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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact.

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again.

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?”

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.”

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably.

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

***

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?”

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms.

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.”

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

***

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?”

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then.

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.”

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.”

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now, he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now.

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional.

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table. It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it.

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.”

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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nationalharryleague · 3 years

Text

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #prince harry styles #Royal AU #Harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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once-upon-a-oneshot · 3 years

Text

Game Over

Based On: “When You Sleep” by Mary Lambert

Summary: Frat!Harry only wants you when he’s drunk, and you’ve finally had enough

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.8K

Here I was for the third time this week pulling up to a frat party in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to be here, but, just like all the other times he had too much to drink, he needed me. Usually it takes a great amount of pushing past drunk underaged college kids to find him at these things. But this time, as soon as I reached the yard of the house, dimly lit by an array of neon party lights, I spotted a mop of curly brown hair, hunched over a bush.

“Yo! Harry dude! I thought we agreed no more puking in our bushes?!” Some frat guy was yelling at him from the porch. Harry’s only response was to flip the guy off and grin while using the bush to hold him up. “Finally! Your baby sitter’s here” The guy half-joked noticing my arrival.

Harry turned around to face me a little too fast, and he stumbled forward nearly falling. I tried my best to support him but there was no chance. I by no means would consider myself “small” or “petite”, but compared to Harry’s 6-foot, broad shouldered stature, he was too large.

“Hey! What’re ya doing hur?” Harry drunkenly slurred semi-regaining his balance.

“Haz, you called me, remember?” Normally I would’ve been embarrassed calling him anything but his name. But I’ve done this enough times to know, in the morning, he won’t remember any of the words exchanged tonight.

It took nearly an hour to get Harry back to my dorm room. Our new personal best. It’s not that I live far from the frat house, it’s more the process of getting Harry here. The trip usually goes something like, helping Harry stumble to the car, pulling over at every traffic light so Harry can throw up, finally making it to his apartment (which is past my own apartment), Harry begging me to help him to his front door, Harry realizing he “forgot” his keys, Harry asking if he can just crash at my place instead, me driving Harry back to my apartment, helping Harry stumble into my dorm.

It took about the third time of this routine being repeated for me to realize the coincidence of Harry forgetting his keys every time he went out, got shit faced, and called me to come pick him up, wasn’t so much a coincidence. And even though it was the same thing every time, I never skipped the step of driving to his apartment, because I knew it meant he’d have to verbally ask me if he could stay with me. And in some sick way, I got off to hearing his lips form those words. It was something so small, but something that meant so much to me. And he knew that. Drunk or not. I knew what the morning would bring, but for the night, I’d listen to Harry’s slow, peaceful breathing as he slept.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Harry attempting to tip-toe around, collecting his things before I’d wake up. And just like every other morning, I lay perfectly still, letting silent tears hit the pillow, while I listen to the boy I love try to pretend he was never here.

LATER ON CAMPUS

“Hey (Y/N), what did I miss in class today?” I swiveled around in the library chair to face the person who was speaking to me.

Before even facing him, I recognized the voice as a kid from my Biology class, who also happened to be from my hometown. We weren’t necessarily friends, but we engaged in small talk every once in a while. Although I knew who it was before I turned around, I didn’t expect Harry to be standing there with him.

“Oh, uh, not too much.” I focused as hard as I could on my classmate to keep from looking over at Harry. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I was too embarrassed to look at him. “I can send them to you if you want.”

“Sick! Can you email them to me right now, so I can print them right quick?” I wanted badly to make up some excuse for why I just had to leave and send the notes later, so I could get far far away from Harry. But when I opened my mouth, “Sure” is all that came out.

The guy sat at the computer across from me, and Harry sat down next to him. I fixed my eyes on the computer screen and tried to steady my shaky hands enough to hurriedly send the notes. All the while Harry continued to stare.

As soon as the notes were sent, I logged off the computer and packed up my things. In order to get out of the library I had to pass Harry and the guy, and it was just my luck that the guy had gotten up to go print. As I passed Harry, he grabbed my wrist stopping me. I finally looked into his green eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare like he had already been doing.

“What?” I asked getting uncomfortable with the intensity he was looking at me with. He just shrugged in response.

Once Harry noticed his friend walking back to the computer, he quickly released my wrist, and turned around, as if nothing had ever happened.

Things have been this way with Harry since I met him. Since the day I became his. He knew I had a crush on him, and it gave him some sort of ego trip. Even though he knew I already wanted him, he wanted to make sure it would stay that way. So, whenever he felt like I wasn’t paying him enough attention, or he thought my yearning for him was slipping away, he’d throw me a bone to keep me begging. Initially I made the mistake of thinking this meant that by some chance, he wanted me the same way, but he proved time and time again (through his actions and his words), this wasn’t the case.

And after months of taking whatever treatment Harry would give me. I finally snapped. It happened one night at a party. I was drinking, and I didn’t know he’d be there. I spent the night avoiding him. I was afraid of what drunk me may say or do once I got around him. When he entered a room, suddenly I had somewhere else to be. When he needed another drink from the kitchen, suddenly I wasn’t thirsty anymore. When he wanted to join on the beer pong table, suddenly I was bored of the game. And Harry noticed.

I was on the second floor of the house on my own, exhausted from dodging Harry all night. I leaned my back against the wall of the hall after the stairs reminded me just how buzzed I really was. I guess Harry spotted me heading up stairs because I heard footsteps on the stairs, before he appeared at the top of them. Without saying anything, Harry glanced over his shoulder, before walking and standing directly in front of me. He put an arm up on either side of my head, trapping me between him and the wall.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here.” he said too casually for our position. “Are you mad at me or something?” This took me by surprise.

“What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.” Again, his tone was way too casual for the things he was saying. But honestly, that’s always how Harry played it.

“You mean living my life? Enjoying the party? Not worshiping the ground you walk on?” Harry’s only response was a smirk. That’s when I started getting angry. “Look I’m too drunk to even be having this conversation with you right now Haz, so can we ju-“

“What’d you just call me?” Harry questioned raising an eyebrow at me. I froze. I was so drunk and emotional that I had accidentally let it slip. But upon processing the look on Harry’s face as something almost resembling distain, my embarrassment turned to pure anger.

“What do you want from me Harry?!” anger was thick in my voice as I pushed him backwards further from me.

“What are you talki-“

“No. Don’t you dare do that! Don’t act like you’re clueless. Like-like you haven’t been playing games with me since we met!” He said nothing. Instead he just stood staring at me. An emotionless expression painted across that beautiful face.

I wanted to stay angry. I wanted the fire burning inside of me to push me to finally walking away from this toxic man. But seeing that there was truly nothing there, the anger fizzled out to simple exhaustion.

“Look, we both know you know how I feel about you. And we both know you don’t feel the same way. But you play with my head. You flirt with me just long enough to wrap me around your finger. And then silence. Just like I never existed. That is until your hold on me starts unraveling again. It’s just some big twisted game for you. It’s like when you can’t have my attention, you suddenly want it.”

“It’s no-“

“I’m not done. For once in the history of whatever the fuck this thing with us is, it’s my turn to talk, and your turn to just listen. And I want you to listen good, because this is the only time I’m ever going to say.” I waited for some sign from Harry to let me know he was really paying attention.

He nodded so I continued.

“I can’t keep being a pawn in your torturous game Harry. It’s not fair to me. You’re breaking me apart and you don’t even care. The thing that hurts the most Harry,” I fought the tears for as long as I could, but the alcohol made it nearly impossible “is the fact that I know I could make you so happy. I would do everything in my power to give you the world. Hell, I basically already do. But you’re so blinded by “not wanting to be with me” that you don’t even realize how good I am for you. How good I am to you. If you stop telling yourself you’re not allowed to love me, I guarantee I’d make you fall. But if that’s not what you want. If you really, truly don’t even want to give me a chance, I’m done. I’ll have to walk away before you finish draining what little of me, I have left. And if that’s what it comes to, I’m begging you, please just let me go. No more games.”

Harry just stood and, like he so often did, stared. Blank. I felt like I was frozen in that moment and all the air had been sucked from the room. Unfortunately, I could feel myself began to sober up as I stood in anticipation of Harry’s response. I wished like hell I was still drunk, because maybe it would’ve hurt less when Harry finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he began backing away back towards the stairs. “I’ll leave you alone.” And with that he spun on his heels and trotted back down to the party.

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mosshead-lover · 3 years

Text

Fights lead to Confessions as Hate leads to Love.

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: You go over to your Captain’s to submit the work late at night. Only to get caught in the most unexpected turn of events.

Warnings : NSFW, maybe lil wild?

When you woke up from your what was supposed to be a tiny nap, It was already 10:30 PM. You curse yourself for dozing off. Luckily you were almost done with the work. Even so, you knew you had to face the captain's wrath. Lately, he had been dumping an unbelievable amount of paperwork on you. That too, after a whole day of training. Today's combat training was extra hard for you as he made you combat him till your limbs fell apart and this was after a dozen of laps that ware meant as a punishment for being slow during the warm-ups. But then, how could you keep up with the squad? You stayed up late to finish the paperwork that was due the next morning. He had strictly asked you to finish today's work by dinner. Your stomach grumbled. You wish you woke up at least in time for dinner. You bundled the papers and set off to submit them to him.

"Captain Levi"

You call out for him before knocking.

There was no reply. You call out again. Still, there was none.

A ruffle of chill wind moved the door slightly, making you realise that it wasn't locked. You decided to let yourself in, for, you had forgotten to wear your coat and, the slim uniform shirt did no good. Moreover, you couldn't afford to get the bashing in front of everyone in the morning. Better face the consequences in private.

"Um. What are you doing here?"

It was him. He had just gotten out of the shower and wore nothing but a towel around his waist. The reminiscent water droplets on his torso only added to the sexiness of his abs. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. While you were at it, Levi's ice-cold eyes were set on your erect nipples which were the result of the weather(or not).

"Tch."

He let out an annoyed sigh. Immediately aware of what he was implying, you tried to cover your nipples with the suspenders. You were embarrassed. Though, ironically, he was the half-naked one. You quickly set down the file on the desk nearby and saluted.

"The work is done, sir."

"Good, Thought you were dead."

(What an ass!)

"I apologise for being late."

"Whatever. Kitchen duty every night for three weeks."

(Again!?)

