was no surprise when you started drifting off to a soft nap and slowly leaning against seokjins shoulder. “Im back!” a loud voice interrupted your peaceful slumber making you flinch away from jin as if being caught doing something wrong. You quickly regained yourself standing up straight “misa! How was your trip?” you asked moving into a hug “amazing, you should have seen it, such a beautiful country!” she smiled greatly. “How was jin?” she asked looking over at him, her voice toning down from her energetic energy. “Oh, he's fine, he is a grown man after all” she only mumbled an “i guess” to your comment before changing the subject.

After a few more minutes of catching up, you packed your stuff and headed to the door “y/n” jins voice called behind you, when you turned your head jin held out his hands holding out a small box, you gentle took it from his hold “what is it?” you asked “some homemade chocolates...a thank you for visiting” he smiled “thank you jin” he nodded opening the door for you. “Goodbye jin” you waved goodbye to each other.

His smile feel as he closed behind you, he felt his heart suddenly ache as he walked deeper into the house. “Can y/n come for dinner?” Jin asked sering misa started to unpack, she just shot him a glare to leave her alone. That evening when dinner rolled around he sat in silence as misa stared at her phone paying no mind to him,you seemed to have plagued jins mind, he missed your conpany at the table and recalled the conversation you had together. He began to realize how lonely he truly was and how you weren't just in his head but filled his heart with a warm sensation.

That night he felt himself twisting and turning in bed, he was unable to sleep. The previous night cuddled up to you felt like such bliss that tonight couldn't satisfy him. He reluctantly threw his covers off and touched his feet to cold hardwood floors. He tiptoed into the living room seeing misa to occupied with what was on tv to notice him slipping by. He made his way to the door, slowly turning the nob before slipping out. He followed the smell of rosemary and soon ended up in front of a small apartment door. He honestly hadn't thought what hed do when he got to this stage but he knew it was to late to turn back now.

He slowly rose his hand knocking it against the door. “Hello” you peaked your head out from behind the door in your PJs and messy hair. “Hi y/n” jin greeted “oh seokjin, it's late is misa here?” you asked confusion. “No it's just me, I just wanted to see you and maybe stay a while,” he said awkwardly, not wanting to jump on you with the idea of mates just yet. “Uh sure,” you opened up the door making way for him. “What brings you here?” you asked closing the door “i thought we could hang out” you raised a brow looking up at the clock, “at 1 am?” he nodded his head. “We could finish our movie” he smiled hoping to lighten the mood. You nodded your head before making your way to the couch together.

-time skip (the next morning)-

The sun shined in between the curtains, you pushed your blanket of touching your feet to the cold hardwood before making your way into the kitchen. You could see jins sleeping figure on the couch, he stayed the night after falling asleep during the movie. You turned around to make breakfast. “Y/n?” seokjins mumbly voiced called out. “Good morning jin, I'm making breakfast if you'd like to take a seat” jin stood from the couch making his way to the dining room padding down his messy hair. You set his plate down in front of him and began to eat. “You never told me why you came over last night” jin nearly choked at your comment. “Oh well, you see there's this thing called a mate and-” the doorbell rang cutting off jins sentence.

You opened the door to see misa with a very unpleasant look on her face “misa you must be looking for jin-” you were loudly cut of by her yelling “so he is here!” she pushed past you “who gave you permission to leave last night?!” she screamed at him “it's really no big deal misa” you tried to rationalize. “I wanted to see y/n but you wouldn't listen!” jin yelled back slamming his hand on the table. “And this is the type of stunt you pull! You can't listen to you lucky if you ever see her again!” misa spat balling her first “You can't! Y/ns my mate!” he screamed out. There was a moment of f silence before misa gave a huff and snatched jin by the collar of his shirt in an attempt to drag him out the house. jin harshly pulled back riping his shirt. “Im staying with y/n!”he screamed pulling you in front of him.

“Please y/n will you keep me?” his eyes turned puppy looking at you. “But mias your owner not me” he sighed “but your my mate, like a soulmate!” he begged “i-i don't know jin misa can provide better-” “i don't care I want you y/n!” he said nudgeing his head into your shoulder. You looked back at misa who gave you a nasty glare but then back at jin who could break into tears at any moment “ill keep him” you said. Misas eyes widened before returning to a glare “fine!! but don't even think of coming back to get your stuff!” she yelled walking out slamming the door behind her.

Your mind was blank at what had just happened but you were brought back to reality by jin snuggling his face into your neck. “Thank you y/n this is all I've ever wanted” a sense of relief washed over you as you wrapped your arms around him, you didn't know what could become of this but you are willing to accept whatever it may be.

#bts hybrid #hybrid bts #bts hybrid x reader #Hybrid bts x reader #hybrid jin #hybrid jin x reader #jin x reader #bts imagination #bts scenarios #kim seokjin

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hazzasgayvodka · 3 years

Text

Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger.

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

#harry styles #harry #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #one direction smut #harry smut #harry styles oneshot #daddy!harry #dom!harry #sub!y/n

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falconcoast · 3 years

Text

growth | kaeya x reader

part one of the human condition; the weight of the world.

kaeya x gn!reader

upholding your family’s legacy is the reason you overwork yourself into your grave. kaeya only wishes that you see that you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, and are good as is.

masterlist!

author’s note; i had a rough competition week, so this was a vent piece. honestly was a fun work to write :D next up will be dainsleif!

the gunnhildrs only bred excellence.

this, from a young age, you knew.

when you were 10, you watched as jean absolutely demolished the training dummy. she wasn’t much older than you; the ripe age of 13. each of her moves were precise, knocking down each of the training dummies with precision and ease. her excellence was a pursuit to please your mother’s rigorous training program. unlike the few memories of your father, she was intensive on the hopes of the both of you becoming a knight. your father, as little as you knew about him, wanted the exact opposite. so, decidedly, you followed your mother’s wishes, just as jean did.

your mother sat on the bench next to you, blue eyes sharp and analytical and calling out to critique her form. to be honest, you just wanted to go out and play games, but your mother would be disappointed at any notion of otherwise.

“y/n,” she said as jean continued to hit the dummy.

“yes, mother?” you replied, looking at her curiously.

“next year, on your birthday, you will also take part in jean’s study and training to become a knight. is this what you wish for?”

“yes! i want to become a knight like jean, too!” you responded eagerly, though you knew it was not really a choice. everything you did, every word that you spoke, would be for mondstadt, as always.

“good,” she replied, watching as your sister wiped the sweat off of her brow. “i only expect the finest work from you. because what do we do this for?”

“for mondstadt, as always.”

the day before your 11th birthday, jean took you with her to the knights of favonius headquarters to speak with the calvary captain. a young man with long, bright red hair stood tall. a boy about your age stood next to him, with bright blue eyes and hair. “jean, wonderful to see you on time,” he said. “i have the files you requested on the hilichurl camp south of windrise.”

“thank you, sir diluc,” jean replied as she took the files before looking down at you. “y/n. back straight. should mother see you like this tomorrow, you will be scolded.”

your back straightened at the notion, tensing up. “yes, jean.”

“oh? another gunnhildr upholding the family legacy?” diluc said with a raised eyebrow. “if your sibling is anything like you, i look forward to seeing their work in the years to come.”

“they will make our mother proud, that is for sure,” jean replied. “and what about young kaeya? is he going to be training to be a knight?”

“yes, he will, soon enough,” the calvary captain said. “lest he should want to look at taking over the wine industry, kaeya, too will become a knight.”

the boy next to him only smirked. “i have no interest in father’s wine. i know that i will to overtake you one day.”

“big talk for someone who can’t even beat me in sparring.”

“hey! i’m improving!” kaeya countered, to which diluc only ruffled his head.

“it will be a joy to see those two grow as knights together,” jean nodded her head.”but we have no time to dwell on the future, as these camps need to be cleared out. come along now, y/n. say the line.”

nodding your head to the two brothers, you saluted in perfect form. “for mondstadt, as always.”

your 12th birthday came and went. you were gifted a shiny new sword, ordered specially by your mother. jean gave you a chestplate and books full of mondstadt’s past and present ballads. there was no grand party or celebration for you. all it was a physical rite of passage for the gunnhildrs.

when you put on the armor and held the sword in your hand, you decided to dedicate your life to the family motto.

“for mondstadt, as always.”

it wasn’t a question of if you would become a knight, but rather when.

when jean was 14, she became a knight. immediately, you watched as she bloomed into a brilliant young warrior. when you managed to catch a glimpse of her from her busy schedule around mondstadt, she was fierce leader. the people of mondstadt were enamored with her, constantly asking for her help.

and, as a gunnhildr would, she provided.

you knew that she was the great expectation for you, and it became an obligation to overtake her.

your rigorous training continued as you mastered the art of the sword. not a day went by where you wouldn’t demolish a training dummy until it was unrecognizable. you recited back to your mother the history of the gunnhildr clan until you knew it like the back of your hand.

when you got exhausted from your work, you remembered who it was for. all of your training would pay off to please the gunnhildrs, to please mondstadt. on rare nights, your older sister would look over your training, but not without voicing her concerns. “you’re overworking yourself, y/n,” she would say as you took a deep breath before continuing to work on your footing. “i know you want to become a knight badly, but you’re 12--”

“and a half,” you piped in before rolling your shoulders.

“and the knights would most definitely not be okay with someone who is quite literally a child into their organization. you still have at least another year to go; you cannot rush the process of being a knight.”

“but i want to prove myself! i need to show what i’m capable of being a hero for mondstadt, like you are!”

the blonde only shook her head with a bittersweet smile. “it’s not so fantastical to be a knight, y/n. you can be a hero in ways that don’t overwork yourself. come now, let’s take a break.”

you never followed after her.

sometimes, during your jog around the city, you would see the blue-haired boy. kaeya had gotten significantly taller, but his boyish charm stayed the same. near the window to diluc’s office, he worked night and day to beat up a single training dummy. he, too, had the great expectation of his brother to overtake.

one day, you asked to spar with him, as all of your dummies had gotten beat up. “oh? a great gunnhildr wants to train with a lowly boy such as myself?” he teased.

“if you don’t want to, that’s fine, i’ll just--”

“relax,” he only laughed, twirling a silver sword in his hand. “i’m not your sister or your mother, no need for formalities. and besides, i could use a little training myself.”

unbeknownst to you, it was the start a blooming friendship. kaeya’s banter kept you coming back to him to spar, along with his refined sense of humor. he let you voice your complaints of jean’s concerns, and he voiced his own of diluc’s concerns over him. kaeya wasn’t half bad of a sparring partner either; his precise movements always kept you on your toes. with a little more time, you and kaeya were well on your way to becoming a knight at an age younger than jean.

sure enough, on the day of your 13th birthday, you and kaeya became knights. by then, he was 14, the same age as when diluc became a knight. a whole year younger than your sister, you had become a knight. there was a little shine in your mother’s eyes as you told her the news. “as a true gunnhildr should.”

“yes, mother,” you said as you sheathed your sword and embraced her. “i’m really a gunnhildr now, aren’t i?”

suddenly, it was like you had finally fulfilled your family’s prophecy. your legacy was preserved into the familial history. you could become the hero like your sister was. you could be the reason why mondstadt smiled in a way that your distant sister, barbara, could. now, all there was to do was be the best knight possible, and you would be upholding the gunnhildr motto.

and then jean became the dandelion knight, at age 15.

when grand master varka announced the news at dusk, kaeya was next to you, making amiable conversation as you finished your missions for the day. a crowd gathered around the steps, as kaeya and you nudged your way into the crowd. jean stood tall at the steps of the headquarters, even while on one knee. the sword graced her shoulders once, then twice, before she rose. you couldn’t even comprehend the words the grand master said before you backed away from the crowd, only to bump into your mother. her eyes glimmered as she looked at your older sister, pride evident. she didn’t even notice you.

you looked once at your sister, who waved to you and your mother with an easy grin. you then looked at your mother, who still didn’t cast her eyes on you. and you looked at kaeya, who was reaching out to catch your hand. you moved from his range of grasp, shaking your head. “go enjoy all of the celebrations with jean, okay? i still have work to do.” you whispered, voice leaving your throat, before slipping from the crowd.

there is still so much work to do, you thought as you ran down the streets of mondstadt. there is so much to do to make the gunnhildrs, no, to make mondstadt proud. tears creased your eyes as you headed towards a setting sun as you passed the city gates. maybe jean was right. a child wasn’t meant to be a knight, especially a child who cried over such trivial things.

you held no contempt for your older sister. in fact, you were proud of her. instead, you were mad at yourself. why weren’t you moving at a rate like she could? how could you be more like her? when would your vision grace you? now? never?

you wanted your mother to look at you with the same pride in her eyes, you wanted the people of the city of freedom to at least see you on the same level as jean, you wanted more than what you currently had. but, patience was not on your side. you wanted to be the best, and you wanted it now.

by the time you collapsed, tears streaking your cheeks, you had fallen at the base of the anemo archon’s statue at windrise. sobs shook your body as the moon rose in the east, accompanied by the soft chirps of cicadas. staring at the statue of the young boy, you let the winds flow through your hair, almost as if the winds would carry your wishes and sorrow away along with it. “barbatos,” you whispered as your head hung low, head pressing to the steps of the statue. “guide me.”

only hours later were you found by kaeya, who ranted on and on about how worried he was about you. his blue eyes were wilted with concern when he found your slumped figure at the bottom of the statue. “do you know how worried i was when you didn’t come back after an hour? i mean, you could’ve been seriously hurt, or worse!” he ranted as he sat down next to you. he looked radiant as dawn broke and soft winds fluttering at his long hair. “i mean, how did you even end up here, y/n? what work did you need to?”

as you shifted to look at him, cheeks fresh and sticky from tears, you let out a humorless laugh. “i had work to do for mondstadt, as always.”

after jean became the dandelion knight, you were only driven to work harder. the next three years were a pursuit of excellence. like your sister, you grew in ranks quickly, becoming co-captain of your squad, alongside kaeya. kaeya was a brilliant leader when working alongside you. missions were planned out to max out the potential of your team, and he never failed to keep the morale high. everyday ensured perfection if you had your co-captain beside you. like yourself, kaeya dedicated himself to upholding his duty.

until he failed.

diluc and his father were heading home from the younger’s 18th birthday party. you and kaeya were still at the party when it happened, enjoying the rare moment where you could actually relax. it wasn’t until a bystander burst through the door, screaming about ursa the drake when you and kaeya went running.

“we came to help! are you alright--” the younger brother cried before his voice halted, stopping in his tracks. his sword hit the ground with a soft clink, shaking slightly.