You saluted and left. It took you everything you had to not smack him. After Levi shut the door behind you, You leaned back on his door and began thinking how exhausted you have been all these days. Physically and mentally. You didn't understand why he was so hostile towards you when, ever since you joined the cadet corps, all you ever tried to do was gain his appreciation. Heck, in fact, You joined the corps for him. Where did the captain that you had admired as a citizen within the walls go? Amidst all the chaos that went on in your head, You hated yourself for not being able to shake off the image of just-out-of-shower Levi.

Levi must have realised that you were still there. He opens the door without a warning and, you fall back into his arms. You quickly get up and stand straight.

"Were you fantasising having a piece of this, cadet?" He pointed at himself.

You were extremely embarrassed at his remark and couldn't take his shenanigans anymore.

"To me, it looks like the other way around, captain."

You smirked. You had had enough of him and, you spoke before thinking. Although, you immediately regretted it. Levi twisted your hand around and rammed you against the door, with your head sideways and left cheek pressing against the door. He positioned himself closer to your right ear.

"We are talking back now, aren't we?" He growled.

The words that escaped his mouth had nearly no impact on you compared to his breath against your skin.

"Should I punish you the old school way?"

A hint of naughty acquired his voice.

"Is that all you can do? So much for being The Levi Fucking Ackerman."

You kept your composure and pretended unintimidated when your inners went wild thinking of things that might happen.

"What did you just say to me?" He questioned in disbelief and utter shock.

"I SAID, LEVI FU..."

*Slam!* He slapped your buttocks hard.

"Come on, say it!"

He challenged you.

"FU..."

*Slaps you again*

You start taking deep breaths to calm your nerves down. And then your body reacts the way it shouldn't when he squeezes the part that was still hot from the slaps before. A jolt of pleasure passes through your body and, you let out a feeble moan in reflex.

Sufficed with his so called punishment,He lets your hand go and moves away.

"Leave."

He says in an indifferent tone. Although, the bump under his clean white towel was screaming something else. He immediately turns the other side and waits for you to obey him. But you weren't done.

You walk over to him furiously, grip his shoulder and forcefully turn him to face you. You push him against the table and position your dominant hand upon his groin as if to say, ’Move, and I will crush your jewels.'

Deep down, you knew Levi could easily turn the tables down without a scratch on his body. To your surprise, he gave in, resting his arms on the table and waiting for you to speak.

"Oh, Don't you dare imply this is one-sided."

You were perspiring from all the adrenaline rush and caught some breaths before continuing.

"Don't you think I know how you look at my back as I carry out the kitchen duty that you assign? Or when I bend over to clean the dust underneath the table, as you order me to?"

You were a tad satisfied as you began confronting your captain. Looked like he didn't want to take it anymore. He moved away from you in one swift move and used his leg to pull yours forward, making you lose balance and fall on the ground. He pinned you down and wasn't all that neutral anymore.

"It's a shame you think what I have for you is only physical. "

Before you could think, he tore your blouse with his strong arms, exposing more of your chest.

"Let me be what you think I am."

He affirms and holds you by the neck so you can't look away. He then bent down to devour you, as his other hand made its way down to your privates.

Your mind screamed ''It's wrong! Stop him" But, your body had already given in, swaying to the rhythm that his hand created down there. But, before he gained any more control over you, you had to say something. You push him away with all your might and sit up.

"It was you who portrayed my feelings as lust!" You almost scream in a teary voice. You take one deep breath and speak in a calmer tone.

"So, should I be what you see me as? "

You counter him and push him down as you throw his towel away. Levi lay bare naked. You sit on top and undo your remaining clothes, never once looking away. His eyes were locked to yours. You bend down, he meets you halfway and you both share one long kiss followed by several short ones. What started off slow gets hotter and furious with every second that pass. He runs his fingers down your torso as he sucks on your neck. You pull his head closer to your breasts as he began sucking and squeezing them. You lie back, throwing your arms on the ground as Levi pushes your legs apart. He seems proud at the sight of the flood that he solely caused. He resumes his work and goes down on you. This time you are not holding it back. You weren't fighting him anymore nor was he. You let out the most pleasant moans every time he hit the spots. His fingers and tongue worked magic on you. As he leads you to the peak, your legs are throbbing and urge to close down but he holds them away effortlessly. Finally, you release it and are in ecstasy, He trusts his hard rock sex into yours without giving you time to catch up. You didn't expect anything less.

"Oh! captain." You call him out on his move, followed by the sounds that could only be reactions to his thumping.

"Sssh, cadet y/n."

He bends down and kisses to shut you up while his other hand grabs your breasts. As the thumping picked up the phase, Levi groaned at every jerk against your tight walls. The wild noises that he let out only added to your pleasure. It was proof that he too had given in completely. He didn't worry about the thin walls of the camp anymore. You both take it to his bed and reach another climax, and three more before your mortal bundle of fleshes gave up. You stared at the ceiling wondering how tonight turned out. ’Tomorrow is uncertain’ You thought. Things could change or go back to normal. Either way, you will go back to being a superior and underling. This night could never happen again. You drifted to sleep with no expectations. Levi moved a strand of hair away from your face and looked at your peaceful resting face in admiration. He wondered why he was trying to push you away at all. He smiled at the thought of how this night could be the beginning of something new.

#levi attack on titan #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #aot anime #aot fanfiction #aot fic

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klvbxlove · 3 years

Text

endearing (yu & kanji x gn! reader)

a/n: so, thanks to my cousins who’ve been talking about it often in our groupchat, i’ve gotten hella obsessed with the anime, “persona 4: the animation″! i frickin’ love yu and kanji; they’re my new anime husbandos LOL. anyways, i know i mainly write for iida (BNHA), but i figured i’d give this a try ‘cause why not? (and besides, i wanted to express my love for yu and kanji and maybe feed some simps LMAO). i should also point out that because this is my first time writing for persona 4, the characters might be OOC; i apologize :( but regardless, i hope y��all will like it!

(this GIF is so cute, omfg. also, LOOK AT KANJI’S ARMS OH MY GOD. SIR, PLEASE HUG ME WITH THOSE ARMS DAMMIT!!!!)

reader type: gender neutral

reader specification(s): none

genre(s): fluff, romance

trigger warning(s): none

summary: yu and kanji find you cute-- no wait, endearing, no matter what, especially when you’re sleeping

word count: 1.3k words

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

key:

(f/a/c) = favorite anime character (h/c) = hair color (y/n) = your name

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

Usually, you would have spent the weekend like any other weekend. Watch anime and eat nothing but your favorite food by yourself.

And well? You were not by yourself anymore. Instead, you found yourself in your room with your boyfriends, Yu and Kanji. You had your lap on Yu’s lap, feeling his hand stroke your (H/C) hair, as Kanji leaned against the gray-haired male. Both of them were talking about something, but you did not pay much attention to it.

In all honesty, you were still in shock that you were able to spend moments like this with them. Well, it was more of you being shocked that you ended up in a poly relationship with the duo in the first place!

You remembered you had wanted to confess your feelings towards Yu and Kanji, but you could not. For one, you were too much of a coward. Two, you knew both of them would not feel the same way (Yu was extremely popular with the ladies, and Rise did seem to have a bit of a crush on him. Meanwhile, Kanji seemed to be crushing hard on Naoto). And three, you would have difficulty deciding which person to confess. You did not even know if either of them were okay with a poly relationship!

But of course, you cannot forget to mention you did not want to make your friendship with them awkward by confessing to them and having them reject you. You could not even imagine yourself hanging around the boys as often if that were to occur!

Finding out that Yu and Kanji just so happened to feel the same way about you felt like a bit of a dream. Reminiscing to their flustered faces after their confessions (although Kanji was much more flustered than Yu), you swore your jaw almost dropped to the ground (literally). You even almost considered asking Chie to knock you out with her kung-fu moves to wake you up if this was a dream.

Nope! It turns out it was not a dream at all.

And of course, you said yes.

Whether or not you were exaggerating, you did not care. But that day felt like one of the best days ever in your life. No other day could compare to it. And since that day, you felt lucky to call Kanji and Yu your boyfriends.

Back to the present, you slowly felt a sense of drowsiness overcome you as your eyes were beginning to close. There something about the feeling of Yu’s hand against any part of your body that easily comforted you, especially whenever he is calming you down from crying. It must have been a feeling of comfort if you could put it that way. It was so comforting that it was already making you feel sleepy.

But you know what? No point in trying to fight your eyes back open. Besides, you have been tired the whole day. And the position you were in was also comfortable.

“Hey, do you think they would like this?” Kanji turned around towards Yu, holding up a handmade plush he had finished. It was supposed to replicate one of your favorite anime characters. Kanji originally wanted to make it small like his usual plushies. However, he had taken notice of how you preferred the larger ones that you could hug.

“I saw them watching some anime series the other day and found out they love this character a whole damn lot.” Kanji explained. While Yu noticed how proud he was of his creation, he also noticed some slight jealousy in his tone. The gray-haired male assumed that Kanji felt insecure about seeing their significant other practically squeal over an anime character. Not that you would ever break up with them for that. You would never be disloyal to them for an anime character!

As Yu’s eyes looked over the plush once again, he smiled softly and reached out to take it from Kanji. “Yeah, it is pretty cute,” he answered, feeling the softness of the creation against his skin. He could already imagine you holding it tightly as if your life depended on it. “Do you wanna give it to them?”

“I mean, yeah, I was kinda planning to,” Kanji rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked down at you. “Hey, (Y/N).”

No response. Kanji waited a few moments before trying again. “(Y/N)?” he called your name, making his voice a little louder.

Yu also attempted to get a response by gently tapping your shoulder. But when you let out a soft snore, both of them realized you had fallen asleep.

“Okay, well, I guess I can give it to them later, then,” Kanji said, lowering his voice so he would not wake you up.

“Yeah,” Yu nodded, putting the (F/A/C) plush down. He figured you should sleep on your bed instead. So Yu carefully lifted you into his arms and stood up, carried you in a bridal style, and walked over towards your bed to put you down. He made sure your head was resting on your pillow before he pulled the blanket over your body.

For a while, your boyfriends watched you (non creepily!) as your chest rose up and down from your breathing. For the most part, you did not move often in your sleep. Although every once in a while, you would make a noise.

“You know,” Kanji spoke up amidst the silence; a blush was already covering his cheeks. “I never realized how cute (Y/N) was when they sleep." Then his eyes widened. "N-Not that I’m trying to be a creep or anything!” He began defending himself, like Yu had some suspicions, as he waved his hands. “I’m just saying! I mean--”

“It’s fine, Kanji,” Yu chuckled, interrupting him. “I understand. I mean, cute is a bit of an understatement. They are quite endearing. And not just during their sleep.”

More moments of the boys watching you passed. At this point, Kanji was developing the urge to climb into bed with you and hold you close against his chest in an attempt to cuddle you. Meanwhile, Yu felt a pang at his heart due to the sight in your peaceful form.

It seems like you had that effect on your boyfriends. And you did not even know it.

“Should we...leave or something?” Kanji leaned over towards Yu and whispered. “I dunno. I think it would be a bit weird if we kept staring at them like this.”

“Mmm. Kanji, Yu...”

Said boys averted their eyes towards you. You had your hands reached out, almost as if you were trying to grab something. At first, they were confused (did you want something?), but Yu walked over towards your bed and kneeled in front of you. Out of curiosity, he placed his hands into yours, and you immediately grabbed it, holding it tight as if you were scared he would slip out of your grip. Yu smiled softly again, then turned back. “Or maybe we should cuddle them?" he suggested.

Kanji knew he must have looked like a tomato, but he did not care at this point (Not like anyone else could see). You being clingy was something that always made his heart race. He could already hear your voice whining their names and saw you pouting with those puppy dog eyes.

Damn it! You were way too cute-- no, way too ENDEARING for him! He almost could not take it!

“Alright, I guess we could,” Kanji mumbled. Carefully, he climbed into bed, getting into the position where he could big spoon you and wrap his arms around your waist. Yu did the same thing, except he was facing you. The boys looked at you with loving glances while Yu gently caressed your cheek using his free hand (your grip on his other hand never released).

“Sleep well, (Y/N),” The gray-haired male whispered, placing a kiss on your cheek before brushing a strand of your (H/C) hair out of your face. After Kanji decided to do the same thing, except he placed a kiss on your neck, they eventually fell asleep with you secured in your arms.

#persona 4 #persona #persona 4 x reader #persona 4 imagines #persona imagines #kanji tatsumi #yu narukami #fanfiction #persona 4 golden #p4g #yu narukami x reader #kanji tatsumi x reader #various x reader #oneshot #kristin's writings

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ttttaehyungie · 3 years

Text

secret santa | kth x reader

secret santa | kim taehyung x reader

genre | bff2l, fluff

summary | What you thought was an ingenious plan to figure out the perfect gift for your secret santee turns out to take a whole bunch of wrong turns, but with the best outcomes.

rating | NC-17

word count | 6.2k words

warnings | some profanities (it’s like... once LOL), mentioned breakups, it’s Christmas in the context of a pandemic

a/n | Merry Christmas everybuddy 🎄✨ here is a lighthearted (or at least it was until i hit the 6am point of the night while writing slkdjflkjd) lil christmas gift to everyone, but mostly to myself LOL bcos I’m finally posting a fic about the one who owns my heart in its entirety 😌

Christmas without you would just not be Christmas at all

Bright mistletoes up above us, it’s just you and me

-- V, Snow Flower

“C’mon, ____,” Taehyung whines. He plops down on the couch next to you and puts his big, round eyes to good use, giving you the puppy dog eyes treatment.

Well too bad for Taehyung, having known him for the last decade has granted you immunity against his pouty antics. There’s a couple of things that Taehyung employs in a bid to get what he wants. First, he’ll whine. Next, he’ll attempt to reason it out with you… or as much as he can convincingly reason with the pout still laced thick in his tone. If that fails, he’ll try bargaining. And finally, if none of the aforementioned has managed to sway you, he’ll just pout in silence.

“That’s the thing about Secret Santas, Tae, they’re supposed to be, y’know, secret.”

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who your santee is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

There it is. Stage two.

You ignore him and return to scrolling through Amazon in what you hope is a nonchalant manner.

“What if I guess who it is?” he tries.

When you don’t reply, he continues, “Is it Hoseok?” He runs a hand through his golden locks in thought. “No, buying for Yoongi is easy because all he ever wants is practical things like planners. You wouldn’t need help with that. Hm… Is it Seokjin?”

He rambles on about different kitchenware that could make a good present for Jin, a ramble that would have been really helpful if only Jin were actually your secret santee.

Taehyung gasps and falls silent, shocking you into finally looking up from your phone. His already round eyes are even rounder, wide as they are in shock. A hand hovers over his mouth as he goes still.

Then, as suddenly as he had gasped, he relaxes into a laugh.

“For a moment, I thought your secret santee was me,” he says, chuckling. A jolt runs through you, and your breath hitches in a way that you pray is unnoticeable. “But you’re too shitty a liar to do that.”

“Hey!” You jab his side playfully and he yelps. “What do you mean? I’m a great liar.”

“That’s a blatant and unconvincing lie right there.”

You fold your arms and turn away.

“I know you’re not actually mad, ____,” comes his sing-song voice, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining into the couch.

Letting out another huff, you turn further away. So when he grabs your hands and pulls you to face him, it startles you a little.

His eyes search yours, and you can’t help yourself from stumbling into their depths. The seriousness in his gaze holds yours intently.

But just as you think he’s about to apologize, his eyes melt into little crescent moons as he grins. “So. Who’s your secret santee?”

His cry comes out muffled under the cushion you hit him with.

An exasperated groan leaves you the moment you close the front door. Tipping your head back to rest against the solid wood, you shut your eyes. You hear footsteps pad closer.

“I take it your plan didn’t succeed?” Irene says, leaning against the wall as she takes in your defeated stance.

“Nope,” you say, picking yourself back up and hanging up your scarf and coat. Your roommate’s still in the same fuzzy pyjamas she was in when you’d left for Tae’s earlier in the day, and honestly, she’s got the right idea. You’re ready to get back into jammies too.

A Lifetime movie plays in the background, and you’d be willing to bet your life’s savings -- not that there’s much when you’re but a struggling student -- that she’s got a mug of hot chocolate to accompany her.

“Another Christmas movie?” you scoff in mock disgust. “How are you not sick of them yet?”

“What else are we supposed to do during a quarantined Christmas?”

“Don’t kid yourself. You’d be doing this even without the quarantine.”

“Hey. If you detest it so much, I heard that Taehyung’s place has many vacant rooms right now.”

You roll your eyes. She got that information from you. Both his roommates were gone from the apartment for the time being, one went back home for the holidays and another had chosen to attend the entire semester from home since everything was online anyway, leaving Taehyung with the luxury of the entire apartment to himself.

Meanwhile, Irene was making full use of the ongoing situation to evade going back home for the holidays. Too much family drama to allow her to binge-watch her holiday flicks in peace, she’d said.

And you? It’s kinda awful, but you’ve chosen to remain in your apartment just slightly off-campus so that you could get a head start on your research for your thesis, the campus library’s offerings much more vast than the local neighborhood library of your small town hometown.

Upon hearing this, Taehyung had offered to stay to keep you company over the holidays. “We’ve spent every Christmas together ever since we were kids, Christmas would just feel too weird without you,” he’d said. “And then we can join the gang’s Zoom Christmas celebration together too! I heard that’s what Namjoon and Jin will be doing since they’re both in the city over Christmas.”

How you’d managed to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of goo at his casual selflessness was a real feat. Taehyung had always been close to his family, and often missed them intensely while you guys were miles apart from home each college semester. So for him to give up a trip back home so you could still have a piece of home with you over Christmas was not a small sacrifice.

“Hellooo?” Irene waves a hand in your face. You jump, jolted out of your thoughts. “Are you actually daydreaming about it? Ooh, staying over at your crush’s place with no one else around… saucy things could happen, ____.”

Although that wasn’t what you were thinking about, you still feel the heat rise to your cheeks at being caught daydreaming about Taehyung. Instead, you give a feeble excuse to get Irene off your back, “I’m just thinking about secret santa gifts again. Ugh, why’d I have to draw him of all people?!”

“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking this because of your feelings? How difficult is it to think of a gift for a guy you’ve been friends with since you were kids? What about his interests?”

“That’s real tough. His hobbies are so whimsical and oftentimes just impulsive. Remember the phase with the film camera? And then the short-lived violin phase? And the piano phase? The only outcome of that phase is him playing the Chopstick Waltz every single time we pass by a piano.”

“Well, what about something that’s been a constant in his life then through all the phases?”

You purse your lips in thought, weighing the thought. It’s not a bad suggestion, but what has been a constant for him all this time?

Coming up with naught, you sigh and turn to head to your room. “I’ll think about it while I get changed back into my jammies.”

When you described Taehyung’s ideas and interests as being whimsical and oftentimes impulsive, this is exactly what you meant.

“Tae, I don’t think it’s gonna fit. Why’d you get such a big one?”

“You just have to believe, ____. We just need faith, trust, and- well actually, maybe just faith and a really good, hard thrust.”

“I feel like there’s so many that’s what she said jokes to be made here.”

“Wasting your energy on that line of thinking is the reason why we haven’t gotten this christmas tree through the door yet.”

With one more solid push, the widest part of the tree finally makes it through the narrow doorway of Taehyung’s apartment, and the two of you go stumbling forward with the extra momentum.

“We did it!” he exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug. “You believed!”

Internally cursing yourself for the way your heart has the audacity to stutter at his touch. The hug is nothing- the warmth that seeps from his body to yours is familiar because hugs are nothing special in your friendship. Even in your grade school memories, Taehyung had always been a tactile person, giving out hugs generously and demanding them in return by simply throwing himself at people to be received in an embrace, coerced or not. As you and your peers grew older, Taehyung became more aware and withheld himself from his sudden hug attacks, especially towards the other girls. But not you. He felt no need to skirt around things with you, and you found a quiet hum of satisfaction in knowing that Taehyung could be his tactile self with you. Hugs were just an expression of your friendship. Nothing more.

That is, until you wanted them to be more.

You shake the thought away. You’ve dealt with this successfully for more than a year now and you can continue on.

Taehyung loosens his hold but keeps his arms around you, leaning back to look at you. The soft puffs in his cheeks and the light creases around his eyes as they bunch up in happiness are just some of the little things you adore about him. The contentment practically radiates off of him. It’s just like him to get this excited over a christmas tree.

“Shall we get to setting it up?” you ask and he nods, releasing you completely then to get to work.

After the two of you find the perfect spot, situating the tree in the corner of the living room by the windows and in reach of a power socket, you grab the bag of decorations.

The oddly small and light bag of decorations.

“Tae?” you ask, pulling out the single box of baubles. “Is this all you got?”

Grinning sheepishly, he nods. “I didn’t have much left for decorations after I chose the tree.”

“Why’d you choose such a big tree then?”