“oh my gods,” you said, taking two steps back. “master diluc--captain kaeya--”

the scene was simply horrific. there lay several bodies, crisp white shirts dirtied with mud and blood. diluc’s white gloves had been painted bright red, accompanied by the soft calls of “father, father”. the caravan was destroyed and unrecognizable, and suddenly, the usually clear skies of mondstadt brought in a storm.

the heavens poured, weeping for the loss of a wonderful man.

the week after diluc’s departure from the knights and mondstadt and crepus’ funeral, kaeya alberich was not the same young man with boyish charm, as much as he tried to cover it up. he had matured, citing his father’s wishes that he had to preserve as the reason to why.

but not only was his father’s death the source of kaeya’s change, but when he walked into headquarters that sunday afternoon, he had a little cryo vision sat at his hip.

you bit your lip as he greeted you a good morning. of course, you were overjoyed to see that the gods had looked down upon your best friend; he was the hardest working boy you knew. yet, a part of you was screaming in jealousy of him and disappointment in yourself. when would the gods look down upon you and recognize your work?

and then your distant sister gained her own hydro vision.

you were relaying some files for the church when she appeared at the front steps. she had a bright smile as always, eagerly taking your papers. “lovely to see you, y/n!”

“you gained a vision?” you asked incredulously as your arms went slack.

“yes! a few days ago, i was blessed enough to be granted a vision from the hydro archon. it’s so exciting, isn’t it? i can only hope to do more good for the people of mondstadt.”

“yes, yes, barbara,” you replied with a salute. “you will do good for mondstadt, as you always have.”

like you felt when jean became the dandelion knight and when kaeya had gotten his vision, you didn’t hold a grudge for barbara. instead, again, you were upset with yourself that your efforts weren’t recognized by the gods. would a day come where the archons would smile upon you?

it only drove you to push past your limits. to live up to the gunnhildr family name, you needed to also get a vision. any consolation from jean over how you didn’t need a vision to live up to the family name were promptly discarded. any notion of comfort from your mother was perceived as pity. any voice of concern from your barbara, who you hardly knew, were thrown away.

you began putting more than your all into your work as a knight. kaeya would accompany you and your squad to clear out hilichurls, but you always stayed overtime to survey for any additional camps. every free moment you had, you beat up training dummies until they were just dust in the wind. and finally, you offered your help to the people of mondstadt.

when asked why you were so eager to serve, you only smiled. “it’s what a gunnhildr does; serve for mondstadt, as always.”

your extra work didn’t go unnoticed by jean, but not in a good way. when she called you into her office, you knew you were in trouble. “you’ve always been like this, but this is kind of ridiculous, y/n. clocking in almost 20 hours a day is incredibly unhealthy on someone who has a growing body like yourself,” she scolded in afternoon sunlight.

“can’t i say the same about you, jean?” you countered, crossing your arms. “you go to bed at three in the morning and are just fine.”

“that’s different. i’m 18, and you’re 16. you need a break,” your older sister replied before reaching into her drawer and pulling out a bright book. “which is why i’m recommending this novel for you to read during lunch instead of ‘forgetting’ and doing surveys of the outskirts of town instead.”

you looked inside the cover, reading the synopsis. “you want me to read a romance novel instead of training? that’s stupid. a gunnhildr needs to be serving mondstadt, not waste away days in fantasy.”

“oh? disrespecting your superiors?” jean teased as she crossed her arms. “at least try it for me, please. i promise it’ll relax you, even if only a little.”

you did, actually, read that trashy romance novel during your lunch breaks. it was quite alluring to you; the push and pull between the enemies that soon turned into pining lovers, the beautifully written descriptions, and the characters kept you from overworking yourself.

unfortunately, it didn’t come without a little teasing from kaeya.

“oh? is that y/n actually relaxing for once and not overworking themself into their grave?” he said as he sat next to you at your seat at good hunter. you made an uninterested noise until he eventually snatched the book out of your hands.

“k-kaeya!” you reprimanded as you practically wrestled with him to grab your book back. “that was given to me by jean, you can’t--"

“oho! a romance novel!” the calvary captain grinned as you groaned, shoulders slouching. “i never knew you were a hopeless romantic. perhaps that means you have a secret love for someone as well?”

“w-what?” you said with flushed cheeks. “don’t be ridiculous! who would even harbor the same feelings i do for them? no, scratch that, who would i even have feelings for?”

“maybe someone like me?” he said, voice suddenly quiet and soft. suddenly, the space between the two of you seemed a lot smaller than before. you could map out the curve of his cheekbones and the soft silk of his eyepatch. his eyes were serious with anticipation as they gazed at you, brilliant blue glimmering in the sunlight. suddenly, he laughed, smile creasing his cheeks. “kidding, kidding, y/n. i know you don’t have time to think about love.”

“i…” you replied, voice trailing off as you gazed at his soft and distant smirk. his blue hair fluttered in the wind as he awaited your response. kaeya alberich reminded you of the love interest in your novel and your heart sped up. “you’re right. i must be serving for mondstadt, as always.”

to jean’s disappointment, you didn’t relax. in the wake of your incident with kaeya, you found yourself avoiding him and working by yourself. he was right; you weren’t in a position to think about love or romance at all.

the three years that followed continued the almost decade long chase for a vision, for a way to live up to the family motto. your gaze never strayed from your ultimate goal, shelving away any ideas of relaxation.

you spent long nights out in the fields, destroying any monster you found and dismantling their camps to bits and pieces. those nights, in your opinion, were the worst. as much as you enjoyed solitude away from your team, your thoughts were only shrouded in the great expectation that you had to fulfill. jean, barbara, and kaeya all had their visions, and you didn't want to fall behind.

some nights, when you failed to clock in after a day or two, kaeya would be sent out by jean to search high and low through the anemo archon’s land to find you. when he did eventually find you, you were already battered and bruised, armor dented in odd places. you always ignored his presence, continuing to fight hilichurls or walk towards your next destination. “you need to take a break, y/n!” he would say as you would roll your eyes.

when there were no more camps to clear out, you let yourself take a moment to talk to kaeya. your friendship had been lessened over the past three years, with him being swept up in his duties as cavalry captain, and you as captain of your own squad. those nights were just like when you were just junior level knights, messing around during missions and having fun. now, you were all grown up, and such fantastical wishes should only belong to the children and people of mondstadt you protected.

kaeya became more beautiful on those nights as well. the wind would run through his long hair, carrying along his laughter. his azure eyes would shimmer with playfulness when you laughed at his jokes. even as he had matured into a young man, he never lost his flattering charm. no wonder so many of the elderly wanted him to be their son-in-law.

in nights alone, where the cavalry captain wasn’t beside you, you would think about him in a way that a best friend should not. your thoughts would spiral towards a kaeya that sweet talked you with a silver tongue, a kaeya that would do more than accidentally brush his hand with your own, a kaeya that could maybe love you.

every time you thought about it, you only laughed bitterly. “i have work to do for mondstadt, as always.”

it was the eve of your 19th birthday that changed your entire life.

the sun had long set over the cliffs of cape oath and barbatos’ winds guided the soft scent of salt from the sea as you headed towards the next hilichurl . stars peppered the sky, and you could almost believe that you were the only person in teyvat. until, for the fourth time that week, kaeya was sent out to nag you to come back home. “y/n, there’s no more for you to do! can you come home with me already?” he called distantly, but you scoffed as you pulled out your sword.

“the gunnhildr legacy waits for no man, captain!” you responded before sprinting straight into enemy territory. a dozen or so hilichurls stood before you as you began handling them one by one. kaeya’s voice continued to ring into your ears, becoming closer as he also began fighting alongside you.

“what are you even doing this for?!” he said, voice exasperated as his back hit yours. “you say you do it because you have to live up to your family’s legacy, but what about yourself? you’re working yourself into a grave to be a quote unquote, real gunnhildr!”

“what do you mean, kaeya?” you grunted as you slaughtered another monster. “of course that’s what i’m a knight for! it’s all that the gunnhildrs are!”

“you do it to please your mother, to please jean, but you’re exhausting yourself in the process. what do you need to prove? why don’t you serve because you like it?” he said as ice frosted the mask of his enemy with a snap of his fingers.

“i live to serve for the people of mondstadt, that is why i’m a knight! i’m supposed to be the sword to jean’s shield!”

“if that’s the case, then why do you compare yourself to jean? to barbara? you’re good enough, y/n! everyone knows this!”

“to who?! if not to the people of mondstadt, if not to my mother, if not to my sisters, then who?”

“to me!” kaeya suddenly yelled, and you paused, nearly losing your footing. “you’ve been brilliant to me since i saw you with jean at headquarters. the way you carry yourself with grace and you always have perfect stance and moves leaves me in awe. you’re always so kind to the people who ask for your help, and you leave me breathless.”

your eyes widened at the implication of his words as you finished off another hilichurl. slowly, you turned to face him, as he prepared to take on a mitachurl. “do you even know what you’re saying, kaeya? don’t you know what you’re implying?!”

“i meant it,” he looked back at you with a gentle smile, ignoring the roars of the mitachurl. “i--”

“wait, watch out!” you called as the monster prepared to take aim with its axe. your feet could only take you so far, and it was only a second too take when you saw the man go flying in the air. he landed with a grunt by the cliffside, and rushed to his side, kneeling. “kaeya, are you alright?!”

but the deafening roars of the mitachurl blocked out any response. with panicked eyes, you looked between your injured best friend and the mitachurl that was getting too close for comfort. with a start, you held out your arm to shield kaeya and the other to point at the monster. you swung your arm with perfect precision that your mother taught you years ago, and closed your eyes, bracing for impact.

an impact that never came.

the anemo archon’s winds flowed through your hair, soothing your tense body almost instantly. the mitachurl was fading away now into ashes, leaving only the rustling of the long grass. immediately, you snapped out of your daze and looked to a still down kaeya.

“kaeya!” you called, and he did not respond. kneeling, you shook at his shoulders. “hey, wake up! i-it’s down, you can finish your sentence now! t-there’s still so much i need to say to you! kaeya, please…”

you let your hand caress at his cheeks and leaning down to press your forehead against his. closing your eyes, you prayed as hard as you could to barbatos. suddenly, a voice piped up. “that was so hot of you to kill that mitachurl in one hit.”

gasping, you pulled him into your chest, smacking his back. “oh, thank the gods! you’re alive!”

“do you really think a single hit would really take me out?” he teased as he hugged you back. “i had a feeling that you could handle it on your own.”

“and so you abandoned your own duties as a knight? how crass,” you laughed, dropping your arms to your lap, where you felt an unfamiliar object. staring, you and kaeya watched as your hands uncovered a small green orb, no bigger than the size of your fist. it glowed just like kaeya’s vision., glimmering in the fading moonlight “oh my gods!”

“you got a vision!” kaeya yelled with joy, holding you close. looking to the stars, you profusely thanked barbatos for your ability. “and an anemo vision like your sister! you’re brilliant, y/n. i knew the day would come when the gods would look down and smile upon you.”

you looked at kaeya, staring into the deep of his starry eyes. ¨did you mean what you said? that i was good enough for you, and for everyone else?”

“of course i did. your ambition, even when sometimes overwork yourself, is admirable,” he said with a grin, reaching you to hold your cheek.

“and...and did you mean it when you said i leave you breathless? you know what that implies, right? it means that you’re…”

“yes, i did,” he said with heated cheeks. “i’m in love with you.”

“oh…” you said, face bloomed with heat.

“is that okay with you? i don’t want to force my feelings on you, or--”

“stop,” you smiled with a shake of your head. “i love you too.”

at the break of dawn, you kissed kaeya softly, holding his face. he held you in his arms, whispering soft “i love you”s along the cliffside. for once, you let yourself relax into his arms. you were more than content to take it easy in his arms.

it was then that you knew; you didn’t need to prove anything to anyone but yourself. that was what it meant to serve for mondstadt, as always.

taglist; @unreconciledstars + more if ya dm me! :D

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin impact imagines #kaeya

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restapesta · 3 years

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The Tomato Thief

Enjoy this little something I wrote based on a prompt here on Tumblr. Feedback is always appreciated.

Words: 4.3k

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The first time Ian noticed his tomatoes half-gone, half-squashed from the small vegetable patch he had started working on when he and Mickey moved into the apartment complex, he chose to ignore it. Pretending as if the loss of his small, barely ripe cherry tomatoes was insignificant, he mentioned no word of it to anyone, making a conscious decision to simply start the planting process once again. So, in the past month, Ian, choosing not to get frustrated, but rather improve his skills, was trailing along the edge of a nervous breakdown, trying to get his little patch of land replenished. When he realized that the second time doing something he initially started as a hobby would be much more difficult than the first, he feared that what he intended to be relaxing would turn into aggravating. If it wasn't for the security business, he probably would've had a meltdown, very much hurt by the fact his poor tomatoes were gone, but somehow, he managed to power through it, luck being somewhat on his side, making the tomato-growing process faster than before. It was a long excruciating process, living with the secret that all of his previous hard work was now replaced by even harder work and determination, but the sight of his vegetable patch replenishing itself as if it were never ruined, along with the Westside growing even fonder to both him and Mickey, almost starting to feel like home, made it all sort-of worth it for Ian. His husband was happy, his home was beautiful, his business was expanding, and his tomatoes were finally turning a deeper shade of red, after being torn out the first time while they were mostly green. Ian was truly very much happy.

Until he woke up one Saturday morning, excited to start his weekend off by gardening, his way to relax from the crammed-up week he and Mickey had, both enjoying the little separate bubbles they created, together yet apart, Mickey with the pool he grew to love, and Ian with his veggies, working away in the Sun -- and found every single one of his tomatoes gone, neatly picked from their stems, as if done by a professional.

First, Ian had paled, his complexion turning impossibly whiter in the bask of the afternoon glow. Then, his left eye began twitching. Anger bubbled inside of his chest, and he finally understood his husband's urges to break chairs and signs, and throw tantrums -- Ian felt like murdering somebody. Wrapping his hands so tight around the neck of the person who took his tomatoes which weren't even ripe for taking yet, and squeezing until he saw the life leave their eyes. Scaring himself at the thought, he took a deep breath and then held it for a long period of time -- a questionable, dangerous, life-threatening period of time. He was sure that his neck and cheeks were even redder than his poor tomatoes were when he had last seen them. Exhaling quickly, he balled his hands into fists and made his way quickly to the vegetable patch to examine it better.

Crouching down, as if he were in a detective movie, he observed the soil, in case the culprit left footprints or accidentally dropped a valuable item Ian could use to identify them with. When he saw nothing helpful, but rather just his regular garden -- sans the lost reds -- he rolled over all of his options in his head.

It could've been an animal the last time -- a squirrel or a bird, considering how a lot of the tomatoes were simply just squashed -- but now, the precision the tomatoes were picked with... there was no other possibility. It was one of the other tenants, somebody who deliberately wanted to either get revenge on Ian or simply to eat the vegetables Ian had worked so hard on for himself and his husband. It was ironic how he saw red.

Breathing deeply, composing himself more with each inhale and exhale -- a technique he had been forced to learn in court-mandated therapy -- the ginger made his way from the garden to the manager's office, strides quick. Melanie, the on-sight manager, was in the room, along with her poodle when Ian knocked on the door.