“What’s the point of getting a tiny tree? It’s only nice and festive if it’s large!” he exclaims.

“Well, what’s the point of getting a big tree that will be bare except for six baubles, Tae?!”

“I was thinking we could improvise the decorations.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Improvise?”

“Yeah, like- wait,” he says, running to his bedroom. His voice floats over from the narrow corridor, “just hang on!”

After a little rustling and rummaging, Taehyung emerges with two shoeboxes and a few scarves thrown over his shoulders. Grabbing one of the shoeboxes from him, you open it to reveal a bunch of keychains. Souvenirs from his friends’ travels and some of his own too. In there, you recognize an eiffel tower keychain you gifted him after your family’s holiday to France.

“Here, look!” He grabs a few and begins hanging them on the tree. “Decorations!”

You laugh. It’s a classic Taehyung move, and honestly it doesn’t look half bad. Picking a few keychains of your own from the box, you join him in placing them around the tree.

“What are you going to do about the tree topper?” you ask.

He smirks. “I’ve already got that all figured out.” Unboxing the second shoebox to reveal his collection of polaroid photos, he rifles around till he finds the photo he wants. Brandishing the polaroid of Yeontan, he grins. “Both an angel and a star. Perfect.”

You can't argue with that logic, and you say as much before vacating the step stool so he can clip the polaroid to the top of the tree with a wooden peg. Eyeing the pile of scarves on the couch, you ask, “What about the scarves?”

“Scarves? You mean ribbons?” he says, and begins draping them across the tree. You giggle and reach for one. The soft material is plush, caressing your skin as you run your fingers over the material. It's much nicer than the other scarves, you notice, and way too nice to be stuck on a christmas tree.

“Hey,” you say, “isn’t this cashmere? Are you sure you want such a nice sweater on your tree?”

Taehyung shrugs. “It was a gift from my ex. It’s not like I’m going to wear it anymore.”

His ex. The words hit you like a punch to your gut.

Taehyung's ex, Samantha, was a pleasant person to be around, easygoing and bubbly with a sunny personality that matched him well. At least, from what you could tell based off the first two months of their relationship that you got to witness firsthand. You're not quite sure who exactly initiated the distance -- whether it was from your own courtesy that you gave them space, or whether Samantha had, directly or indirectly, requested for it -- the memories were all too foggy by now.

What you do remember is that one moment they were happy together, and the next they were broken up, the relationship lasting just a little over six months. Taehyung never spoke much about it and when you did probe, he would brush it off with scant excuses that they just figured they weren't compatible after all.

That had been some time in the spring. Briefly, you wonder how many wears the scarf had gotten, and how much sentimental value it held. The quality of the material hinted towards a relationship that had been going strong.

Yet, you muse over it as you drape the luxurious material over the prickly christmas tree, Taehyung brushed it off with such brashness that spoke otherwise.

“Hey,” Taehyung breaks the silence that has fallen between you, clearing his throat in a self-conscious manner as if he’s feeling guilty over the awkward turn that the conversation had taken. You look at him, half-hidden behind the tree pines, his eyes pensive. Maybe he’ll finally open up about the relationship -- it’s been eight months after all. But then he flashes his usual elfin grin. “Any luck with your secret santee gift yet?”

You groan, partly because no, you’re still clueless and stuck on what to get him, and partly because he’s once again evaded the topic of his ex.

The incessant buzzing of your phone gets ignored, vibrating almost violently in its spot on the tinyass coffee table next to your feet which you’ve kicked up ever so demurely. The consecutive, rapid-fire notifications can only be from an overly enthusiastic Taehyung.

Irene nudges foot with her own socked one. “Aren’t you gonna check your phone? I can pause the movie if you want.”

“Nah, I’ve watched Home Alone enough times to not care about missing anything. And it’s probably just Tae being all excited about secret santa gift suggestions.”

“Ooh, how’s that going? Finally got him to spill what he might want?”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “No, he’s sending me individualized suggestions for everyone that are so well thought out and personalized that I can’t get them for anyone else.”

Grabbing your still-buzzing phone, you flick through your texts. Just as you’d predicted, Tae’s sent you a bunch of Christmas socks he found on Amazon that he thinks would make a good addition to Jin’s collection of festive socks, a set of really nice paints that would pair well with Yoongi’s newfound interest in painting, and an anthology of time-travel short stories that he thinks would fascinate Namjoon.

“Hm, d’you think he’s called your bluff? Intentionally sending you suggestions that wouldn’t be helpful?”

You shake your head, frowning. “Tae’s not like that. Honestly, it was just a bad move on my part, hoping that he would give some generic gift suggestion that would let slip what he really wants. Tae is too thoughtful to get people generic gifts. He puts his heart and soul into the presents he buys for others.”

Reaching over, Irene pinches your cheek lightly as she coos at you, “Awww, you’re so in love with him. I can feel the cavities forming.”

“Pretty sure those are from the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows you love so much,” you say, tipping your chin in a gesture to the mug in her hands.

Irene sticks her tongue out and takes an extra large sip in typical defiance.

As much as you mock Irene for her love for Lifetime holiday movies and hot chocolate, you do have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to it. Curled up on the lumpy couch in Taehyung’s apartment, cupping the hot beverage in your hands, even the uneven lumpiness of the cheap piece of furniture begins to feel comfortable.

The entire room is dark, save for the glow of the television. Taehyung has always insisted that this is the best way to watch movies. Maybe it’s a good thing your makeshift decorations on the christmas tree -- still standing proudly in the corner of the room -- didn’t include christmas lights after all.

Outside, the snowfall has gotten pretty intense, the temperature dipping significantly compared to the previous few days. It is well and truly winter, the cold showing no mercy to anyone who wasn’t prepared for it. You’re thankful to be inside and with a nice hot drink.

But as the film runs on, you get so engrossed in the plot that you don’t even realize you’ve finished your drink till you drain the last of it. Oh.

Looking over at Taehyung, you could always request for more and you know he’d be more than happy to make you another cup. But the movie is at its climax and the way his eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth slightly agape with how invested he is in the film, you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him now. So you try to ignore the way the cold begins nipping at your fingertips.

Soon enough though, the once warm mug that was a pleasant source of heat became stiff cold ceramic between your equally stiff fingers. Scrunching your toes, you wish you’d thought to bring an extra pair of socks over, especially when you think about the pair of socks you’d stuffed into your boots, soggy and cold with melted ice. A shiver runs through you at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks, and you jump. You didn’t realize he’d noticed.

“Yeah, a little.”

He pouts. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? C’mere,” he says, and lifts the edge of his blanket, revealing his plaid pants and sweatshirt combination.

Crawling in quickly, you tell yourself that you’re only complying because you know he’ll put up a fight if you don’t, and you don’t want the cold air getting into the cocoon of warmth he’s created with his blanket. Not because you’re excited to snuggle up with Tae. Definitely not. But now that you’re here, you may as well make the most of it, you figure.

Taehyung yelps as you press your icy toes to his warm thigh. Your arms wind their way around him, desperately seeking out the warmth of his body heat. Nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck, you sigh, finally getting some relief from the cold.

The tiniest of groans escapes him. Then, a tight gasp. Stiffening, you peer up at Taehyung carefully.

He’s turned to look at you too, his attention that was once rapt by the movie now focused directly on you with equal intensity. Nervous energy accumulates within you and your heart rate skyrockets, now keenly aware of every hard plane of his body against yours. The logical part of you regrets the way you launched yourself at him and gave no regards for personal space. But you’re only dimly aware of that. The part of you that just wants Taehyung, the part that you’ve kept under lock and key, now fights against the restraints you’ve tied yourself into, unravelling you. You gnaw at your lip unsurely, and you watch as Taehyung’s gaze drops to your lips, heavy-lidded as they linger there, then darting back up to meet yours head-on.

The hand that he has on your hip grips you a little tighter, and you clutch the front of his sweatshirt in response. Your heart is pounding now, and the headiness of it all makes you feel swirly. Is he leaning clo-

Slam!

Both of you jump. The noise from the film startles you both, and you accidentally head butt Taehyung’s chin in the midst of it. He yelps in pain.

“I’m so sorry!” You frantically rub the spot to soothe it. “Are you ok?”

He laughs it off in his usual carefree manner. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It’ll be fine in a bit,” he says, pulling you into his chest, his warmth emanating from his chest to your back in a comforting manner. “Let’s continue watching the movie.”

With his arms wound around you, you wonder if he can feel the way your heartbeat continues to beat erratically. If he does, he says nothing about it. And underneath you, you can feel clearly how his heartbeat matches yours in its stuttering pace. But you say nothing about it. Not for the duration of the movie, not when it ends, not when you stand to leave, and not when he wishes you goodnight at the door.

The next day, you wake up with thoughts of yesterday sending your mind into a spiralling whirlpool. You decide it’s time to make an emergency call.

Also, it’s five days to Christmas and you still haven’t thought of a suitable gift for Taehyung.

“Hello?” comes a chirpy voice over the line.

“Jiminie!”

“____! What’s up?”

“Listen, I need your help. It’s about the secret santa thing.”

“What about it?”

“I need a suggestion for a gift for your best friend.”

Jimin chuckles. “Isn’t he also your best friend?”

“Well, yes, but…”

You take him through your original plan to covertly ask Taehyung what he would like by asking what would make a good gift, and how it got completely derailed, to which Jimin just laughed. And then your discussion with Irene on finding something that has been a constant in his life. Since you’re on the phone with Jimin, you take the chance to rant about your annoyance with yourself at not foreseeing Taehyung’s thoughtfulness and the personalized gift suggestions that he’s been giving you.

“____,” Jimin interrupts you mid-rant. “The answer is right in front of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your plan didn’t really fail. If Tae is suggesting personalized gifts, then…” he trails off meaningfully.

You gasp. “Oh. You’re absolutely right, Jimin, you genius!”

“This was your own plan, ____.” He chuckles. “Now as for what has been constant in his life… Do you really not realize?”

Oh.

“Jimin, you’re a genius, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Ok, I gotta go now,” you say, excitement zipping through you as your mind fills abuzz with different ideas now that Jimin has set you on the path.

“Seeya on the 25th, you dork.”

“See you!”

Belatedly, you realize you missed out on telling Jimin about what had happened the day prior. But you shrug it off, figuring that you could tell him about it another time.

---

But as it turns out, you don’t. The hectic rush of preparations for Christmas keep you and your friends so busy, you’re thankful everyone’s blocked out Christmas night for each other or you’d just miss each other completely otherwise.