"Hi." She chirped in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Ian forced a smile. "I was wondering if you perhaps had cameras in the garden area? I think someone stole something I left there, by accident." He lied, not wanting the woman to think of him as even a bigger fag for caring about dumbass vegetable-fruits. Much to his dismay, she shook her head apologetically.

"Sorry, no. Was it valuable?"

Yes, Ian thought sadly. "Nah. Probably just misplaced it. Thank you anyway."

She smiled again, "You're welcome. Say hi to your husband for me."

"I will." He waved goodbye and exited the office, closing the door behind him.

No cameras, no clues. He had no fucking idea how he could possibly catch the asshole who had the nerves to fuck with him. Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do.

Mickey was lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, looking hot as fuck, enjoying the day when Ian found him. Stepping in front of the chair Mickey was sitting on, Ian blocked the beams of light which were hitting Mickey's body, slowly giving him a nice tan. Mickey begrudgingly opened his eyes to stare at Ian, pushing his sunglasses down slightly, as if wanting to give Ian a better look of his 'why the fuck are you blocking the Sun' expression.

"What?" He finally asked, pushing his RayBans back up.

"Baby, I need your help killing someone."

Mickey's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, assessing Ian's face for any sign of humor. When he found none, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Someone stole my fucking tomatoes."

Ian could see Mickey's eyes close again behind the black glass. "Who?"

"I have no fucking idea. If I did, they'd already be dead. This is the second time, Mick!" He shook his head in disbelief. "First time, I let it slide. Thought it was a bird or some shit. So, I did everything again this past month, made sure everything was better than before, had a near fucking episode over the stress that shit caused me, and now, they get fucking stolen, again!" He was breathing raggedly now, even angrier than before. His shrink's anger controlling methods only worked for a short period of time, he guessed. "We need to kill them."

Ian sat himself down on the chair next to Mickey's, slouching back in defeat. His poor tomatoes. He felt his fingers intertwine with soft, warm ones, Mickey's thumb rubbing soothing circles over Ian's. "We can't kill them," Mickey started. Ian was about to respond how he knew that, how it still made him really fucking angry, but Mickey continued, softly, "without knowing who they are. Once we know who they are, we can slip rat poison into the tomatoes, and have 'em dead in a heartbeat. Can't even pin it on us, 'cause then they'd have to admit they stole it."

Ian's eyes widened slightly, amazed and terrified by his partner at the same time. "I forgot you were a murderer here for a second."

Mickey smirked at Ian's growing smile. "Parole for attempted murder, Red. Need I remind you? Did you forget how much that turned you on?" He was now inching closer to his husband, chin jutting out, seeking out a kiss. Ian complied, even in his angriest moments still horny for his worse half, moving his lips against Mickey's slowly and teasingly.

"We can't kill them." Ian voiced out after they broke apart, now much calmer.

Mickey snorted, settling back in his chair. "No shit."

"We can find out who the fuck it is, though."

"How the fuck you gonna do that? All your tomatoes are gone, right? 'S not like you can just make new ones appear."

Ian thought about it for a second, "Who says I can't? I have my ways."

Mickey nodded mockingly. "Sure, tough guy. Is this the moment I find out I've been married to a wizard?"

"Store-bought tomatoes, Mickey." Ian deadpanned.

"Oh."

"We plant those, and then go on a stakeout." He was already devising a master plan in his head. How they would buy the tomatoes at WholeFoods -- get the expensive ones so the bait was even more tempting, make it look as if Ian grew them himself (even though that was impossible by the rules of time -- but the person had to be stupid enough to steal from a Gallagher after all, so it had to work), and then, wait tonight in the garden, considering how his tomatoes couldn't have been stolen at any other time of day, and try to catch the thief. It was a good fucking plan.

"Why do you keep saying we?"

The voice interrupted his daydream. Confused, Ian looked at Mickey. "You're not gonna help me?"

"Not my problem, man. They're your tomatoes. I'm only here for the murder part, but you backed out of that, so... good luck."

Ian was about to argue, but he thought better of it. Maybe it would be easier to do this alone anyway. Leaning forward, he pressed one last chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, then swiftly got up. "Okay, then. Text me if you need anything. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?" Mickey straightened up for the first time since Ian got there. Ian felt a smile form on his face. His husband was very easy to read.

"Tomatoes, Mick. But, um, not your problem, right?" His voice was teasing and he knew his eyes were glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Don't know if I'll be home tonight. The stakeout might last a while. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Keep the bed warm for me, would ya'?"

He turned to leave, but Mickey's hurried voice stopped him. "Hey, wait -- hold on a minute."

"Hmm?" So, so easy to read.

Scoffing, Mickey got up. "Let me get changed first. Then, we'll go catch the fucking tomato thief."

The smile Ian gave him was blinding.

----

"Tell me the plan again?"

Mickey was currently observing the expensive as fuck organic fruit in the WholeFoods store, gawking at the prices, but also simultaneously observing his husband as he picked through the best, reddest tomatoes he could find. Between the bitching and the sadness, Ian was all over the place -- it was hard for Mickey to understand why Ian was going so crazy over stolen tomatoes, but the thought of having Ian spend the day doing God-knows what kind of legal and illegal shit made him almost break out in hives. He would rather come along to control the hot mess than "warm the bed" as Ian had so casually put it. Fuck if he was gonna keep anything warm but Ian's dick in his ass.

Ian ignored Mickey's question and shoved a tomato at his face. "Do these look good enough? I want them to look natural, but also really good. What do you think?"

Mickey gave Ian an incredulous look, "Um... those look great... man, just pick whatever the fuck you want. This guy probably isn't very picky if he stole a ripe tomato."

Ian rolled his eyes. "It was a high quality tomato, Mickey." As an afterthought, he added, "Also, it could be a she."

"Maybe it's that fag with the big muscles? Maybe he has a thing for your tomatoes?" Mickey teased, only slightly bothered by the crush the blond guy in apartment 243 had on his tall redhead. It wasn't hard to glance over the sultry looks he gave Ian, or the flirtatious tone. Mickey liked giving Ian endless shit for it, just because of how defensive and uncomfortable Ian got when it was mentioned. It was pretty funny.

"Ugh, God Mickey. Seriously?"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Ian rolled his eyes so hard, Mickey was afraid he'd be shocked by the emptiness he found back there in a moment. Instead, Ian simply grimaced. "That guy really needs to back off. I literally couldn't have flashed the ring in his face more bluntly."

Mickey, using Ian being distracted by the guy, tied the bag Ian had been filling with tomatoes, discreetly moving them away from the spot they'd been standing in the past hour and a half, and towards the cash register.

"If he continues with that shit, I'll just start making out with you in front of him. Should get the point across."

Mickey only hummed in acknowledgment, content with the plan. He hated PDA but Ian made it so natural at times, there was no way he could say no to it.

"Wait, how did we end up here?" Ian glanced around him, only now noticing they were standing in line for the check-out. Mickey shook his head at his husband, who he had to admit was a himbo through and through. "Well, at least we got the tomatoes. The rest is easy."

"What is the plan, anyway?" Mickey repeated the question from before. Now, Ian didn't ignore him. He smirked at Mickey and told him not to worry about it.

"Not to --?" Mickey stuttered. "Ian, your ideas are not top-notch ideas. If I'm gonna try and catch a vegetable thief with you -- which may be the faggest thing I've ever said -- then I need to know the plan."

"Okay, fine." Ian huffed out a breath. "In short, we put these as bait, lure the asshole in, and wait to catch them in the act."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean?" Ian smiled at the cashier as he took out a ten dollar bill from his pocket, paying for the overpriced vegetables -- or was it fruit? Mickey didn't really give a fuck.

"What do I mean? I mean, this may be the dumbest pan I've ever heard. I mean, sure, the tomatoes are good, but what, you just wanna have a stakeout the entire night? You do know the guy probably won't steal them straight away? We need to give it some time. Work out the suspect list, make sure we know who we're looking for."

Making it out onto the streets of Westside, Mickey was pleasantly greeted by the spring air -- he wouldn't admit it yet, but the Westside was something he was adapting to quite quickly. What used to make him uncomfortable when they first signed the lease changed completely in the past couple of months they'd been living here. It wasn't easy, but as the furniture rolled in, and as the apartment started feeling more like home, the whole "middle-class" life sort of followed. Both Mickey and Ian were still major fucking Southside trash. But now, they were Southside trash that lived in a pretty nice place that didn't have too many murders and attacks per day. That way, when they did happen, it felt nostalgic for Mickey. More special.

"I keep forgetting who you are. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I guess."

"I love how high of an opinion you have of me, Gallagher." Mickey replied teasingly, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Ian smiled, wrapping an arm around Mickey's shoulders, "The highest, baby."

Endeared by the nickname, Mickey blushed slightly. "C'mon man. Let's get back to the apartment. We got a stakeout that needs planning."

Ian nodded, but the arm stayed put the entire way home. Mickey didn't mind one bit.

----

"What about the lady from apartment 193? The one with the weird-ass dog?"

"Ian, she's, like, a hundred years old."

"I don't know, Mick. Seems kinda suspicious."

They were sitting on their newly-bought sofa in the living room, beers in hand, discussing the potential suspect list. Ian had his phone out, writing the names of the possible culprits down, attempting to uncover the thief by the way the crime was executed. It wasn't going that well.

Ian's suspect list was a mile long, all ranging from old women who had complimented his tomatoes months ago, to the weird guy who gave him the stink eye when they first moved in for no apparent reason. "He's out to get me, Mick. I know it." Mickey had told him to shut the fuck up, and presented his own suspect list.

His was a little more realistic, containing names such as Alan who most certainly didn't like the couple -- "maybe the reason for that is the tantrum, Mickey." "shut the fuck up, Ian." -- and the chick whose daughter had a massive crush on Mickey.

"Maybe she thinks I'm some sort of pedo. Not cool, man."

"She would have called the cops, Mickey, not stolen my tomatoes. Also, the whole thing is pretty cute."

Mickey blanched. "She's fifteen! And has a crush on me."

"She's cute, acting all flustered when you casually say "good morning" to her. She probably doesn't even know we're gay."

The girl, Courtney, lived in the apartment a couple doors down from theirs, and her apparent crush on Mickey was beyond adorable to Ian. She was amazed by his thug appearance, and she made it clear in the way she greeted him whenever she passed by the couple, ignoring Ian wholeheartedly. Mickey hadn't even noticed it until Ian pointed it out one night, and when he did, Mickey grimaced and groaned, muttering about how he really didn't need to be the cause of some kid's daydreams.

"Her mother is out to get me. And the way to get me is through you -- everybody knows that."

Ian's chest swelled at the probably insignificant sentence in Mickey's mind. "Aww, Mick. That's really sweet."

"I am sweet."

"It's not the mother. We have to come up with something else."

"Ugh." Mickey groaned. "Why can't we just do this the old-fashioned way?"

Ian simply raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, you already planted the bait when we got back, we have somewhat of a suspect list -- now, we just set up the camera."

"Camera?"

"Yes, Ian. A fucking camera."

"Where the fuck are we gonna get a camera?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Carl? He's probably got access to those hidden camera thingies at work, right? We just have him snatch one for us. We'll give it back." He then added as an afterthought, "Maybe."

Ian thought about it for a second and then sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Better than crouching in a bush of roses in the middle of the night, Ginger."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ian agreed, texting Carl simultaneously asking for the 'camera thingy'.

"Also, I'd probably never, under any circumstances, do that shit. Doesn't matter how much I love you."

"Uh-huh." Ian smiled at Mickey, amused.

"I'm serious." He affirmed. "Never. No fucking way."

---

"I can't believe you made me do this shit." Mickey grunted as he crouched behind a rose bush, eyes trained on Ian's vegetable patch.

"Your plan didn't work, so we're doing it my way."

"Well, I didn't really plan for the camera to get fucking broken!"

Their thief was way more skilled than they had initially thought. After they got the camera from Carl, Ian hid it well, making sure it caught the asshole on tape once they attempted to steal his goods again. And when, a couple days later, his store-bought tomatoes were ruined again, this time, squashed deliberately in the garden, he was so happy Mickey had the bright idea to record it.

Until he found the camera squashed along with the tomatoes. It still worked somewhat, and when Ian saw there was a video on it, his hopes had immediately risen, only to be squashed like the poor tomatoes when he saw the video got cut off in the middle of the night, right before the murder had taken place.

"We are gonna do this my way. And then, we'll kill them." He had told his husband.

"Sure, man. The red blood will fit right in with the tomatoes."

"Stakeout."

"No, Ian."

"The sex you'll get if you do this with me will be nothing like you'd ever experienced."

Mickey scoffed, "Sure."

Ian gave him a look full of mischief, and leaned into his ear to whisper his intentions. "Three words, baby: handcuffs, blindfold, tongue. As someone who claims he doesn't like ass-licking, you sure as fuck make some sexy, loud noises when I try it."

And that's how Mickey was there in the garden, at three in the morning with Ian, his dumbass husband, waiting for the thief to appear. Ian had planted another bait, and decided to have a stakeout that night, after loudly flaunting to the other gardeners how good his tomatoes had grown -- "They'll take the bait, Mikhailo, stop giving me that look."

"The ground is really fucking cold, man. Can't believe you convinced me to do this shit. No sex is worth this."

Ian, in response, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's neck. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah..." Mickey sighed in content. When Ian tried pulling away, he muttered, "No. Don't stop."

"Eyes on the tomatoes. You'll get your prize later."

Just as Mickey was about to protest, a figure appeared, inching towards Ian's vegetable patch. The couple stilled, eyes squinting, trying to see who the thief was -- who the fuck was it that had so easily crushed Ian's dreams of becoming a gardener, and had forced them to sacrifice their Friday night, crouching in the bushes instead of loudly fucking in their bed.

When the figure stepped even closer, Ian gasped. The culprit's face wasn't even covered and when Mickey saw who it was, he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face -- he wheezed at the sight they were greeted with. Ian hit his bicep roughly, but it was too late.

The girl had noticed them. She jumped in fear at the noise and her eyes zeroed in on the two men. Her young face paled and her eyes widened in fear.

"You!" Ian accused, jumping up to his feet, not as amused as Mickey was.

The girl jutted out her chin in defiance, not scared one bit. "Yeah. Me."

Ian stared at the fifteen-year-old. He had once considered her cute -- the crush she had on Mickey being nothing more but sickly sweet to him, perfect teasing material. But now, as he realized she was deliberately sabotaging his tomatoes because of, what? Jealousy? Oh, he was pissed.

"Why, Courtney? I've been working hard on those vegetables."

"Fruits." Courtney replied and Ian gaped at her, as Mickey kept on laughing.

"Not the point. Why? Are you jealous or something?"

"Why would I be jealous?" She asked, still acting tough for a girl who had just been caught in the act.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She glanced at Mickey who was still on the wet ground, observing the exchange. "Your tomatoes look better than mine, and I was planning on giving Mr. Milkovich my tomatoes but it wasn't gonna work if yours looked better. So, I took yours."

Mickey busted out laughing again. This time tears were actually streaming down his face, clouding his vision. "Mr." Wheeze. "Milkovich." Wheeze.

Courtney looked down, embarrassed. "Maybe I was a little jealous. I just wanted to be noticed."

"Stealing my husband's tomatoes sure got you on my radar, kid." Mickey muttered, still laughing loudly. Perhaps too loudly for three in the morning.

Courtney stilled. "You guys aren't just... roommates?"

Ian shook his head. "No, married."

Her mouth formed an 'oh' shape, and for a moment they stood in silence. Then she laughed, sheepishly. "Well, in that case... I'm sorry?"

Ian was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, but he chose to remain calm. "Just don't do it again, please."

"I won't. I swear." She raised her hands in the air in surrender.

"Go home, kid. It's three in the fucking morning. You're way past hour bedtime." Mickey pitched in from his seat on the soil.

She nodded once again, muttering a quick "sorry", and then ran out of the garden.

Ian turned to Mickey, still shocked. "The root of all of this has been you."

Mickey just smiled. "Not intentionally."

"She wanted to give you her tomatoes. So she ruined mine."

"Your tomatoes are the only ones I care about."

"This better not be a metaphor for my balls."

"Oh, I like those too."

Ian grinned at his husband. "At least we figured out who it was." He put his hand out towards Mickey. Mickey got the hint and grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Yeah. It was the little girl all along."

Ian snorted, still a little angry.

"How about now, you and I go back to our warm, comfy bed where you can tie me up and fulfill your promise."

"You're not tired?" Ian raised his eyebrow at Mickey.

The smile Mickey gave him was genuine. "For you? Never."

"Maybe I could fulfill my promise. It'd get my mind of off the tomatoes."

"You can always use me as a distraction." Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pulled him down, slotting their lips together.

"I'll show you how to handle your tomatoes properly." Mickey teased and Ian all but shoved him back to the apartment.

The sex that night was fucking amazing. Mickey realized he wouldn't mind playing detective again if this was the reward he got. Suddenly, Ian's wish to plant thise tomatoes was the best thing that could have happened to Mickey in the long run. He wasn't surprised, though.

Ian really knew how to make the most of everything for Mickey. It was probably why he loved him so much.

This was a night Mickey would probably never forget.

#gallavich #shameless #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ianxmickey #shameless us #shameless fic #based on a prompt #enjoy!!#i loved writing this

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

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Next up on our list my lovelies is Paul! A special thank you to @trescharmant-mydear for helping me with brainstorming ideas when writers block had me stumped! I hope you fang babes all enjoy the next boy in our child birth saga!

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [2/4]

Paul

The whole pregnancy thing was undoubtedly a massive shock when you had finally told him. At first he wasn’t even sure it was his. Granted you slugged him for even suggesting you had been having an affair but he couldn’t help it! The idea of impregnation was pretty much impossible as far as they knew. He had no heartbeat, the blood in his veins was dead and black, he kind of assumed by that point his gun was shooting blanks. That is until you began rejecting anything that wasn’t blood or meat. Every day he could see more of that reality coming into play. At first he thought maybe he had just imagined it, but when your stomach grew in really sank in.

He was terrified beyond belief knowing he’d soon be responsible for a living, breathing thing- er baby- guh! The word freaked him out. No one even warned him what came with it. Well, Dwayne tried to but those books were nasty. Especially the pictures. Paul tried his best to sit through them but it just stressed him out! There wouldn’t be a doctor! There would be no sterilized hospital bed where a team of nurses would be on standby if there were complications- hell, they wouldn’t be able to know if there even were any complications! That’s what scared him more than anything. You both were utterly in the dark. Were you healthy? Was the baby healthy? Could this kill you if they weren't careful? Ultrasounds were out too, so he couldn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. The uncertainty of it all was torture!

The only way he knew they were still alive was from his own bizarre connection to them. Sure his mental powers were never as clean cut as David’s, but he could still feel their emotions inside you. It was raw. There were no clear thoughts. Even the emotions would pile over each other. Hungry, tired, anxious, hyper, mad, happy. It was almost like there was more than one consciousness in there, but he just figured it was your own heartbeat and emotions clouding the baby's.

Hormones were wild between you both. You wanted sex more than you ever had before, and at first he was all for it. Being the mother of his unborn child brought out a desire that was utterly foreign to him. Yeah he loved you to death before, but now… he couldn't keep his hands off of you. The first few months it was wild, but the bigger you got the more worried he was that something could happen if he lost control. Okay, well, as long as he was careful right? But, things did not go exactly to plan when a firm kick pressed on his erm… Needless to say it certainly freaked him out. Then came the morning sickness.

Fuck whatever liar came up with that name. “Morning”? Try morning, noon, night, and the ass crack of dawn. Twenty-four seven. He hated seeing you hugging a trash bin, panting between excruciating heaves that made your stomach spasm. Paul could only hold your hair back while you gurgled out sobs. It was even harder knowing he was partially responsible for putting you in this position to begin with. Afterwards he’d carry you back to your bed. Yeah, bed. All the guys had felt that you needed something way better than a couch to crash on. There were more pillows and blankets than you could count. Piles on the bed, scattered on the floor, stacked up in the corners. With a bit of searching they’d found a pocket-cave branching just off their own that kept you out of sight and even better, nearby. What Paul really couldn’t account for was how frickin’ clumsy you were!

Oops you just banged your knee! Well looks like you accidentally nicked your hand while peeling a freaking apple! Paul nearly ripped a guys head off for bumping into you on the boardwalk just to cut in line with his stupid friends. Eventually he just refused to leave your side during the second trimester when he found a bruise on your stomach. You didn’t have the heart to tell him those were from the baby kicking. While the guys went hunting he’d just lay beside you in bed gushing over your taut belly. The baby always stirred when he spoke, even more so when he’d serenade them. His voice always made your face heat up, and inside you could feel your child eagerly pressing up. While Paul was certainly uneasy about his encroaching parenthood he was over the moon the first time the baby really kicked. Even if it seemed scary he was so excited he could hardly sleep most nights. Every day he'd wonder when they'd get here, bombarding you with thousands of questions.

"Do you think they'll have your eyes? I bet if it's a boy he'll be a bad ass like his dad, huh," he asked. There was almost a glee to his voice, it was so adorable to watch him shed that panic for just a moment to fantasize about the baby. Anything. Teaching them to play guitar, taking them on their first hunt. He didn't care if it was a boy or girl. Part of you really hoped it'd be a little girl.

“They probably won’t get any eye color until the fifth month I think,” you’d remind him, flipping through the aged pages of a baby book. "I do know if it is a boy he's gonna be so much like you."

"Unless it's a girl," he pondered, tapping your belly like it was an over ripe melon, watching it stirr with life. "Oh god you'll break so many hearts. But no boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Only dad."

"Babe thats not gonna be for years," you assured, petting his head. "You can't keep them from dating when they're old enough."

"Uh, the fuck I can't," he retorted, his hand kicked again. "Yeah I said it. No dating for you"

As they grew you could feel something was.. Off. Granted you couldn’t do much to check but, it almost felt like there was more than one heartbeat...

Your due date was slowly rolling closer as summer shed it's long, hot days for the chilled season of autumn. Tonight was a late, stormy October night. Most of Santa Carla was holed up at home hoping it wouldn’t rain tomorrow on Halloween. Paul grumbled slurping at a blood bag laying on his side as he propped his head on his hand, currently bored out of his mind while you carved at a pumpkin with Marko.

“I think it needs more teeth,” you’d say to yourself out loud.

Marko peeked over, titling his head to the side. “More eyes too.”

All the guys decided to stay back tonight. It wasn’t just the rain, all of them were nervous to leave you alone. None of them were doctors, but even they could tell your stomach was much bigger than expected. Dwayne was flipping through an old book while David had just gotten back from a hunt.

Ever since you hit your third trimester each of them took turns gathering blood. A few blood bags alone would not cover it for four hungry vampires and an honorary vamp who had a ton of cravings. Instead they'd carry four or five empty milk jugs that'd be filled to the brim with sloshing, goopy red fluid.

"Guys, you oughta go get something to eat, you don't need to watch me twenty-four seven," you insist, carefully dragging the knife through the thick gourd's flesh.

"This wasn't up for debate last time, it’s still not now," David retorted, tossing one of the jugs Dwayne's way. Marko caught a second one, eagerly knocking back a swig. The sight made you want to throw up again. It was slow, like a thick molasses dyed crimson with globs of congealed plasma. Okay looking at the pumpkin again before you had to puke.

"Don't worry about us, Y/N," Marko insisted with red stained teeth, tossing the now half empty jug to Paul. "It's only a few more months. Blood is blood."

Paul stood up, swooping behind you with his arms around your shoulders. "Speakin' of blood kitten, you need to eat." You looked at the jug as he set it on the table and immediately scrunched up your nose. Now, it'd been seven and a half months of drinking it, so you'd gotten used to the bizarre taste of salty, vinegary cherries with a metallic aftertaste. It always made your body heat up, the feeling itself was better than any booze you'd tried. But the texture. Oh god the fricking texture! Blobby, goopy, slimy- no!

"Uuuugh," you hesitated, only to have Marko push it towards you. “Can’t I just have a raw steak or something, it’s not nearly as gnarly as straight blood.”

"Don't be picky, you need to eat."

You glanced back at Paul who was just pouting behind you. "Come on babes, drink up."

Once again. Thick, soupy but warm fluids ran down the back of your throat. Everything felt heated, spreading from your stomach to each of your limbs. This time you felt an ache in the base of your abdomen. It was enough to incite a small gasp. And with that suddenly each of them had sat up.

"What's wrong, what's going on," Paul quickly asked, placing a hand over your stomach.

Marko had stood up, looking at you with a furrowed brow. "Is it-?"

"Guys, guys," you interrupt. "I'm okay, I swear. It was just a cramp."

It wasn't even a surprise when Paul lifted you up again bridal-style. "Paul,c’mon, I’m fine, really."

"Nope, nope I am not even risking that shit babes. C'mon kitten I'll lay with ya," he insisted, kicking anything on the floor out of his way. But again it ached. This time it lasted two minutes. You clung to him, trying to take a breath. This wasn’t your average false contraction that would only occur maybe every hour. "Paul- Paul it's not stopping."

"Wait wait wait what," Paul asked in rapid following, gently setting you down. Marko had gotten up to help you stand with Paul on the other side. A sharp pain wrapped around your waist. Now another two minutes. It was enough to make you double over with your hands over your stomach.

"Shit oh shit wait hold on." Paul was in a panic. He wasn't ready! The baby wasn't supposed to be there for another month! It was too soon!

You, on the other hand, were far too busy trying to keep yourself standing. It wasn't just your abdomen. It was your stomach, all the way up your back, your womb felt like it was being torn open from inside. Dwayne jumped over the sofa when the two blondes failed to move, lifting you up. Your jeans were soaked, sharp pains were faster, harder, any time another contraction squeeze you let out an agonized cry.

They all made a mad dash for your room, propping you up against a pile of pillows. "No, no wait, don't look," you insisted to the others as Paul tried to help you get your soggy jeans off.

"I'm about to help you push a baby out, and you're getting embarrassed by us seeing your underwear," Dwayne questioned

"Shut up, turn your fuckin head," Paul snapped. Carefully he draped a blanket over your legs, pulling off your jeans. There was utter fear across his face. He was so afraid of what this could do to you.

"Hey.. its okay," you assured him, cupping his face. Well, okay was a bit of an overstatement. Still, the tender touch seemed to provide some small ease as he placed his hand over yours. Again, you assured him it'd all be okay. Marko came running in with a bucket of warm water, David was grumbling about carrying over a mountain of towels, Dwayne leaned over Paul tapping him hard on the back of his shoulder. "Paul you need to check how dilated she is."

"WHAT?"

It was time for both of you chiming in disbelief. "No no, wait Dwayne man, I can't-!"

"If she pushes before she's ready, the baby will get hurt in the process," he interrupted him, grabbing Paul by his shoulders. "You gotta do it, man, I can't do it for you."

"The fuck, why me?!"

"Paul?!" It was your turn to question his logic and the blonde threw up his hands, clutching at his head trying to think.

"I'm sorry! I'm panicking!"

"Dude Paul," Marko shouted.

"What?!"

"Listen, man, this can't be good for either of them. Nut up, dude," he assured him, patting his back. Paul looked at you, still trembling on your bed. You were just as scared as him, bottom lip trembling, he could even see your shoulders shaking. "...okay…"

The feeling was so uncomfortable. You couldn't even focus between the throbbing pains that shot up your back and the tearing pull between your legs. Tears burned your eyes, you thought you might pass out. Marko was rapidly wiping away sweat from your face, letting you hold his hand. Even if you broke it, unlikely, it'd heal in an hour anyways.

"Okay how many fingers can you manage," Dwayne asked, getting a strange look from Paul. "Just tell me how many, you asshole.:

"It's like, all my fingers man I dunno what that means."

"Go to her man, I got this," he assured, pushing him up to you. Paul climbed up on the bed beside you holding you tightly in his arms with your shoulder nestled against his armpit with one arm over your shoulder and the other you immediately snatched his hand, panting rapidly. "Shh slow down baby, slow down."

"God it fucking hurts," you whine, throwing your head back on the pillow. Blood stained the bed, a thick pink-red spot on the blanket spreading out. Your face was completely flushed as a tight pressure slowly dragged down your back that made your toes curl. If Paul wasn't pinning you in place you would be writhing. There was a horrid fire in your body, there were no words left in you, only screams. Dwayne's urges to push were muffled, the ache in you back slowly pulled lower until you were able to hear them. A thick gurgle followed by high pitched, raspy wailing. While Dwayne had pulled the infant into a thick, fluffy towel something felt wrong. It still hurt. Your stomach felt no relief, in fact you felt it pull and ache again. "Wa...wait i.. no it's-it's not done, I'm not done," you whimper in a panic.

"Wait what the hell do you mean you aren’t done?! I thought there was just one?!”

Paul looked over at Dwayne, who in turn ran to David and passed the swaddled newborn his way much to his dismay. “Just hold them for a minute man, we weren’t exactly expecting more!

“I got it,” Marko volunteered, climbing off to bed to hold the baby carefully in his grasp. Your screams tore through, a second wave of pain reviving old agony. There was little relief as the same horrid tension in your back spread out. Paul coaxed you through it, but somehow it hurt even worse than before.

“No,” you cried, shaking your head. Your face burned, tears streaming down your face leaving your vision completely blurry. “No no no, I can’t, let me go! I can't, I can’t! Paul, I can’t-!”

“Baby, listen you can do this! You got this, yes you fucking do,” he yelled over you holding your head to his shoulder. “Listen to me. C’mon you fucking got this, kitten! Don’t you give up, don’t you dare fucking give up now!”