Days on from the eventful movie night you had with Taehyung, the distance has already caused the memories of the night to go slightly fuzzy. You wonder if it had really even happened, or if you were just overthinking everything as per usual.

And since Taehyung never brought it up, your friendship carrying on in the easy status quo, it was simple enough to chalk it up to your own imagination.

The rush towards Christmas keeps itself up even till Christmas day itself. You’re huffing a little as you squeeze yourself and your grocery bags through the doorway of Taehyung’s apartment. The lopsided feeling of your beanie sitting askew on your head is just one part of your disheveled state right now.

“Tae!” You set the bags down and replace the spare key in its hiding place. “I’m here!”

He comes bursting out of his room and running over to help you with the bags. “Is it time to bake?” His tone is bright and shimmering with anticipation. Baking Christmas cookies with each other’s families was a tradition the two of you grew up with, and a tradition you both intended to keep even while away from your hometown.

Pulling the cookie cutters out of the bag, you wave them with a grin. “Shall we? We still have to prepare dinner after this and make sure we log onto Zoom on time too.”

The afternoon is filled with a flurry of flour and butter and sugar, cookie cutters and oven mitts, and a whole lot of messy icing. You pipe out a beautiful blue and white star, if you do say so yourself, taking pride in the baking skills you’ve honed over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, Taehyung scribbles Yeontan on a star-shaped cookie of his own. He adds this to his collection of alien cookies and rabbits on the moon.

When you’re both done decorating and the icing is left to set, you get to work on dinner. It’s a simple affair, just some mashed potatoes that you set Taehyung to work on, some lightly roasted veggies, and a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket in place of the usual Christmas turkey your families would normally have.

Grabbing plates to serve up your dinner, you can hear the chorus of hellos from the living room as Taehyung sets up his laptop to join the Zoom call. It fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing, the cacophony of noise from your friends still as familiar as it always is even though it’s filtered through the speakers on the laptop. If anything, it may even be more chaotic than ever, with everyone speaking over each other, the social cues becoming even harder to read over the virtual platform.

When you finally enter the room with your two plates, the noise only gets louder, everyone shouting to greet you. You say a quick hi and slip back into the kitchen to get the tray of cookies to show off to the rest over the webcam.

You take your place next to Taehyung, seating yourself next to him in a similar cross-legged position, your knees knocking together as you both squeeze to get into frame together. Memories of the movie night come back to you, but Taehyung seems unfazed. Feigning calmness, you try to focus on the ongoing exchange instead.

The conversation drives itself, years of friendship and months spent apart from each other fuelling the chatter. With small talk on how Christmas day was for everyone, quick catch-ups on how everyone’s doing, inside jokes and references to shared experiences of the past, the atmosphere feels just like that one year you all went on a camping trip together and sat around the bonfire on the final night, swapping stories and jokes in a breezy fashion.

Just as the conversation slips into an easy placidity, Hoseok suggests you all move on to the secret santa bit of the night.

That’s when you gasp. Amidst the manic pace of the day and its activities, you’d forgotten to retrieve your present from where you’d stowed it in your apartment. In the same way that you treated Taehyung’s apartment like your own, so was your apartment to him. Taehyung could walk into your apartment any moment, whether you were present or not, and you needed to find a good secret place for your present. Stashing your prepared present in an unused cupboard in the kitchen, you remember commending yourself for having found such a great hiding spot. Turns out, it was so excellently hidden that even you had forgotten about it till this very moment.

But your internal struggle and the guilt that plagued you went unbeknownst to the rest, each taking turns to open their presents. A whole range of reactions and sound effects went on, Hoseok thanking Taehyung for his gifted sunglasses with such sincerity that transcended the boundaries of the webcam and screen. Yoongi had bought Jin a new fishing reel, and the boys were in the midst of discussing their next fishing trip.

But it was Namjoon’s reaction and the chaos that ensued that truly had you relaxing a little from your anxious-frustrated-guilty state.

“Snacks? And wet wipes?” Namjoon’s expression is incredulous as he pulls the items out of the brown paper bag. “Who’s giving me all these freebies?!”

“FREEBIES?!” Next to Namjoon, Jin smacks the table, causing him to jump. “I’ll have you know that those snacks were selected after careful observation, and I even went so far as to scout out for the specific brand you like and some even required shipping from elsewhere because the grocery stores near us didn’t stock it, and I got you wet wipes because you’re always spilling things, or maybe you could use them after you’re done snacking while on the go, but you still have the AUDACITY to call it FREEBIES?!”

At the sight of Jin gone red in the face, the snickers that the rest of you had been holding in came bursting out.

“Ok, I think we’re the last two to open our gifts,” Taehyung says, reading the room and moving on quickly before Jin could get even more agitated. “____, this is yours from your secret santa.”

Ripping open the wrapping paper swiftly, you find a brown leather-bound journal with your initials embossed on them in gold.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” you gush. “And since we’re the last two, this must be from Jimin!”

Even through the screen, the sight of your friend’s smile, eyes all scrunched up with the sincerity of it, has your heart swelling.

“And that means… that I’m your secret santee!” Taehyung gasps. “No way. And this whole time I was calling you a bad liar.”

He rambles on, explaining to the rest about your sly method of attempting to discreetly ask him what he might like for Christmas. The whole time, you’re chewing on your lip, trying to find the right moment to interject and explain what’s happened.

“Ok! So,” Taehyung finally pauses, looking at you expectantly, “I’m ready for my present!” His hands are cupped and ready to receive the present… that will not make it to him tonight.

You place your hands in his, lowering them gently and taking in his obvious confusion. “I’m so sorry, Tae, I left your present back at home. I promise I’ll bring it over tomorrow! Or you can come over after this to grab it if you want.”

“Oh,” he says, puppy dog pout hitting you full-force with guilt. “But I still want a gift now, so…”

Grasping your hands that are still in his, he tugs you forward into his chest, and plants a soft kiss on your lips.

Silence. Both from your brain, and from everyone around.

It lasts for two seconds -- your group of friends has never found it easy to shut up after all -- and then it’s an eruption, pulling you back to the reality that the two of you are not alone.

You can hear Jungkook screaming, “GROSS!” and Namjoon yelling in confusion. But Jimin’s tinkling laughter, filled with unmistakable joy, cuts through the noise along with a raspily muttered, “It’s about fucking time.” from Yoongi.

In the background, you hear Jungkook asking, “Waaaait, so does this mean that Seokjin has to give Namjoon a kiss now too?” and Jin’s immediate, “NO!”

The noise jump starts your brain back into motion. You attempt to pull away from Taehyung, highly aware that your friends are subject to witnessing all of this, but he tugs you back, anchoring you to him with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. The laughter from the laptop speakers turns into cries of outrage and then an abrupt return to silence with a click, and you realize that Taehyung must have closed his laptop, ending the Zoom call.

Looping your arms around Taehyung’s shoulders, you begin to respond to his kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. It’s new, it’s electrifying. But it’s also like something deep inside has finally clicked, like you’ve finally arrived. You’re home.

“Did you know?” you ask. “About me having feelings for you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. Heat rises to your cheeks at that, and you hide your face in his chest. Now that you don’t have to be seated on the floor to be in frame for the Zoom call, the two of you opted to move to the lumpy but still much more comfortable couch.

The gentle strokes of his hand in your hair is familiar and comforting, reminding you of the infinite patience he’s always shown to you. It’s a reminder that this is Taehyung. The boy you grew up with through thick and thin. Your best friend. And that gives you the boldness to continue despite your embarrassment.

“How? And when?”

“Honestly,” he trails off slightly, in thought, “I think it was Samantha who made me realize it.”

A pang of jealousy hits you. But you’re immediately wondering if it’s even warranted, now that you guys are… Well, what exactly are you? You make a mental note to clarify that.

“She was jealous, y’know,” he continues. “Didn’t want to say it at first, and tried to put up with it because she understood that our friendship is not something she could just expect me to give up.

“But it got to a point where things just couldn’t go on any longer. What she initially saw as discomfort that she would learn to overcome with time, soon became an awareness that the two of us were crossing the line of just friends, even if we hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Taehyung sighs, causing you to look at him. He smiles down at you, and skims your cheek with his thumb affectionately. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been here by my side all my life, that it was such a gradual thing and neither of us really realized it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “It was only after you began dating her that I realized how not okay with that I was. I thought it was just me being the possessive best friend trying to get used to having to share you. But then I realized I didn’t just want my best friend back. I wanted what she had.”

Swallowing hard, you remember the bitterness of the jealousy you felt back then, and that still recurs from time to time.

“What about you then? How did you come to recognize your feelings?” you ask.

“Samantha made me face up to them.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “One day she laid it all out, about us being more than just friends. And when I denied it, she asked me, would I choose you over her if I were forced into making that decision. The answer very nearly rolled straight off my tongue. And that was when I knew.”

“Is that why you broke up?” you ask. Taehyung nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you silly girl.” He boops you on the nose. “I’m just thankful that Samantha was as understanding as she was about it. I think that’s why it took me a long time to get over it -- knowing that I’d hurt someone as wonderful as she is with my own blind ignorance.”

“And you too,” he says, leaning down to lay a soft peck on your lips. “I hated knowing that I’d hurt you because of my lack of awareness of my own feelings. That’s why I had to take my time this time around, to make sure that I know for sure.”

“Do you know for sure now?”

“Yes,” he says, holding your gaze with seriousness that has you swimming in its depths. “I’m yours now. Purely and fully.”

When you returned to your apartment the next morning, Irene was waiting to grill you on your whereabouts. It didn’t escape her notice that you hadn’t come back to the apartment the previous night, and she joked about how the vacant rooms in Taehyung’s apartment probably didn’t matter because you could always spend the night sharing his bed anyway.

And when you, blushing madly but holding your own nonetheless, informed her that she was right, well, you should have anticipated her squeals of excitement. “Tell me everything!” she had demanded.

You also should have anticipated the endless teasing that she would put the two of you through, especially in the Christmas season. After a trip out to the stores, finally taking a break from her Lifetime holiday movies marathon, she’d returned with copious amounts of mistletoe to hang all around the apartment, insisting the two of you make up for lost time.

But what Irene doesn’t need to know is just how much the two of you agree with her. Stealing a tiny sprig of mistletoe from around the house -- there’s so much that she wouldn’t even notice anyway -- you pack it into one of the clear baubles you’d bought for Taehyung’s Christmas present, nestling it into the box alongside the other clear baubles that were customized with pictures of the two of you.