With everything you had you screamed until your throat felt raw, pushing as hard as you could until finally, finally… it stopped. A huge wave of relief made your muscles go limp. Two. You just had given birth. To twins. The realization had finally hit Paul asw he looked up at Marko still holding his first born. “Are they…”

“Dude, you got a girl,” he beamed, carefully passing the swollen new born half-awake clinging to the towel. Occasionally her grey eyes squinted open, making trembling whimpers until she nestled back into sleep.

You managed to catch your breath, Marko helping you lay down while Dwayne circled around with your son. A boy too. You couldn’t help but laugh through tears, finally able to see his face after so many months of waiting. Paul couldn’t even hold back tears, laughing like an idiot as he pulled you both in his arms. “Fuck man… oh shit I’m a fucking dad,” he choked out, trying to hide his tears.

“Let it out man,” Marko teased, patting his shoulders.

“Shit man I can't stop crying... they’re so perfect.” Paul ran a hand gently over his son’s head still softly crying in your arms, watching him soothed as he clung to his finger. He looked you in the eyes, both of you just in utter awe that you brought not one, but two lives to the world. Nothing but tears and smiles between you. It was October 31st, 2 am, and you had spent the past four and a half hours of Hell to bring your twins (Girl Name) and (Boy name). Paul could not even fathom the amount of love he was feeling, trailing kisses all over your lips and cheeks. “Happy Halloween, kitten.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, laying your head back against his chest just unable to tear your eyes away from your beautiful new family after so many hours of grueling pain, so much waiting, in the end it was worth more than either of you had ever dreamed.

“Happy Halloween, babe…”

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Breathing is a foreign task

Chapter 8 of The Spring He Came Back | 8 of 12

“Shirou!” Her voice was drowned out by the squeal of racing wheels against the rail and the loud whistle of its departure. Catching her breath, she hesitated for a few seconds but regained her composure and sprinted to the end of the platform, her bun coming undone with the icy wind. He was just standing at the door. He could still see her. “Shirou!”

He looked up at that moment, his eyes immediately locking with hers, and both mirrored confusing expressions of guilt, desperation, and relief. What a million words longing to be said. What a million thoughts needed to be shared. What a million things. She finally reached the end of the station where she could no longer run after him. She stared at the receding figure of the dreams that would take him away again.

Hinamori was grief-stricken. Apart from being kicked out of the academy, her grandmother suffered an infection which she thought Baba would never recover from. But she gained consciousness and her immune system ramped up – a miracle of miracles. For days, she never left Baba’s side, and for days, she didn’t think of anything else but Baba and Baba only. Because ever since she was orphaned, she only had Baba and herself and that was all that mattered.

A week after Baba’s discharge, Hinamori went to the academy. It was nothing short of public shunning. She told a guard to give her letter to Dr. Aizen, but the professor was no longer there.

“Who are you sad for?” Baba asked one afternoon, her frail hands cupping a warm cup of oolong tea. “I think so much had happened while I was asleep, but I only saw that face during your parents’ funeral.”

“I’m sorry Baba.” She still couldn’t forgive herself for doing this to Baba. She was irresponsible, insensitive, uncaring.

Baba reached out to softly pat her head. “My dear, you’re tired.”

She was. She was tired of denying, deconstructing, and reconstructing Dr. Aizen in her head. She was tired of making up excuses for his unreasonable workload, for his weird request to avoid seeing friends so she could be more productive, for seeing through her admiration and taking advantage of it, for using her naivete in the academic field. It was true, after all, that she was not like them. She was a peasant. She didn’t know better. She only had herself to blame.

She was tired. She was tired of pretending she was angry at Hitsugaya, of pretending not to see his pained looks from across the room during the trial, of the defeat on his face when it was decided she would be expelled. She was not angry, but she was confused. She was confused – ever since that afternoon in the yellow daffodil meadow.

Baba pulled her in for a hug, Hinamori’s arms still scared to hold the fragile vessel of her dearest person. But she allowed herself to sob, to let go of all these feelings at once.

“So have you found which bonds to treasure?”

Hinamori never got around to answer Baba’s question as urgent knocks suddenly interrupted their conversation. From the window, she saw that it was Rangiku, Renji, and Rukia, but she didn’t open her door, partly because she was angry for being un-like them and partly because she was afraid of what they thought of her.

“We’re your friends too, Momo.” Rangiku’s voice drifted across the door.

Hinamori was afraid because they were, first and foremost, Hitsugaya’s friends, and they would inevitably take his side. She didn’t think of them as her own.

“We’re your friends, no matter what.” Renji echoed. His voice was still full of energy but also full of indignation. “I don’t care what the academy thinks.”

“You must know,” Rukia started. Out of all three, she may be the most level-headed, so similar with her brother, but Hinamori knew her long enough that Rukia also treasured people close to her. “we know you didn’t do any of the things you confessed to.”

“Hitsugaya wasn’t the informant.” Renji’s voice was cracking. “But you should have already known by now, haven’t you?”

She thought she dried up all her tears. Of course, she knew. Hitsugaya would never do that to her, but she projected all of her fears to him, the fear that it was Dr. Aizen’s doing.

“But you must know he’s leaving.” Rangiku said. “We’re not privy to the details, but he’s leaving tomorrow morning. If you want to clear up all misunderstandings and say your goodbyes, you should come meet him.”

“We’re here for you, Momo. Come and meet us whenever you’re ready.” Rukia never used her nickname until now. “We’ll just have to revise that stupid hierarchy rule of course.”

When she heard the incoming rumble of the train, she dashed out of the compound on her bike and raced to reach Hitsugaya. She was tired of pretending she didn’t care. In fact, she was angry, afraid, and confused. Angry of being left in the dark, afraid of what he thought of her after the trial, confused on his departure. What will she say? Does he hate her? Why was he leaving? When will he come back? She needed answers. She needed to hear his voice. To feel that warm hug one last time.

She heard their collective sighs and their receding footsteps. At the very last minute, she opened her door but were only left with departing shadows. On the ground was a box full of her favorite tea packets. It was pathetic, the way she cried again, the fact that she was still indecisive.

The next morning, she was still unsure of what to do.

But in the middle of winter, Hitsugaya Toushirou disappeared from her life.

----------------------------

It was difficult starting over. Baba regained some of her strength but never returned to its full normality. So Hinamori found a reason to move, to get up in the morning and make breakfast, clean the compound, gather firewood. The routine was a safe space.

But the nights were not. She was sleepless, haunted by vivid nightmares of always giving a hundred percent of herself and getting none of them back. She was floating, untethered, and uncertain.

The trips downtown didn’t help at all, even after months of isolation. While the academy was bounded by a non-disclosure agreement of what went down in the trial, gossip was still bound to leak. After all, they were the Soul Society. So she went in, went out, enduring the stares and the snickers behind her back. The worst that happened was when someone on the second floor of a building threw a box of ripe tomatoes on her head. When she returned the following week, she learned that a red-haired guy, a short girl, and a booby one threatened the streets. For a short while, Hinamori allowed herself to smile.

Seasons came and went. She never heard from Hitsugaya, and there was sparse information from the erratic closed door visits she had with the three Rs. On the fifth spring season, large developments occurred. A science museum was to be built on the meadow of daffodils. Full bloom and shining in their yellow glory, the daffodils gave way to the large wheels of trucks and mechanized backhoe. She stood there, tears lodged on her throat, helpless to see memories being taken away.

It was learning how to breathe again. Like how Baba adjusted to her new set of lungs, Hinamori coped with her new life. Breathing has become a foreign task, like any other else – sleeping, eating watermelon, drinking coffee. And when she had them all down, she progressed to contacting friends. She prepared bouquets for the three Rs during their graduation. For some reason, her excommunication with the academy got lifted, and she was allowed to see them. She never made it past the gate, however, and thought it best to leave them with the guard, but they saw her anyway. They smothered her in a flurry of robes and sniffles, her carefully wrapped bouquets in danger of deforming but all for a good reason.

Then, she made even bigger steps. She mailed all the remaining files of her projects with Aizen to Unohana with a self-written testimony of her true experience. It may not hold weight, but she spoke her truth at the very least. It was time to let go of him, or rather the idea of him.

Baba sat her down one day and gave her a bank passbook.

“Baba?” A familiar feeling clutched at her heart. How come she didn’t see it coming again? “Let’s go to the hospital right now!”

“You silly girl. I am fine.” Baba calmed her down and offered her a cup of tea, her favorite brew. “It’s Hitsugaya’s.”

“What?” She was openly dumbstruck. He didn’t send any form of communication, but he continued sending money?

“He probably thought I needed some for maintenance.” Baba’s eyes were twinkling. She was so fond of the measly boy she took from the streets. She didn’t mind his unruly behavior and would have accepted him if he stayed that way. But her genuine act of acceptance returned a lifetime of favor which Hinamori was grateful for. Hitsugaya never broke his promises.

“I still have some extra. He must be a millionaire or something!” Chuckling, Baba held her hands. “But this, you need to have.”

“What do you mean, Baba? I’m not leaving you.”

“Of course, you won’t. But you need to pursue something that you want, for yourself.”

And that was how she managed to acquire the rundown building near her favorite café. Building on Baba’s connections with farmers and a couple of lessons with senior florists, she opened her flower shop. It was expected that revenues would be down initially, given her prior reputation, but this was a shot she needed to take.

Eventually, sales picked up because of her unique arrangements and how they were preserved longer than most flowers. It was thanks to the spray she concocted from her basic knowledge when she was at the academy. She set aside some of her sales – returning what she owed to Hitsugaya who by then became popular in the academic world.

Unreachable by the day, Hinamori thought to herself. But she still found herself waiting. Each time the winter came, she waited patiently for the snow to melt and give way to the budding blossoms of spring. During summer, she and Baba would prepare lots of watermelons, stocking up on jams for the next cycle of winter. And again, and again, and again. And while she was comfortable in her routine, she found herself still waiting.

----------------------------

This was the spring he came back. He. The youngest postdoctorate professor of the town. The most sought-after scientist in major journals and magazines. The prodigy of the physics world. Nobel Prize just might do a piece on his work on physics. And yet to her he was still her childhood best friend who disappeared during winter ten years ago.

“Toushirou.”

Hitsugaya gave a small smile and took a few steps closer to the counter. “Rangiku said this place is the best flower shop. I didn’t know you’re the owner.”

Probably because you went off the deep end? “I..didn’t know you’re back.”

“You��.cut your hair.” Ah, the first thing he noticed.

“It was heavy.” Hinamori’s hands tried to grab scissors and some ribbons, trying to act as if she was busy, but they all fumbled from her grasp. “So what flowers do you need?”

He stood there awkwardly with this strange silence that hang over the both of them. He was a few inches taller than her, his silver hair growing into a mullet, and his face more angled than what she remembered He also wore glasses….which was weird because she knew he had a 20/20 eyesight. But more than that, he was harder to reach than before and yet he was already in front of her.

There was nothing she wanted more than to rush into his arms and welcome her best friend home. Welcome back.

NEXT CHAPTER | 9 OF 12 | THE SPRING HE CAME BACK

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slashiest-slasher · 4 years

Text

For @slashthedice‘s Frisky February!

Day 7: Cock Warming

Brahms Heelshire x Male s/o (surprise, surprise. it's a sequel of the somnophilia prompt, and late again bc im a trainwreck of a human being)

It's over lunch the next day that you deliberate over what the exact details of Brahms' punishment are going to be for the endeavor of his the night before. Not that is wasn't pleasurable for you, but it pushed a major boundary. On you didn't think you needed to set.

But APPARENTLY you did.

Of course, Brahms has to clean the bedding since he didn't deign himself to clean up and left cum to dry all over the sheets. You didn't know if it would be more fitting for you to clean the cum out of him, but settled for watching him quite intently as he did it himself. His cheeks were bright red as he emptied himself, and struggled to wash out the dried cum from his body hair.

A good enough start, but that was all it was. A start.

You contemplated making him run errands with you in town, but you knew that would be pushing things too far. You want to make him pay and feel bad for doing something like that without your consent, but that would border on him getting arrested.

And then you thought about asking Malcolm over, play some pool, share a few drinks. Maybe even stay over for dinner. But after a quick call, you found that Malcolm is swamped over at the shop. You extend him an offer for help, which he gladly accepts - for tomorrow.

That still leaves the issue of today.

Brahms has his lessons still, and while it's mostly posturing and an excuse for Brahms to snuggle with you while you read to him, you still indulge him. It's pretty nice for you too. It's one of the few times Brahms tones down his brattiness. And that's when it hits you. You smile to yourself while putting away the leftovers.

Brahms, who sits patiently at the table, tilts his head to the side. "What are you thinking about?" he ask, resting his chin on his folded arms.

"Oh nothing Brahmsy. Go get cleaned up for your lessons, alright?"

He perks up at that, and rushes to the sink to get washed up. You only with it were that easy to get him in the bathtub. Usually you have to coerce him with kisses, or the occasional handjob. Sure, he is more malleable in his post orgasmic haze, and lets you take off his mask, but sometimes you wish it were easier.

You head into the library where Brahms usually has been taking his lessons, and pick out Macbeth from the books on the shelves. You set it down on the back of the sofa and strip yourself, meticulously folding your clothes and setting them on the desk. You take the small bottle of lube from your pants pocket, and slowly start slicking yourself up, waiting for Brahms to wander in.

Oh and when he does, you can see his eyes go wide and his back ramrod straight. "Brahmsy..." you drawl out. "It's time for your lessons. Come and take a seat." You have to hold back the snerk.

Brahms is less careful with his own clothes, tugging them off and letting them pool on the floor. If it weren't for bathing him, and spending so much time pressed tightly against him, you would probably forget how lithe and strong his body it, hidden undeath that large cardigan and baggy pants.

You shuffle so your back is against the armrest, and Brahms wastes no time sinking down on your cock. He's still loose and slightly slick from last night, so sans a sharp gasp, he goes down easily. He tries to set a pace, but you wrap your arms tightly around his, pinning them to his sides. The struggle is immediate.

"Shhh, Brahmsy, not right now. It's time for your lesson. You're going to be a good boy for me, and read this act. If you're bad, I'm leaving for the night," you breathe heavily into his ear, hot puffs of breath fogging up his mask.

Brahms moans, and squirms on your cock, which feels wonderful. "Not fair. You're so mean-"

You shut him up with a sharp, brutal thrust that knocks the book down onto his lap. "You can still turn the pages. You're a good boy, aren't you Brahms? Good boys do what they're told."

Eventually, after squirming around on you for a few moments, he finally picks the book up, flips to the marked page, and reads in a shaky voice. He stutters and trips over words, and maybe you shift around (under the guise of getting comfortable) to make his voice hitch.

His body it taut and straining under your arms, like he's moments away from breaking out of your grasp and riding you until he's screaming. But he never does. Brahms sits there, just like you told him, doing his reading, and desperately avoiding any movement. In pauses between lines, be bites his lip and whines, clenching around you.

As he gets towards the end of the act, his voice is strained, and you can watch the sweat dripping down the side of his neck. You lap each droplet up, and nose his damp hair, which only hastens his breath.

"M-macbeth is ripe for shaking, and- and the powers above put on th-their instruments. Receive what cheer you may: The niiii-" you start moving more underneath him, thrusting your hips up a little, which rips a keening, breathy moan from him. "Please," he begs, voice deepening.

"Come on, it's just one more line Brahmsy. You don't want to disappoint me, do you?" You nuzzle his neck, and nip at the skin there.

He whimpers, and grips the book tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "Th-the night is long that never fff-finds the day!" Brahms throws the book onto the floor and throws his head back onto your shoulder. From within your constraints, he tries to ride you, but can't move much. "Please, please, I was a good boy," his breathing is so heavy, and his rises and falls dramatically.

You waste no time heaving Brahms over so he's face down on the other side of the sofa, ass in the air, and pound into him at a brutal pace. Pulling out almost all the way before slamming all the way back into him. In the struggle, Brahm's mask falls from his face. "Good boy, such a good boy. You're my good boy Brahmsy," you say over and over like a mantra.

Brahms clambers to grasp at any part of the sofa, the noises coming from him more screams than moans, but he's trying to thrust back in time with you, so you continue.

It really isn't long for either of you. Brahms sobs your name when he cums. You pull out right before and jerk yourself off until you're spurting cum all over his ass and the back of his thighs. You sit back and admire your work, which isn't something you're typically a fan of, but Brahms looks so delicious with cum striping his hairy thighs and ass.

He props himself up unsteadily on trembling arms to look back at you, lopsided grin on his face. It's the first time you've ever properly seen him without his mask on. The entire right side of his face is warped with burn marks, but even with that he's incredibly hot. He could be a movie star, the romantic lead of a soft romcom where he's the sweet and shy main romance interest. He scoots his way between your legs and rests his head on your chest.

The moment skin makes contact with skin, Brahms jerks away, and desperately tries to cover his face. "Don't look," he hisses, blindly reaching for his mask, which has skittered half way across the room in the heat of things. "You can't see me like... You're going to hate me."

You grab him by the wrists and get him back on your chest. "I know you're insecure about your face Brahms, but just know I think you're very handsome. You cans till wear your mask if you want, or I can look away or close my eyes, but you don't need to hide around me." You stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head.

He nods and murmurs something into your chest, face fully hidden. "You won't leave, because of my face?" he asks timidly.

"Of course not. Brahms I- I-" you huff out a breath, trying to get your tongue to work properly. "I love you."

Brahms shoots up, eyes wide, and it's so wonderful to finally see how reactive his face is. If his hands weren't keeping him upright, he would be holding your face. "Really? Not just- not like how a nanny loves their child?"

You shake your head and smile. "Wholly and fully Brahms, I am in love with you." You lean forward to steal a kiss from him, and nip at his lips.

Brahms grins like a loon, and hides his face back into your chest, but you know it's because he's so overwhelmed because you can still feel his smile against your sternum. "I love you too! I love you more!"

You stroke the back of his head again. "I don't think that's possible Brahmsy. I don't it ever will be."

#brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms x reader #lemon #frisky february #brahms hc

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yourlocalauthor · 4 years

Text

Bad Timing

Pairing: Topper x Fem! Kook! Reader

Summary: Topper goes to the reader’s house after events of midsummers. Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: cursing? Mentions of weed, um idk that’s might be it A/N: I definitely didn’t make a whole fic based off of a song Austin North’s sister made... hope wouldn’t be me. Also I promise my next fic is going to be JJ. i think this is the first time i’ve written something in the canon timeline so yay

Request are open!

You had always had a little crush on Topper, even before you actually knew what love was. You were the type of kids who’d say they were married at the ripe old age of five, before you even understood the concept of marriage. When you two were in third grade he said he was going to marry you, and you promised him that you would. At some point, his crush stopped and yours continued. You felt guilty being his best friend, and crushing on him. Towards the end of your middle school career it stopped, and then freshman year you started dating Kelce. Slowly after that you and Topper began to drift. You still hung out, considering you guys were a part of a whole friend group together, but it was different. You didn’t spend hours deep into the night staring at the stars as you babled about the galaxy, and how it was so huge, and how slim the chances were for you two to know each other but you did. There were no late night facetime sessions, of the two of you talking about the future. A part of you was sad, but people grow apart and change. You were no longer the shy little girl who hid behind her big sister, and he was no longer the sweet sensitive boy you once knew. Sometime he began dating your best friend Sarah Cameron, and you were happy for him. At the beginning of summer you and Kelce broke up. You two both realized that you had grown apart as a couple and it was just better to be friends.

It was too late, too fucking late for you to hear a knock at the door. It wasn’t even a knock it was more of a banging. You grabbed the makeshift knife stick, that you totally didn’t get inspired by Scream to make. It looked stupid yeah, but to quote the show it was meant to create distance between you and your attacker. Of all the times your parents and sister could be gone, this definitely wasn’t one of them. You had already missed Midsummers and now you probably had some dumbass outside your door. You carefully looked out your sister’s bedroom balcony to see any identification of who was there, you could see a car but it was way too dark for you to make out what type. The rain didn’t, practically coming down in sheets and spraying you as you shut the doors. You silently walked down the stairs, carrying your small little makeshift weapon. Your family had tormented you saying how it wouldn’t be necessary for you to use it, oh the irony. You carefully stepped towards the door, leaving soggy footsteps behind. You anxiously pushed the small curtains away, looking out towards your doorstep. And boy was there a sight you never thought you’d see. On your doorstep was one disheveled looking Topper. You unlocked the door quickly, ushering him out of the rain. You shut the door, eyeing him attentively. There were tears in his eyes, and his eyes seemed very puffy and red, his hair was all messed up and the helmet of hair product he typically had was gone. He looked so messed up mumbling something over and over. You gently reached out placing a hand on his arm, looking up at him.

“Top, hey it’s okay.”

You had no idea what you were comforting him for, but you knew it was better to take the gentle route.

“Why don’t you go into the kitchen, and I’ll grab you a change of clothing. Sound good?”

He nodded, trembling but retreated towards the kitchen. You watched him, a look of confusion written across your face. You stood there for a moment longer, watching him take a seat at the kitchen island, you watched him take his seat, the way he carefully pulled back the chair as if he was going to break it. You turned towards the long stairs, going up them a million thoughts going through your head. Why you? Out of everyone Topper could’ve come to, he came to you. He came to someone who he had barely talked to on his own in almost two years. And you couldn’t feel guilty for the only thing running in your mind now. What the fuck did he do? You went into your parents room, sifting through your father's drawers for a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt. You weren’t sure if they’d fit, but your father wasn’t exactly huge. At the most they’d be a little loose. You walked back down the stairs, terrified of the silence. He still hadn’t spoken a word to you, and you were terrified by that.

“Hey, here this is some of my dad’s stuff. You know where the bathroom is?”

He gave you another nod, taking the clothing you had stuck out and he carefully tread down the long hallway. You turned on the fluorescent lights, and pulled out a mug for coffee. You filled the pot with water, and the filter with coffee grounds and set it to brew. You looked at the time, sighing as it read 1:57. Too early. You carefully pulled out the sugar, letting the sounds of coffee being made filling the house with sound. You sat on the counter, the cool feeling of granite met with your exposed thighs mentally counting . You heard the bathroom door creak open, and Topper came back taking a seat again. You both sat there silently, until the coffee machine let out a loud beep.

“Coffee?”

“What?”

“Coffee do you want some?”

“Oh um no… thanks.”

You nodded, turning back to the pot taking it out and pouring the dark amber liquid into your mug. You pulled the milk out, and poured it into your cup along with some sugar. You took a small sip, the hot liquid slipping into your mouth. It left a trail as it went through your throat burning your tongue.

“So, what happened?”

“I-“

You could see the panic, from earlier had returned to his face. And maybe a look of panic had spread across your face too. Just from his tone of voice, you knew things were bad.

“Top, it’s okay. Whatever happened I’m sure it’ll be fine in the morning. You don’t even have to talk about it.”

“No, I need to… I- shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be here, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the clothes, I can bring them tomorrow or I can go change now. I’m so sorry for bothering you, especially this late, or early in the morning. I’m just sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

He quickly stood up, pushing his chair back to leave. And just as he stood up, you were up from your spot ushering him back down.

“No Topper! You’ve got to be out of your mind, thinking I’ll let you out especially in this state, with the weather like that. Just sit down and we’ll talk, okay?”

“Okay…”

“So walk me through what happened, just take your time.”

You said taking the seat next to him…

He told you everything, from his suspicions to Sarah cheating, to the fight at the kegger at the Boneyard, to the day Sarah went radio silent, to Midsummer and John B, to him catching Sarah and John B at the Hawk’s Nest, and then finally to him pushing John B off the tower. It was a lot to take in, part of you was angry at Sarah she was your best friend why wouldn’t she come to you? But you had heard about the fight at The Boneyard. That was definitely Topper’s fault, Hawk’s Nest was partly all three of their faults. The worst thing about the whole cheating thing was, Sarah cheated on Topper with a Pogue. She should’ve known how much worse it would be to him if he found out. You didn’t care about the whole Kooks vs Pogues thing, it felt like the plot of a cheesy 80s movie, and you knew Sarah didn’t care either, but Topper did. And it broke your heart to see him like those, crying over the fact that his girlfriend cheated on him. You knew he cared about her, even if he didn’t really show it.

It was now closer to three. Your coffee was gone, and now the two of you were sitting in your kitchen in silence. You hated silence, you weren’t sure why but it made you feel unsettled. Your mom and dad always told you that you talked too much, maybe that's why, always wanting to fill the silence. But for once you had nothing to say, you used to be so good at comforting Topper and now there was nothing you could say.

“I should get home.”

“It’s too late.”

“I’ll be fine, besides I don’t want to inconvenience you any longer.”

“You’re not an inconvenience, you know that right?”

Silence. You turned your head looking for something to indicate what he was thinking. You could tell he had something to say. He was doing that thing where he presses his lips together and looked down trying to contain whatever he wanted to say.

“Out with it.”

“What?”

“Say what’s on your mind.”

“What if he’s dead?”

“I don’t think he is.”

“Why?”

“The cops would be here by now, your car is parked in the middle of my driveway.”

“What if they didn’t report it yet?”

“Then his little friends would be here, they’d stalk the neighborhood looking for your car to wreck it.”

“Right…”

“I’ve got a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why’d you come to my house? I mean out of all the places you could’ve gone, you came here?

“There’s no one else I could really go to, Rafe would probably lose his shit and only focus on the fact that his sister was mackin’ a Pogue, and Kelce would laugh at me or something like that. Plus you were always great at listening.”

“I never stopped.”

“What?”

“You said were, I never stopped being good at listening.”

“Right.”

“What happened to us? I mean we were such great friends, screw that we were best friends. I mean we were with each other ninety-five percent of the time.”

“I don’t know, I guess we just grew up.”

“Right.”

It was silent between the two of you. You still weren’t convinced you guys just grew apart. It just didn’t make sense for two people who were once so close to just stop hanging around each other.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s late…”

“Yeah.”

“My bedroom still has the extra pull out.”

“Are you sure? I can always stay in the guest room.”

“My sister’s boyfriend has practically moved in there and the place of Monster energy drinks and weed.”

“Oh uh okay.”

You slowly pushed back your chair standing up, and setting the mug in the sink. You motioned for him to follow you, and you walked towards the stairs, and him following as you went up.

“I’m going to brush my teeth, and look for an extra toothbrush. You can just sit on my bed and wait.”

You opened your door for him, before walking into your bathroom. You rummaged through your bathroom, looking for an extra toothbrush. You finally found a pack, from when Kyle had started staying. The idiot kept losing his toothbrush, so your dad went out and bought a twenty pack. Kyle was a tool, but he loved you sister. She was lucky in that sense. You weren’t like that with Kelce, you didn’t really love each other. It was weird when you thought more about the relationship considering you guys had been together for almost two years. Watching your sister fall in love with her dumbass boyfriend, was probably what led you to calling it quits. You finished brushing your teeth, and walked out of the bathroom.

“Toothbrush and toothpaste are on the counter.”

He nodded towards you, and stood up from his place on your bed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You gave him a smile, before turning towards your bed. You gently knelt onto the ground, fiddling with the bottom mattress. You lifted the platform it was on, and rolled it out. You heard the bathroom door, and stood up turning around.

“Bedsheets are in my closet, you’ll see them once you open it”

“I remember.”

“Right”

You watched him go into your closet pulling the sheets from the top, until something caught his eye.

“Is that the dress you wore to 8th grade graduation?”

He was pointing at a small white lace dress that was clearly way too small for you. You stood up to get a better view, your hand grazing against the material.

“Yeah I think it is.”

“I remember that day.”

“Yeah me too, things were so different.”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean.”

“To us, did we seriously just grow apart?”

“I thought we already discussed this.”

“I know but I just want to make sense of it all Top, I mean you were the one who initially stopped answering me. No more late night texts or calls.”

“I don’t know Y/N I just, I guess I got busy with other things. You know the pressure from my dad, and everything.”

“Right…”

“Look I’m sorry about how things ended.”

You nodded carefully looking at him. Part of you wanted to say that it wasn’t the truth that there was more, but you didn’t want to press. You let go of the dress, shutting the closet doors. You walked over to your bed, taking one of the pillows off of your bed.

“Here.”

“Thanks… again for everything.”

“Like I said it’s no problem.”

You gave him one last smile before slipping into your bed. You leaned over shutting off the small little lamp that was illuminating your room, before staring up at the ceiling…

“Y/N”

“Yes Top?”

“You were right, I did stop answering your calls on purpose.”

“Oh… why?”

“I don’t know, I think freshman me was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“At the end of eighth grade I guess I started to have a crush.”

“What?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s funny.”

“Wait what?”

“End of 8th grade is when I started putting away my feelings for you.”

“Wait you liked me?”

“Yeah I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“I didn’t have a clue.”

Silence once again. This felt weirder than before though. Something that you wanted for so long, but now that you knew of it you didn’t know what to feel.

“Where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you still like me?”

“I don’t know maybe… what about you.”

“Quite frankly I’m not sure I stopped.”

You flipped around in your bed, looking over the side. Even though it was dark it felt like your eyes had met, you kept staring at his figure until he sat up. You could see him more clearly now, the small bit of light coming from the beginning of the sunrise helped too. You looked at him, and he looked right back at you and the two of you were just lost in each other’s eyes. You scooched forward, and he leaned closer to you and then you two were kissing. It was a hot and heavy kiss, his hands were behind your head practically pushing you forward, and your long fingers were tangled in his frosted tips. Everything you ever wanted was in this kiss, and you didn’t want it to stop. Soon enough you two needed to pull away for air, you were practically breathless as you leaned back against your mattress looking up at the ceiling once more.

“That was perfect.”

And it truly was. After years of bad timing, you finally got to kiss him and it felt so incredibly perfect. You had never had a kiss like this not with any tourists or even Kelce. You smiled, as you motioned for him to join you on the bed you mind in pure bliss. Years of bad timing had led up to this, and you wouldn’t have preferred it any other way.