#ficswithluv #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #btsbookclub #btswritersguild #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung oneshot #bts x reader #bts fic #bts oneshot

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dear-heather-gray · 3 years

Text

“Front lines”

About: Smut of Kaeya having your services being served in the front lines ;)

🧍‍♀️I might redo this, this is just based on a daydream I had.

Wattpad: Tainted_Desires

——

“Oh? It seems you made it on time for once.” The cryo user said, his arms crossed against his broad chest as he stared down at the famous “honorary knight”. “Yes, what did you need my help with?” Y/N said, tilting her head up to face Kaeya. “Well, you see...” He began, pausing soon afterwards as he walked around his desk slowly, almost tauntingly. “The Abyss order has been a bit more active than usual, so I’d like it if you came with me to investigate. After all, maybe you can find more use for me on the front lines. How 'bout it boss?” The traveler blinked, tilting her head before agreeing after silently eyeing the exit. “Haha, just don't feel intimidated by what I can do.” He finished, his lips pulling upwards into a small smirk before he reached for a paper on his desk, soon presenting it to Y/N.

“This right here, is our main suspect. This fire mage, from what we know, has been the one causing all this trouble.” He started to explain. “The odd thing about him? He throws a red shimmery bottle filled with god knows what.” Y/N frowned a bit. “Do we know what exactly it does?” A chuckle passed his lips as he stared down at her. “It’s been making people behave...interesting, to say the least. It’s best we don’t get hit with it ourselves.” With that last bit of information, the two went on their way to confront the fire mage behind the ruckus.

—

Upon arriving, Y/N couldn’t help but notice what seemed to be red shimmery slime on the tiles on the bridge. The closer they got to the end of it, the more there was. Speeding up her walk into a light jog, she quickly came to a stop when Kaeya held out his arm, his other hand resting above his sword. In front of them laid a scene unlike no other. A few of the knights were laid out passed out on the ground with their swords not too far from them, cheeks flushed with red along with their suits being splatted with that same shimmery red liquid Y/N show on the bridge. Looking at their faces more clearly, she noticed a red hue painted on their face. Mouths part open slightly as drool came slowly trailing down, eyes dazed while some had theirs closed. Y/N squatted down next to one of the fallen knights, fingers reached out to touch the liquid when her wrist was harshly grabbed before she felt her body being jerked away. “Ah ah ah, remember what I said in the office? Let’s not touch it. But then again,” He released her hand. “If you’re dying to touch it, be my guest.”

Y/N stared at the captain before scoffing, what was it with him and his words? “Kaeya, we don’t know what it does! We can bring a sample back to Lisa, for her to test. Wouldn’t it be best if we do tha—“ “Kufufu...” Standing up and summoning her sword, Y/N turned around and gritted her teeth. “You!” She seethed out at the fire mage, her hidden frustration with working with Kayea coming out. “Wait, Y/N—!” Charging at the mage, she rose her sword to strike when he disappeared in flames, causing her to swing at nothing but the air. Turning around quickly on her foot, she turned around ready to strike once more when she noticed the mage appearing behind Kayea as they threw the liquid bottle at Kaeya who was caught off guard. Pausing her attack, she watched with wide eyes as Kayea turned around to swing at the mage only to be hit with the red liquid, staining his white parted shirt. It seemed as soon as the liquid hit Kayea, the mage did a brief dance before disappearing shortly afterwards.

“Kaeya! Are you okay?!” She asked rushing to his side, watching as he fell down to his knees. Her sword forgotten as she searched over his face. “I’m...fine..” He muttered out, placing a hand on his chest, pulling it away to reveal the red slime texture. Y/N cupped his chin and brought it up to her face, finding it odd how he seemed to purr in her grasp. “Y/N...” He began, traveling his gaze up to her face, a lazy smile on his face before he pushed her down with strength she was not expecting. “Kaeya?!” She exclaimed out, winching when her head made contact with the ground.

“Shh...You’re so cold...mind cooling me off?” He whispered in front of her face, lips slowly closing in on hers as Y/N’s eyes grew wider and wider. Just what had gotten into him? “Ka—“ Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to become victim to his touch. Kaeya gently connected their lips together while one of his hands gripped her hips, holding them to the ground while the other laid beside her head. A soft moan escaped his lips as he nuzzled his body closer to hers, grinding against her with no shame while Y/N’s face turned red as a tomato.

It wasn’t till he pulled away that she was able to speak, although not for long as Kayea went towards her neck. “W-What are you doing asshole?! Let...me go!” She said in a flustered panic, her hands placed on his shoulders to push away only to receive a playful bite on her neck. “Mhm...” Ignoring her passive aggressive response, the cryo user sat up on her waist, officially trapping her as he ran a hand through his hair, his signature smirk appearing. “Why, I’m showing you how you can be more use for me on the front lines of course.” Peering down at her, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Her cheeks flushed with slight sweat coating her body, eyes wide and panicked but most of all, helpless. His smirk seemed to grow more smug as he released a small chuckle, trailing a finger down her cheek. “Look at you...” Tilting her head back over to face him, he tilted his own and sneered down at her. “All hot and bothered by simple touches...” Releasing his touch from her, Kayea briefly glanced at the other fallen knights. “It seems that...this, thing can actually work in our favor—“ Leaning down close to her face, he continued. “Wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

“Get ahold of yourself, this isn’t you!” Just what was in that bottle that mage made?! Her heart couldn’t take this abuse, especially from Kayea. As cliche as it as, she actually helped out more around town in order to gain his attention. She wanted to become closer to him. She had a crush on the most flirtatious person in this world. “I could say the same for you.” She jolted when she felt a pair of fingers trail over her shorts, directly on her pussy. “Just how wet did you get..? It’s seeping through, it’s almost pathetic.” He degraded with ease, his playful tone causing Y/N to burn with embarrassment. Trailing his hands over his own body this time, he made sure to put on a show as his hands went lower, bringing attention to the growing bulge in his pants.

“Just how long do you plan on denying it?” His hands went down to his zipper. “I can’t think straight...” He lightly whimpered as he freed himself from his personal hell, his pants. “Let me fuck you, Y/N.” He panted out, lightly grinding himself against her shorts. She stared at him through narrowed eyes before huffing, pulling down her shirt and soaked panties. “...” The moment he placed his dick onto her outer walls, he released a moan. “Oh fuck...” He held her hips, gaze staring down at her before he began to hump himself against her. The action alone caused her to feel her liquids starting to run down her thighs, her gaze flickering towards the dazed knights to the horny Kayea ontop of her. “Come on princess, I need you...don’t you want to help me?” He began to tease. “Use your voice, tell me.” He sneered once more. “I didn’t know you were such a slacker. You cant even tell me you want me inside of you, despite grinding against me?” Y/N glanced down only to see that he was right, he long stopped moving his hips. “I-I...” “Come on, you can do it. Just say, “Kayea~ Please make my pussy feel good~.” He said breathlessly, rolling his eyes back in a sense to mock her future expression. Y/N bit her bottom lip before lightly spreading her hole for Kayea to see, looking away as she harshly pushed the words out of her mouth. “I-...Kayea, p...please make my...p-pu...” She inhaled. “Pussy feel good.” The man had the audacity to laugh at her, wiping away a fake tear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you?” Although this was torture for him to do, it was worth it. “Kaeya! P...PLEASE MAKE MY PUSSY FEEL GOO—MMFH?!” His hand placed itself on her mouth as soon as he pushed inside of her, watching her expression carefully before he shivered. “Damnit...Why are you so wet..? I fit right in, like a glove.” Removing his hand he watched as she herself shivered and gripped at his pants. “...I’ll...kill you...” She glared at him before closing her eyes, only to have her jaw grabbed forcefully. “Hm? Do you really want to say that?” To prove his point, his hips lightly thrust into her, immediately causing her to release a moan. “Come on, why don’t we enjoy ourselves?” Sitting up, he trailed his hands back down to her hips, massaging before grabbing them. “Try not to wake up our friends here, yeah? We wouldn’t what Amber to hear all from inside, after all..” Pulling out till the tip was in, he slammed back into her. “We’re right at the edge of the bridge.” Y/N gripped harder as she stared up at the peaceful sky, keeping her moans to a reasonable level.

“Oh god yes! It feels so good Y/N, you’re swallowing me whole at this point...Have you been practicing?” He teased, not giving any mercy to the girl underneath him as he chased after the pleasure and coolness he felt as he kept diving deeper inside of her. The deeper he went, the more his body felt better. “Come on now, wake up.” Y/N barely managed to glance at him as Kayea tilted his head. “Don’t want to be late, right? But then again, you really are a slacker...”

When she next open her eyes, she was inside the library. The amount of disappointment that she felt was almost as large as Zhongli not understanding when she told him a dad joke. Rubbing her face she released a frustrated groan. Standing up, she decided to see just exactly what the hell happened when suddenly she gripped the table. Just as she gripped the table, the door to the library opened to reveal the one person she was not expecting. “Oh? Here you were. My dear, were you trying to avoid me?~” Kayea said as he made his way over to her, wrapping one of his arms around her waist while the other cupped her cheek. “I thought you were resting in bed after yesterday, but I’m afraid I was mistaken. So, how was it?” He leaned closer to her face. “Did you like helping me on the front lines?”

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin kaeya #genshin smut #idk what else to tag #what did i get myself into

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sxfik · 3 years

Text

and when the seasons change (will you stand by me?)

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: when kang sol's mother has to work late, she has to take care of byeol. it's just her luck that she has an exam the next day, one for professor yang of all people. joon hwi, being the kind classmate he is, offers to study with her.

or: byeol is solhwi mastermind, and she's says everything we wanted to say to the two dummies.

request by anon: hiya! saw that you do solhwi prompts so I was thinking that Sol A has to babysit byeol but there's a big test the next day so she calls joon hwi over to help her w studying. meanwhile byeol(being iconic) tries to set them up in true shipper fashion.

a/n: this is based on a request i got on tumblr, pictured above! i have around 5 (ish) fics that will go out over the week so stay tuned for those lmao! uh yeah, i don't really know what else to say other than im really sad law school ended so i've just been sad and mopey, but still writing to fill that hole. as always, enjoy <333

Although Joon Hwi was the 'star' student of Hankuk Law School, he was never much for studying. It's not because everything came to him that easily, but because finding the strength to concentrate and study when he could be hanging out with his friends or doing anything better with his time was insanely tempting. Finding the effort to get to the library, and read up on his textbooks was arduous and he always found it easier to study by himself, no distractions around. This was, of course, until Kang Sol came along. For Joon Hwi, everything in his life was turned on its axis when she came into his life.

When he first met her, in Professor Yang's class, she was just the poor girl being grilled by the professor. His heart went out to her, watching her pull her hair out of the bun to avoid the question. He didn’t know what possessed him to answer for her, but he assumed it to be a one time thing. But from the moment she crashed into him yelling "Second Round Judicial Exam, save me!", he was stuck on her.

Slowly, she was everywhere in his life, from the study group to the legal clinic to a majority of his classes. Unlike so many of his classmates, who were by the book and generally clinical in personality, she was a fireball of energy and passion. In class, despite not being the best student, she would argue with so much passion and energy that it was impossible to win against her. It was fascinating, watching her connect and jump from case to case. She would throw herself into everything she believed in, which included defending him from the school and his uncle.

Joon Hwi has liked girls before, but he's never been so captivated and head-over-heels for anyone in his life. Love and dating seemed secondary, and he preferred to keep it out of his life until he reached his goals. You could call him selfish but he prefers to call it being focused on his goals. He's always had one goal in life, and it was to work with the law, whether as a judge or working as police or as a prosecutor.

Yet, if Kang Sol was in the room, his eyes were on her. Whether she was frustrated at him or teasing him or gleeful with him, he couldn't help but smile at her. If she was around, he was right by her side, making her laugh or cringe or annoyed.

So there he was, studying in the school library with Kang Sol. Professor Yang’s exam was right around the corner and unlike last time, he cannot miss the comma in the given case. Plus, he doesn’t even have the excuse of being accused of a murder this time, so both Sol and Joon Hwi were hunched over their books, pouring into the texts when Kang Sol’s phone blared loudly from her bag, startling them both.

Sol cringed as she dug around in her cloth bag, the classic dirty looks tossed her way by the sleep deprived students as she stood to leave the library and take the call. He buried himself back into the textbook, but the concentration was lost and he was more interested in the call she’d gotten than ins and outs of defamation laws.

Around 10 minutes later, Sol was speeding back to her chair, the phone clutched firmly in her hand. But Joon hwi could see her frustration from a mile away. Her face held that pout, her eyebrows furrowed and grumbling under her breath. It was adorable.

But he was worried, considering it was the day before the exam, Sol couldn’t afford to be distracted from her studies. He wasn’t blind to her struggles in school, but Joon Hwi never considered her lesser than him for not being able to pick up the concepts with speed.

Unlike him, and a majority of his classmates, she had passion and a heart when dealing with clients. He could see it in her mannerisms with clients in the legal clinic, patiently explaining the clause or the issues they might face to the client. She’s sympathetic to the max, always hearing out the client’s grievances before making a judgement on what they had done. She was exactly what the world needed: a sympathetic, patient lawyer that was willing to fight for the client, someone that they can cling to. He and every professor in the school knew it, but it seemed Sol was the only one who never realized how essential she was.

Suddenly, he felt himself getting up to gather his materials with her without a second thought, despite the confused look Sol shot him. He wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to do it, but he knew that if she wasn’t there, he didn’t want to study at the library either. Grinning at her, he walked out, side by side until they were outside the quiet library. She paused in her tracks all of a sudden, taking him by surprise and he paused too, looking back at her, tilting his head in confusion.

"My mom needs to work late today, so I need to rush home and take care of Byeol," she looked up at him finally, her face apologetic. "I'm sorry, Joon hwi but I don't think I'll be able to study for the exam with you," she started to walk away, but he couldn't let her go that easily.

"I'll come with you," he offered, surprising himself, "I'll study with you. Plus, it'll be easier to take care of Byeol with two people than one, right?"

She paused, looking back at him, conflicted. Sighing, Joon Hwi stepped closer to her. "Come on, let's not keep her waiting. Shall we?" He was determined to keep her company, especially since she’d have less time to study since she’d have to take care of Byeol. It was easier this way, and I’d do this for any friend he told himself.

The ride there was slow and quiet, but not an uncomfortable one. They both walked in tandem, with their backpacks filled with everything they'd possibly need to study, and even the bus ride was peaceful, the two of them staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by them. Joon hwi sat beside her, rather than across from her like last time, just to save space on the bus. On the very empty bus they were riding together.

Days like this, where the air was heavy and humid, the earth preparing for a heavy rain, were the most comforting types of days. The air was still warm and humid, making Sol’s hair poof out slightly, her naturally wavy hair frizzing out of her bun. The feeling of her beside him, as if this was a regular ritual for both of them, brought a sense of content in his heart. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, whether it was the girl beside him or the past year’s chaos, but watching the trees and the traffic pass by them brought more peace to his life than ever.

The two made their way into the alleyway, where Joon hwi had once stood guard of when Lee Man Ho once lived, threatening her family. He's standing in front of Kang Sol's house behind her, holding her backpack in hand as she struggles with the keys.

Finally, finally, she gets the door open, and a figure zips by, crashing into Sol. Byeol’s arms wrapped Sol's waist, like the adorable sister she is. Sol stumbled back into him slightly at the sudden weight thrown onto her, but nonetheless, crouched to envelop her sister in a bone-crushing hug. Joon hwi couldn’t help but smile at the two sisters, their love for each other enveloping him

"Unnie!" she grinned up at her, "Did you bring him with you?" Her eyes were serious and wide as Sol opened her mouth to answer.

"Byeol-ah!" Joon hwi yelled out from behind Sol, peaking out to see the 8-year old grinning at him, much wider than she did at Sol. Ha!

"Joonhwi-oppa!" the girl squealed out, leaving Sol's grip to run to him. As she ran to him, he picked her up and twirled her in the air, the girl's giggles echoing through the small alleyway as the two greeted each other.

Sol, standing by the door, smiled faintly before calling out, "Come in, before either of you catch a cold!" Both of them filed in, incessantly chattering as if they hadn't seen each other in months, even though it had only been two weeks since Joon hwi had been by to take the two sisters out to the park.

"Oppa! Why did you come with Unnie?" Byeol asked, finally being set down inside the house, looking up at him curiously as Sol

"Ah, we have an exam tomorrow, so I'm here to study with her," Joon hwi replied.

"Good," the girl jumped onto the couch. "Unnie needs a lot of help," the girl quipped back, nodding her head solemnly, making her look a lot older than 8 years.

"Yah Kang Byeol!" Sol exclaimed, indignantly. Joon hwi chuckled at the two as Sol turned to him. "Here, we can work in the dining room," she moved to grab her backpack from him, stepping towards the dining room.

"NO!" Byeol yelled out at the both of them, her hand flying out to stop the two of them, "Unnie, you should work in your room instead! You know I'll be watching TV and obviously, it'd be too loud for you to focus," the girl rushed out, her doe-eyes a bit too wide, her voice a little too innocent. She is definitely plotting something, Joon hwi narrowed his eyes at her but she avoided the look, choosing to jump off the couch and walk towards them instead.

Before either of them could protest, the girl pushed the both of them towards, presumably, Kang Sol's bedroom. Sol awkwardly laughed at him, Joon hwi shooting her an amused look. They awkwardly stood in her room, Joon hwi avoiding her gaze and choosing to look at the walls instead. Her room here looked similar to the one she had back on campus. Her desk was stacked to the max, sticky notes lining the walls with old reminders and little notes of encouragement. It was neat, but brightly colored, which suited Sol so very well.

“Let’s get started shall we?” Sol finally said, clearing her throat, gesturing for him to set down his books. He obliged, sitting at her desk while she chose her bed. They both set up all their materials, the awkward silence shifting into a peaceful one, the two working themselves into a comfortable rhythm.

It had been almost an hour of straight studying, both of them regurgitating criminal codes and case precedents from memory. Joon hwi was sure that by this point that his mind was complete mush, and Sol was starting to wither, her eyes almost glazed over while she started into one of her casefiles. Her hair was a lot puffier than it was when they started. Turns out, Sol had a habit of ruffling her hair with her pencil each time she was confused or working herself too hard, which was often.

“Let’s take a break shall we? I’m going to get a glass of water,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms out, trying to put the two out of their misery. He yawned, the stiffness in his muscles finally noticeable when he stretched out. She nodded back to him, yawning and stretching out in her chair, before she picked up her phone to check some messages.

He walked out of her room and back to the living room, where byeol was still glued to her seat, her eyes on the TV playing some cartoon. Heading over to the dining table, he poured himself a glass of water with the pitcher, before heading back to check on Byeol.

“What’s this show called?” he asked her, taking a sip of the water while watching the show with her.

“Hm?” Byeol turned to him, “Oh, it’s this show about two kids who set out to find a treasure mapped out by their parents,” she explained, gesturing towards him to take a seat beside him. He obliged, opting to sit beside the girl, both their eyes glued to the screen. A few moments passed by, before the little girl turned towards him.

“You know, my sister’s favorite color is dark green. Not like emerald green, but forest green tinted with some dark blue,” Byeol said nonchalantly. Joon Hwi’s eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why the girl is telling this to him. “And, her favorite ice cream is this nutella infused one that you get down the street, closer to the town square. It’s been her favorite since she was little,” she continued, not giving his confusion any heed. The girl rapidly started telling him facts about her dear sister, all the while confusion took over his features.

“Joonhwi-oppa,” she squinted at him, pausing as her face grew serious, “You like my sister, don’t you?” He sputtered, choking and coughing out the water. “I knew it!” she excitedly squealed.

“Byeol, byeol, shh, you can’t let your sister know okay,” he brought a finger to his lips, his eyes alarmed. For an 8 year old, Byeol was surprisingly cunning and observant. She had managed to figure out what he had been struggling with for the past year after just a few short visits. They shared a look of understanding between the two, before the girl turned her attention to the show, leaving Joon Hwi walking back to Sol’s room. The Kang Sisters, he shook his head, laughing as he thought, what a perfect duo.

bonus

It had been almost 3 hours of studying together before Kang Sol realized that the sun had set outside, and all of a sudden, they were in a rush to clean up. Joon hwi had to leave before the dorms closed entrance and because of their studying, the two of them had their head buried in books since the time they got to her house.

She was glad to have him over though. Despite her hesitation at the school and fears of inconveniencing him, having Joon hwi made the process a lot smoother. With his careful and gentle help, she had a much easier time understanding the concepts and she was eternally grateful, considering Professor Yang’s exams were always some of the toughest.

They were rushing out of the house, his backpack in her hand as he hurriedly put on his shoes and stepped outside the house. But before Joon hwi could turn with a hurried goodbye, she called out to him, her breath suddenly lodged in her throat.