#topper thornton #topper #topper outer banks #topper obx #OBX #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #jj maybank

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lunafeather · 4 years

Note

2o. Exhausted parent kiss

(I’m sorry for the wall of text, Tumblr was built by morons, and when I edited the post it moved the read more into the ask itself and nothing I do will fix it -_- )

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They’d thought they could handle the Zoo, if they made sure to stick together and stand united against any kid rebellion. They’d made a plan, they’d assigned roles, they’d broken almost every minute down to a specific routine. And, to be fair, the day had started off well enough.

But an hour in and the dominoes started falling, knocking into each other, stacking and stacking until there was utter chaos – Emma’s feet had started hurting, and Beth reminded her that she had chosen these frilly, half-translucent jelly sandals, that she had warned her that they would likely not be comfortable for a day of walking, but Emma had been stubborn and demanding, hands on her hips and heels firmly planted, her chin jutted out and blue eyes steely (Rio had happened catch the expression and had to hide his chuckle; “She definitely got that look from you, mamí,” he murmured to her later, after helping Emma into her booster seat. Beth had not been amused), so she had conceded and informed her that there would be no complaints later if her feet did start to hurt. Emma’s eyes had sparkled and she’d thrown her arms around Beth’s thighs, smiling sweetly up at her with an equally saccharine, “Thank you, Mommy!”

Danny had started to get overwhelmed, clutching Beth’s hands until it hurt, refusing to let go and melding to her side, ignoring her attempts to distract him with her fingers ruffling through his hair or by excitedly pointing out the animals in their exhibits.

Kenny cycled violently between skulking and thoroughly enjoying himself the entire time, teenage hormones beginning to rear their ugly heads. And then, noticing Danny shyly hanging back, Kenny had launched his attack, mocking Danny for “being a baby”, for “needing his mommy”, for being “a scaredy cat”. Rio had sharply told him to knock it off, leveling him with that Dad glare, mixed with a little Gang Leader for emphasis, and Kenny had backed down – only to slide up into Danny’s space and whisper his insults in his ear.

All of this, of course, led to the finale in their travelling circus – Jane, climbing on top of a fence lining the pathway, her jacket arms tied around her neck so that it billowed out behind her like a cape (Beth had, in this case, put her foot down about Jane’s outfit choices. She had mostly outgrown her capes and her lack of pants, but occasionally she relapsed, especially if an event seemed exciting and ripe for adventure), tipping her head back and screeching, like Tarzan – only filthier – all while Marcus danced around her, hooting and shrieking and egging her on. Rio had swooped in immediately, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Jane before she took off, taking two big steps along the fence top, losing her balance, and launching herself off in an attempt to save face.

Beth had shrieked as she went down and Rio had yelled, and every eye in a fifty foot radius was trained on them, strangers appalled and worried and annoyed. Marcus retreated to hide behind Beth as Jane inevitably hit the ground too hard, her momentum flinging her forward onto her face. Rio had scooped her up just as she rolled over and burst into gasping, wailing tears.

Kenny had hovered on the edge of the disaster, looking embarrassed.

As Rio carried Jane back to Beth, the Pièce de résistance – Danny had jerked hard on her arm, demanding her attention, but of course Beth had brushed him off, was trying to drop his hand so that she could check Jane for any serious damage, but he had latched on and tugged even harder, desperate for her attention, his voice tight. Beth turned with a sharp what, Danny? On the tip of her tongue when he opened his mouth and puked, the contents of his stomach spilling against her fitted t-shirt and dribbling down her jeans.

Pandemonium, of course, had ensued.

Now, finally pulling up to the house – their trip cut short, for obvious reasons – Beth heaves a long, exhausted sigh. She and Rio had herded their children to the van where they cleaned Danny and Jane up, and then they’d bickered about what to do with the vomit covered clothing. Danny stripped his shirt and settled in the back of the van with Kenny, too embarrassed to complain. Rio insisted Beth wear just her jacket over her bra and that she take off her pants, that the smell would be too much if they didn’t pack the clothes away, but Beth had pushed back – she didn’t have any spare pants. After a heated stare down, they’d compromised: Beth would wear her jacket over her bra, but would leave her jeans on and cover her lap with his jacket to smother the smell. He’d crowded her into the open passenger’s seat, using his body to shield her in the vast zoo parking lot, but immensely enjoying the view. Even weary and frustrated, he had a one track mind. Beth’d rolled her eyes.

She drops heavily out of the passenger seat and helps Rio unbuckle the three youngest from their booster seats in the middle row. Marcus keeps his head down, ashamed and contemplative, scuffing his shoe and meandering to the front door. Emma stares with wide, glassy eyes first at Rio, then Beth, her lower lip sticking out and about to tremble, but Beth cuts that off with a hard head tilt, and sends a now solemn Emma on her way. Jane whimpers pathetically, swipes at her snotty, running nose with the back of her hand, and when Beth reaches for her, she shrinks away, sad little wounded animal noises curling in the back of her throat. Beth opens her mouth to ask her what’s wrong – then snaps it shut, biting her lip as Jane lifts her arms towards Rio, asking him without words to carry her inside. He sweeps her up and settles her on his hip without complaint.

It makes something deep inside Beth clench.

Danny and Kenny get themselves out, and both hurry to the house – Kenny impatient to get on his computer, Danny thoroughly humiliated by his reaction to the crowds and the chaos, and his state of undress. Beth, with no children to transport, retrieves the stuff from the trunk, prepared to soak and wash their soiled clothes. Danny at least lets her press a kiss to his hair and squeeze him against her side as Rio unlocks the door.

“Kenny, upstairs. Got that book report you gotta finish before tomorrow.”

Kenny rolls his eyes at Rio, groans. Ultimately drags his feet up the stairs to his room anyway.

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower before dinner, okay?” Beth grips Danny’s chin between her thumb and index finger, tipping it up so she can meet his eyes.

He looks away, nods, follows his brother.

Emma has already disappeared to her and Jane’s room. Marcus hovers in the foyer and rubs at his arm, too unsure of himself to commit to one direction. Beth ruffles his hair and points him towards the den. “Why don’t you go and pick out a movie for you and Jane to watch, Sweetie?”

He nods, his face lighting up with that charming, sure-to-break-some-hearts smile and dashes off.

Wandering into the living room and then the dining room, grabbing stray, discarded socks and pants and – underwear? Beth wrinkles her nose in disgust – to add to her spontaneous laundry load, she approaches the kitchen, hears Rio murmuring to Jane, “But we gotta be quick, ‘aight? Sneaky. Like a ninja. Can you do that?” She pauses on the other side of the wall, listens as the fridge opens and closes, as cupboards and drawers open and close, as silverware clatters against dishes. Jane giggles and hums, as Rio shushes her. When Beth finally steps into the open, Rio and Jane – sat on the island counter – freeze, spoons in their mouths, bowls filled with ice cream, the carton open and abandoned next to them.

Rio looks at Jane, sighing. “Looks like we got caught red handed, darlin’.”

Jane clutches her bowl closer, growling like a rabid animal. The effect is shattered by her toothy grin suddenly erupting across her battered face.

“I’m gonna go throw all of this in the wash and get changed. Does she need any band aids or anything?”

“Nah, mama, I think she’s good.”

Beth purses her lips. Scrapes and cuts are sprinkled across her baby’s forehead and nose and cheeks, her hands and knees, and okay, maybe they really don’t look too bad, but you can never be sure. She leaves to dump the duffel bag – a purple one, meant for family, not Book Club – in the washing machine, stripping her jeans and jacket off and shoving them in, too, then changes into a pair of comfy leggings and a soft oversized t-shirt that she pulls from the dryer. Then she grabs the first aid kit from the laundry storage and steps back into the kitchen.

When Rio sees the white box in her hands, he scowls at her. Beth shrugs. She is who she is.

He clears their dishes, rinsing them and setting them in the sink, while she methodically cleans and then applies antibiotic cream to Jane’s wounds. She holds out two band aid options for her daughter to choose from.

“Those ones!” Jane points to the creepy crawly themed ones, covered with all sorts of bugs.

Beth laughs, because of course. She carefully presses band aids to Jane’s knees, palms, and wrists, leaving her face bare – the last time she had tried to put a band aid on her face, Jane had screamed bloody murder and thrashed like a fish caught on a hook. Beth had learned her lesson.

“All done!” Beth smiles, replacing her supplies in the first aid kit. She leans to lift Jane into her arms.

“No! Rio!”

Rio catches her eye, nodding. “S’cool, mama, I got her.”

Beth doesn’t know if she should be offended or charmed by Jane’s insistence on her preferred caretaker.

She tucks Jane’s hair behind her ear, the opening theme for Despicable Me starting from where Marcus is huddled on the couch. “Go sit with Marcus and watch the movie, okay?”

Jane nods. Rio kisses Beth’s cheek as he passes.

She decides now is likely the best time to shower, while the house is quiet and before she passes out from exhaustion. When she’s done, she goes upstairs to check on her three oldest, finding Danny drawing on his bed, freshly bathed and already in his jammies; Emma barefoot and dancing, twirling and delicately jumping, singing lightly along to whatever soundtrack she has playing; and Kenny on his computer – slyly trying to minimize some online game as Beth opens his door, pretending he’d been working on his homework all the while, but he chuckles awkwardly, caught, pinned in place by Beth’s disapproving scowl. She sets him straight and returns to the ground floor.

What she stumbles on sends warmth snaking up the back of her neck, across her shoulders, down her spine. Marcus is curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep. Rio is on the opposite end, head tipped back and eyes closed, Jane wrapped completely around him like a spider monkey, straddling him with her knees on either side of his hips, arms tucked against his sides, head nestled into his chest as she snores softly. Rio’s hand is pressed to her back, holding her against him. Beth stands on the stairs and gapes, awed and – yep, definitely charmed, not offended by the sight. She tugs her phone from her back pocket, rounding the couch and inching closer in hopes of silently capturing the moment. One, two shots, she’s about to zoom in when –

“Better not be doin’ what I think you’re doin’,” Rio growls.

Beth grins and circles behind the couch. She bends over the back, kissing him on the cheek, rubbing her nose through his beard and burying her face in his neck.

He grunts. “Never doin’ that again.” She figures he means the Zoo.

She giggles against his skin. Kisses the closest wing of the eagle tattoo, scrapes her teeth against the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he rumbles.

“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. He huffs a laugh.

She lifts herself away from him, finding his eyes open and earnest, and that warmth from before swells. She leans down again, brushes her lips against his, smiles when he tilts his head to give her a better angle so it’s not so much an awkward sorta spiderman kiss, and instead a pleasant slightly sideways melding of their mouths. She licks at the seam of his lips until he lets her deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers and groaning. When she bites down hard on his lower lip, he jerks away.

“What’d I tell you?” But he isn’t angry – his voice is rough like sandpaper, making the hair on her neck stand up.

She presses in again, but this kiss is chaste. She burrows again into his neck. “Honestly, that’s all I’ve got in me right now.”

Rio laughs quietly. “Yeah, I feel that.”

Silence falls over them, save for Gru eagerly describing his newest evil invention. Rio turns to inhale the scent of her hair, letting the curls engulf him.

“I’m going to send those to Annie and Ruby.”

He stiffens. “Nuh.”

“Mmhmm. I have to, I have no choice.”

“Elizabeth.”

That night, they’re both too tired to do more than make out a little in bed before passing out.

Rio wakes her in the morning with his hips grinding into her ass and his teeth teasing her pulse point, his energy restored and his appetite thriving. Beth welcomes it, lets it swallow her whole.

————————

Send me a kiss prompt!

(Currently working on: 6, 7, 9, 13, 24, 26, 29, 30)

#NBC Good Girls #Beth x Rio #Brio #Anonymous #ask answer #my fic #Luna writes

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snow--blanket · 4 years

Text

stream and deer

commissioned by @nyktoon-in-otomeland!

word count: 4028

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: kennyo, ishikawa reika ***

There was an old library, south of the forest in Sekihan, and the path there was cobbled and staggering. It depended on who you asked—the widows of soldiers in the past war believed the road was formed by the steps of the Gashadokuro, a skeletal giant that was made from the bones of a thousand fallen men. The ones that hung holly above their doors believed it to be the paw prints of black cats, leading you astray from the crooked road back home.

Kennyo believed differently.

He believed that the wayfarers that had found their way to the boundary between forest and field were looking for something new. Something troubling. They were waiting for a rise in the tide, the grey of smoke and storm that christened the air in the midst of a hail of bullets. They were not looking for something pretty.

They were looking for a reckoning. They were looking for change, and change was what Kennyo needed.

So he made himself steady through the forest, following the path of small stones that dug through his worn down sandals, and the road to the library was so narrow it could hardly be called one. It was more like a small alley, and the thorns pricked him red and stole threads of his sleeves as he walked. Kennyo realised that if he were ambushed in the forest, he could not get out. He was a soldier walking to his death, slowly watching his comrades being killed one by one, lined up and ripe for murder.

He grit his teeth. Murder is what kept him walking, so he did not mind if he died. Still, it should not be here, where so many of his brothers have gone without tombstones to mark their graves.

Kennyo reached the library by the one hundred and fifty-eighth tap, and the library itself was a fairly small thing, like a silo used to store grain. He remembered a soldier that came from the inner town saying that the libraries there were the length of more than a hundred arm spans. This one had no room for Kennyo to walk around the sides or behind, shielded by the thorny wood. He remembered the sight. He'd seen it before.

The library of Sekihan was a heart and the forestry was its ribcage. He knew he was at the right place.

Kennyo walked to the front door, ignoring the foggy windows and the rusty knocker, corroded by time and air and rain. There were no flowers around the library, only the browning summer grass.

When he entered the library, he was surprised by the fact that he didn't cough. In fact, as he looked around his surroundings, the library was quite well kept—only a few books strewn on a table, but the floor was not dusty as he had expected. When he took off his sandals and walked on the wooden floorboards, it was smooth, no layer of dirt for him to wipe off his sole. The lighting in the library, however, was inconvenient. His only source of light was the evening sun filtering through the trees outside and passing through the greyed lens of glass.

Kennyo walked to the bookshelves, looking for a title to catch his eye. His hand landed on the spine of a purple book, foiled with golden stripes. The title read, 'The Magic of Exchanges'. Surely this must be it.

He removed the book from the shelf, but just as he was about to open it, a voice spoke: “I'd prefer it if you knocked next time.”

Kennyo's heart jumped in his chest, and he turned around to see a woman standing from her seat at a table, a book laid open. She rubbed her eyes and walked over to him. The woman stopped in front of him, then took the book from his hands. He was too surprised to react aptly, and for some reason he blushed beside himself.

The woman went ahead and placed the book onto the shelf once more, then turned to look at him. “What is it you need?”

He wasn't sure whether it was the filtered light passing through the foliage that made it seem like her eyes were star-scaped. He couldn't discern the colour of her eyes clearly, but her skin was the colour of the maple branches, and her kimono was a light blue. He blinked at that. “The book.”

The woman sat down in a chair, and then dipped a brush on an inkstone, writing on the pages of the open book. She hummed. “And for what reason?”

Kennyo's brows were tight in a low snarl. “Not something you need to know.”

She sighed. “This is my library. Every book belongs to me.”

Kennyo's legs already began to move, and in an instant, he pressed a blade to her throat. “I didn't ask.”

Her eyes met his own, and then they wandered down to his other hand that was free. She hummed. “Reika.”

“What?”

“My name is Reika. It's the name you will remember me by once you've killed me.” She stood up and walked slowly towards him, and it was then that he realised her eyes were not honey sunset or the orange from a lantern light, but dark as soil. Even though he was the one holding a weapon, the more she stepped closer, the farther he retreated, until they were both no longer doused in the evening light, dipped in darkness.

He could do this. He had killed before. He would do it again.

And yet, the more he pressed the cold steel to her skin, the more doubtful he felt. Kennyo could not take his eyes off of her. He did not try. He tried to say something kind—to make it quick, maybe?—but his tongue froze in his mouth and his words were robbed off him. Foolishly, he said this: “I will not apologise.”

“I don't expect you to,” Reika said, and her eyes wandered to his hand again. He only now realised that he had been drumming his palm with his fingers, a habit born out of anxiousness. “But it's not wise to lie to me.”

Kennyo opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, her hand had pushed his knife away, and his mouth was agape as he watched the small dribble of blood trail down her fingers. Without realising, he had lowered his blade, eyes widened as he saw that the skin where her cut formed chipped off and flaked to the ground like brittle splinters. “Who are you?”

She smiled, and then bowed in a curtsy. “I'm Reika, the tsukumogami of the library, and keeper of the wisdom you seek. And you?”

“Kennyo,” he uttered honestly, belatedly. “A…”

Demon?

“Traveler,” he said. It would do for now. “I'm a traveler.”

Her smile was edged, thorny like the woods. “And do all travelers carry weapons these days? I must have been asleep for quite some time.”

“It is a dangerous world.”

Reika's eyes glanced at the blade in his hand. “It certainly appears that way.” She looked back at him. “So what, pray tell, are you planning to do with the book?”

Kennyo opened his mouth to let the lies fly out like locusts, but he found himself speaking the truth. “I will make myself a monster.”

She regarded him, a sort of understanding sinking into her eyes like stone. As if she has had this conversation a hundred times with a hundred different people. “And whose monster will you be?”

His tongue thawed, and his words came easy and abrasive like sand. “Oda Nobunaga.”

She was quiet. There was no way she hadn't heard the name before. “I'll grant you permission on one condition,” she said. “That you speak truth.”

He considered this. “And when will I receive it, if I do?”

“Whenever I deem you fitful.”

Kennyo gnashed his teeth. Nobunaga's march east would be in three weeks time, so he could only make sure to gain his powers as a demon within that time frame to avoid any more reckless deaths. “In two and a half weeks,” he said. “If you do not deem me fitful then, I will burn this library to the ground.”

She was a tsukumogami, and her spirit resided in the library, tying herself to the same thread. Burning the books was as good as killing her. If he could not make her bleed, he would make her disappear.

Reika smiled. “I don't think you'll need the book to be a monster, then.”

“I will need to be a stronger monster than him,” Kennyo spat out the words like poison.

She hummed, appraising him with… something he could not recognise. Reika turned away from him, tidying up the books on the table. “Come again tomorrow,” she said.

Kennyo nodded, and then left the library. When he arrived home, he asked a village woman about hexes to ward off impurities. The old woman was somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, her wrinkled face stretched like cloth that had gotten loose from use. She had a mother's disposition, taking care of many animals, as well as parenting a lot of the village children. Although she had her own name, everyone called her such.

The old woman hunched over her small, damp, kitchen and tied rosemary and basil leaves together with butcher's twine, and then wrapped it in a small white cloth. She gave it to Kennyo, who uttered his thanks as he slipped it into his kimono. “Are you going somewhere far again?”

“No.” Not now, at least. Kennyo lightly bumped her out of the way, picking up the ladle that still had the remnants of soup. He began his mindless work of tidying up her kitchen, as it often was messy after supper for the kids. “How is…” His voice caught on his throat like the briars had on his sleeves. “How is he?”

The old woman started to stack up the dirty plates, hovering around the table so worriedly it truly gave justice to her title. “The usual. He asked you where you went, but that's about it.”

“I see.”

They were both silent after that, and Kennyo made himself sparse and went home after the old woman had sent him off with rice balls filled with anchovy and pickled plum. When he bathed, the nicks the thorns had made on his arms and legs stung red under the rush of water. There was magic there, he realised. His wounds looked like the sun spots behind his eyelids, a dizzying flower. It'll be worth it, he thought. The pain would be worth it.

He woke up early the next day and ate the half of the pickled plum rice ball, giving half of it to the little boy that was drawing circles on the dirt. Kennyo simply patted his head and said "you need to grow up strong and healthy", smiling as he did so.

“Like you?”

His smile faltered at that. “Even stronger.” I will need to be a stronger monster than him. Kennyo hoped that the words would not echo.

When he arrived at the library again, the narrow path seemed to have widened a bit—now it was not squeezing him like a tied coin purse, but it was as if he was in the kitchen with the village mother, working elbow to elbow. The curtains were drawn fully to let the afternoon glare enter. Even without lanterns, it seemed to be brighter than before.

She greeted him with a smile. “Hello.”

He nodded, and then sat on a chair, all stiff shoulders like he was going to war. “Begin,” he said.

She laughed at that. “If you say so.” She sat near him after she pulled out a green book from the shelf. She pushed it across the table in front of him. “Read.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kennyo's voice was a low growl.

Reika did not respond to his heat with fire. Instead, her voice was a slow stream from the mountains, ever-enduring. “Not at all.” This, she said without smiling. “Why do you wish to be a demon?”

“So I can kill—” Her gaze silenced him. Speak truth. “So I can avenge my fallen brothers.”

She hummed, then took out a yellow book he'd seen her write on before. She dipped her brush in the inkstone once, and then drawled across the empty pages in fluid motions. “And you think killing Nobunaga will do such a thing?”

“Not at all.” He thought even death was too easy for the devil of the sixth heaven. “But if—” he stammered, “but if it will give them some semblance of peace, then I will do it.”

She stopped her writing, tore out a page to squeeze the ink out of her brush, then put it down. “I'm going to give you something,” Reika said, and pulled out a green book. She flipped open the pages until she stopped at one page, and then a round lumpy object surfaced from the papers, like dead bodies in a lake. Kennyo's eyes widened. She took the object and put it in his hands. It was light, and smooth. Like a small rock that had been polished clean.

He blinked at her incredulously. “What is this?”

She walked past him and closed the yellow book, then nudged it into the bookshelf. When her eyes met his, there was something there. Pinecones and fallen leaves. Like she had seen death without stepping foot on a battlefield. “It's what you are looking for.”

“I am looking for power,” he said, and he almost felt ridiculous. As if speaking it into existence had somehow dulled the scent of gunpowder and burnt embers.

Reika shook her head. “You're looking for hatred,” she said so kindly, “And that is what hatred is.”

Kennyo looked at the rock in his hands, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. This thing was supposed to help him kill Nobunaga? The man who had both the forces of the nine-tailed kitsune and the fierce loyalty of a man turned servant? He couldn't understand it well.

When he tried to prod further, Reika simply smiled and then said goodbye, and he had the good sense to leave her alone after that.

Nine days passed, and the remnants of war returned in the middle of winter.

Kennyo did not visit Reika in that time—because of the ongoing skirmish (it was what they called it, but he digressed) near the village, the daimyo ordered for the soldiers to send any injured or dead to them. The air was thick with the scent of blood and pus. Kennyo had experience with bandaging and basic first aid treatment, so he was in charge of aiding the injured soldiers as well as teaching other young men how to do the same thing.

They managed to set up an area to lay the treated soldiers on a flat field that the children used to play in. Because the medicine was especially ineffective in the cold, they had used up every lantern and candle from the houses to warm the wounded men. The villagers did not complain, for they had gotten used to the chill of the mountains. Like sinners that had gotten used to hell fire.

One man whimpered, tugging Kennyo by his sleeve as he lay and groaned his pain. “Will I… live…?”

The man had part of his lower leg blown off by an explosion, and it was as if a wolf had bitten it off. A wolf would have been kinder. Kennyo was sure there was a way to save him, but he did not know how. All he knew was that if he decided to muffle his breathing with a pillow, it would end his suffering.

And wasn't that a sort of grace in itself?

“No,” he said. He would be a monster, but he would not lie. “But—” he gestured to the other men that lay beside him. “But they might.”

The man smiled. “That's all… I can ask for.” He exhaled, and his sigh was like smoke coming out of the wrong end of a gun. Kennyo looked away.

Because that's all you can afford to ask, Kennyo thought, but bit his words down until he felt blood.

When he was free, he walked to the village mother's house and went into another room with a bowl of gruel in hand. Kennyo's heart beat fast and heavy in his chest. He knocked at the wooden door, a hollow sound. “I'm coming in.”

There was no response, but he entered anyways, and nudged the door close with his leg. He put the bowl onto the small wooden table and then lifted it off the floor to be closer to the bed. Kennyo could hear his shallow breathing. “Have you eaten yet?” He sat on a nearby makeshift stool, a container for biscuits.

No answer. Just his pale eyes that stared at the walls. He had beauty, once. People fawned over him, and his hair that was lavender was now the colour of… rotting meat. Clever eyes that were like wisteria were always closed or looked at something that wasn't there, like a cat that could see ghosts. His beautiful features became wasted and hungry, his skin being pinched by his cheekbones that became more prominent as the days went by.

“Ranmaru,” Kennyo said gently. “You have to eat.”

Ranmaru did not answer. Kennyo hated that he'd forgotten what the sound of his voice was like. When he was happy, he was like a twittering songbird. When he was serious, his breath was steady and his voice rang with clarity. When he was sad…

When he was sad, he was silent, and that was the worst of all.

He only spoke to the village mother, but Kennyo did not chide him for that. People expressed grief differently. Kennyo felt his chest become heftier, like he was the crow that had drunk the rocks with the water. A foolish act.

Kennyo dragged his seat closer, and then spooned the gruel in front of his mouth. Ever since a small girl had come wandering into the room and stared agape at Ranmaru's lack of arms, no one else was allowed to enter aside from the village mother and himself. They had made up silly stories about a ghoul of some kind to ward off the children, and that was how Ranmaru lived. Like a gust of wind that could pass as the voice of a ghost.

When Ranmaru did not open his mouth to eat, Kennyo did not sigh. He returned the spoon to the wooden bowl and put it back on the table and stood up.

As he turned to leave, he felt something slip out of his robes. Kennyo looked at the floor and saw the small rock had escaped him. He crouched to pick it up, dusting it off before slipping it back into his kimono. He straightened, and opened his mouth to tell Ranmaru to rest well, but he did not speak.

For the first time in years, Ranmaru's eyes were alive and lit with disgust, his lips a pulled back snarl like a taut bowstring. “You too?” His voice was quiet and quivering, like a rabbit in a trap. “You're going to kill me too?”

“I don't—”

“Enough already!” When Ranmaru was happy, his voice was a twittering bird. When he was serious, his voice was a warhorn. When he was angry, his voice was a trembling string of a koto being strummed over and over and over until the fingers that played it had gone red and chafe with use. “Enough already… I know I'm already useless to you, Master Kennyo. I know I should die. I know that I can't help you with your goals anymore, and it'll probably be easier to kill me than to take care of me, but—!”

“No. No! You're not—I wouldn't do that to you.” He remembered the man at the tent. “I wouldn't do that to you,” he said.

“But someday you will!” Ranmaru shouted like the words had been ripped out of his mouth, from some part of him that knew the truth. That Kennyo was to be a monster, and he did not know where he stood between his fangs and his hatred.

Ranmaru started shaking, his body convulsing as his breathing started to pick up, shallow and quick and unsteady. Kennyo started to approach him, but Ranmaru whimpered. “Go away.” His eyes looked at him in fear. “Please, go away.” He closed his eyes shut and tears streamed down his face.

So Kennyo did.

He hoped something would make him stay; regret, compassion, kindness. But those could not be his tools as a monster. His human tongue had nestled in slumber behind his canine teeth. So he left, knowing that he did not deserve those half-hearted attempts at deriving the gold of his heart from the poison.

That night, Kennyo slept restlessly, and he thought about the sun spots the thorns had made on him and the look in Ranmaru's eyes. As if he feared him not for holding the gun, but as a volatile bullet in a chamber, waiting for direction and could erupt at a moment's notice. He was a monster at both ends.

The next day, Kennyo visited the library again, and strangely, he did not feel pain when the thorns pricked him. Like a sinner that had gotten used to hellfire indeed.

Without even a greeting, Kennyo laid down the stone on the table where Reika sat at and spoke. “What is this?”

Reika recognised the hurt that flashed in his eyes like fire flowers that were all too willing to burn. “It's a projectile from a canon that's called Ozutsu.”

“Why would you give me such a thing?” Kennyo could not help his frown.

“There are certain weapons that are banned from use, did you know? Because they cause unnecessary suffering.”

“What does that have to do with—” Speak truth. “I don't.”

“Well, where I come from, the leader of the country, so to speak, banned things like… poisonous gases and anything that could be used to set things on fire intentionally. They recognised that even in war, there were certain boundaries one must keep and self regulate on a constant basis, as to not misuse the power given to them to oppress the weak and harmless.”

This was truth. “Why are you telling me this?”

“To let you know that even if violence is the answer, it should not be wielded around carelessly, driven by rage.” Her eyes glittered, like there was gold amongst dirt there. “That people are always finding ways to lessen your pain even if they have to hurt you anyway. And you will not be exempt of that judgement.”

Kennyo did not growl fire like a dragon, but he whimpered like a whipped dog who did not know what he did wrong. “Violence is effective—”

“Violence is quick. It is not effective, nor is it efficient.” Reika exhaled, her breath fogging like the greyed lenses of the windows. “It is not as if I do not recognise what kind of monster Nobunaga is,” she said quietly. “But he is a kind of monster that can live with himself. He has gotten used to his claws and sharp teeth. You are…” She paused. “You are meant to be something else for this world.”

“I don't know how I can live as myself while other people are needlessly dying at the expense of my passivity.” He furrowed his brows, his anger spent at her rather naive way of looking at things.

Reika smiled, and it was the hint of something new, the smell of fern and lime and her eyes that did not shy away from his. A reckoning that started from a small stream. “I think you've forgotten. I am Reika, tsukumogami of the wisdom you seek.”

She took a green book from the shelves, and he'd recognised it before. She splayed the pages open and pushed it in front of him.

“Read.”

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen kennyo #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic #commissions #ishikawa reika

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