“Thank you,” she quietly told him, the prospect of looking into his eyes as he leaned over her doorstep daunting. “Thank you for helping me, Joon hwi, it was really kind of you,” she beamed at him, trying to convey her gratitude and more in the only way she knew possible.

They both paused, looking at each other as the air got thicker between them, as if a string was drawing him closer to her. She watched as he swallowed slightly, his adam’s apple moving slightly before he let out a soft “You’re welcome,” and a classic smile, before he rushed out, trying to catch his bus.

She sighed, watching him as he rushed off, capturing the bus. Soon, she thought, Soon, I’ll tell him how I feel. She reassured herself, turning around only to find Byeol hiding behind a pillar.

“Byeol? What are you doing, weren’t you watching a show?” she questioned her sister, but Byeol made no response. Suddenly her sister frowned at her, muttering something about how can she possibly be a lawyer and she’s so blind, leaving her in utter confusion at the front steps.

#law school jtbc #jtbc law school #law school #law school kdrama #law school netflix #jtbc #jtbc drama #solhwi #mine #my writing #fanfiction #kang sol a #kang byeol #han joon hwi #ryu hye young #kim beom #kim bum #i’m not gonna lie i’m not extremely happy with this one but i really struggled to incorporate the scenes i wanted to have so it felt very #repeatitive

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pparkerpoetry · 3 years

Text

Face Reality (Part 1)

Title: It’s Better This Way (but then why does it hurt?)

"Really, it was Ranboo’s fault, he figured, because if he hadn’t been so stupid, surely he wouldn’t have clung to a business relationship and blown it out of proportion. It hurt now, but he hoped that the pain would dull. He hoped that now he had gotten away from everyone who he cared about but never cared about him, that he would be able to find peace.

It was better this way.

Then why did it hurt so much?"

Part 2

Masterlist

His hands were shaking in the cold, or from stress, he couldn’t remember which one. Maybe it was both. His hands were shaking, his head was pounding, and the comfort room that he had built so carefully did nothing.

His pets did their best, but there was nothing to be done. He was too far gone at this point, and the tears welling in his eyes couldn’t be stopped. There was nothing that could be done to stop his breath from becoming faster, there was nothing that could be done to stop the soft endermen warbles from leaving his throat.

Well, maybe one thing. But it was impossible. There was no way that he would be calmed down by anyone, not when he had overheard what they’d said. No one would hear him and hold him in a warm embrace to comfort him, no one would bother to find out just how messed up he was.

No one was going to take the time out of their stupid days to help him. He just wasn’t worth it, in their eyes.

Ranboo buried his face into the fur of his dog, hoping that his tears would be absorbed rather than hurting him. He didn’t want to deal with more than he already was, it would just add unnecessary complications to what he was about to do.

He stayed sitting for a while, admittedly, but once his noises had quieted and his shaky, suppressed sobs had stilled to slight hiccups, He stood up. His legs were unstable, but he walked, leaning against the wall to reach his chests.

He filled his inventory with as much as he could carry. He left anything that he could easily get again, he got all of his pets standing, and then he clambered up the rickety ladder. It was dark, and only one lone light was on in the cottage that Ranboo stared at longingly.

It’d be so easy to reach out.

Ranboo started walking towards the cottage, but he didn’t stop. He kept walking towards the portal, only pausing when he heard the telltale sound of a door opening.

“Ranboo, is that you? What are you doing up?”

Oh, Phil.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t want Phil to see his puffy eyes, his wavering smile. “Oh, I was just going to see if I could find any mobs, get some experience. Chat with some endermen if they don’t get scared. Don’t worry about me!”

It was spoken with such obviously faked cheerfulness that Phil must’ve known he was lying. He had his pets on him, why did he need a parrot to go mob hunting? He didn’t turn around, surely that was suspicious.

There were so many things wrong with his alibi, but if Phil noticed the hybrid’s voice cracking with sadness, he didn’t say anything. Why would he? He just gave an “Okay.” and shut the door softly.

Ranboo let out the sob that he had been holding in, stumbling forward and away from his home house. He could find a nice place, rebuild. Find peace.

Then why was he so sad? Was it because he had thought he had finally found people that cared about him? Was it because he had thought that he could finally be himself, and not hide who he was? Was it because all of his hopes amounted to nothing, only serving to crush him more? Was it because, with all of the people in this forsaken land, he was still lonely?

He remembered to take a deep breath, although it was probably closer to a sharp inhale, as he trudged through the snow and to the shimmering portal to the Nether.

He didn’t know what it was, but something in him made the Nether seem so unappealing that he just sat in the snow for a little, thinking. It would be dangerous for his pets, and he didn’t want anything to happen to them...

At the end of his train of thought, Ranboo gathered his pets and started walking to the coast. He didn’t know why, until he was staring down through the water at the stone of a Fortress.

Should he?

It was with startling clarity, then, that he remembered what his people had said to him when he wanted to reach the overworld.

“You can go, if you so wish, but it is a land of evil. You will find no comfort there. You will come back to us, crying, and will know that we were right. You can go, but be prepared to be faced with nothing but sorrow and pain. Do you want to go, child? Then go, but never come back. We will no longer want you here. We will have nothing to offer but a turned side.”

As Ranboo stood in the sand, looking down, he pondered on those words. Would they accept him if he pleaded long enough? If he cried enough? Would he find peace in the land that he had been so eager to leave as a naive child, only to discover that the way back was sealed?

He remembered the fear that he had felt knowing that the choice was permanent back then, but would it be now? This wasn’t the same place he had emerged.

He made a split-second decision, diving under the surface and ignoring the stinging of the water on his face that made him wince. He landed on the cracked stone, not surprised that there were torches everywhere. What did he expect- humans to not meddle in business that wasn’t theirs? To leave what was peaceful alone? Not the humans he knew. No, they only knew war and manipulation.

He wandered the halls, looking for the portal, patting his pets occasionally as they followed him. He almost wanted to leave them here, but he couldn’t ensure their safety. Not with humans. They were better off with him.

Ranboo almost laughed at that. Nothing was better off with him.

Eventually, he found the portal. It was in a room that had clearly already been found, but the portal wasn’t lit. The space in the middle was filled in, and it looked like someone was using it as a table. It was a good thing he knew who, but his heart still burned with rage at something so important being disrespected and demoted to something as domestic as a table.

Time passed in a way that he couldn’t quite grasp, but at some point in his contemplation on whether it was worth it, he heard a noise from the hallway. He didn’t move, because he figured he knew who it was.

He was wrong, of course. Just like he always was.

That didn’t mean he had no clue who the being was when he turned to look. He had seen this god, many years ago when he was a child.

“You want to go back?” The voice wasn’t natural, but it seemed similar to the one that haunted him in his darkest moments.

“I’m thinking about it.” Ranboo responded, sitting down on the cold floor.

“You realize you need me to light it? How were you going to get there?”

A heavy sigh passed through the hybrid that looked so small there, on the stone. “I was going to cross that bridge when I got to it.”

It was quiet, but the deity took pity on the child. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll light the portal for you. Help you get back. I can’t promise they’ll accept you back, and I’ll have to close it once you’re gone, but I’ll help you.”

Ranboo scoffed. “Don’t try to be all buddy-buddy with me. I’ve got nothing left to offer back for it.”

It grew dark, as if the being was sucking light from the nearest sources. The black aura around it grew, as its wings fanned out. “Don’t mistake my duties for kindness. You got out, I’m getting you back in. You are going to be just as alone in there as you are out here, it makes no difference to me.”

“Maybe it’ll hurt less in there.” Ranboo whispered. Then, “Light it.”

In a split second, it was done. The black expanse of starry night beckoned him, so Ranboo stepped up to it. Before he entered it, though, the god spoke again.

“If they come looking for you, I’ll let them in. Maybe you need someone to find you, show you they care.”

As Ranboo ushered his pets into the portal, he straightened to his full height and stared the deity in the eyes, ignoring the sudden urge to attack. “Don’t bother. They’ll never look for me.”

And, just like that, he was gone.

The god gave a slight chuckle as he moved to put the portal back to as it was, only the ominous purple particles giving any clue as to what had just happened. “I don’t know what they’re doing to these kids, but it’s a good storyline. Maybe the script’ll be even more angsty. Ranboo is carrying that, though. Maybe they won’t even use Pandora’s Vault- but you never know.”

And, just like that, it was quiet in the tundra again, the first hints of dawn clinging to the skies. In the distance, a shack lay abandoned, and the people in the cottage slept peacefully. They didn’t know why, but their dreams that night were of a land with pitch-black skies and flying cities.

They spared it no thought. It was just a dream.

______________________________________

Ranboo emerged from the portal, and was greeted with silence, just as it was with the silence of the snow. His soul felt torn, part of it glad to be back, one hating it.

He held his head high as he carried his pets to find his old home. Maybe they hadn’t destroyed it, yet. Maybe they had so little faith in him that they knew he’d be back.

The island he was on seemed so... dead. Empty. No endermen were there.

Ranboo pushed down the feeling of unease that he had. Now was no time for being sick. Not when he needed to travel over the void.

He found the hidden pathways that all the inhabitants of the End used, feet moving almost mechanically as he found the city he needed. His old home.

When he entered the old house that he had been given, off the side of one of the bigger buildings, he was greeted by one enderman. He was startled by the sudden interaction, but then the other started talking.

“Hello, child. We knew you would be back. You’re later than the books said you would be, though.”

The garbled speech surprised Ranboo, and he struggled to remember the tongue that he had once been so fluent in.

“I am. Where is everyone?”

The enderman gave a short little scoff. “Gone. Packing. We’re leaving the city. We knew you’d be back and want no part in it. You’ve fallen far, child. You have forgotten our language, you embraced the overworld as your own, you smell of humans. We said that we would not accept you back, and you dared test that? You are on your own, and have searched for comfort in the wrong place, hybrid.”

The way that that word had been spoken hurt Ranboo, as if he wasn’t worth as much because of his heritage. He kept his tears at bay, getting his pets to sit down in their new spots.

He didn’t register the enderman teleporting away, but when he stepped into the city he got no comforting welcome, he got no pitied hugs, no one offered him words of advice. They all walked past him, humming, as if they didn’t see him. As if he didn’t matter. As if he was invisible to them as they abandoned their life-long homes to get away from him. No arms circled around him to hold him as he broke, no one gave him the attention that he needed so badly, that he had traveled so far to try and find.

It was then that the tears fell again, finding a new path down his face as the old ones had scabbed over. They burned him, but it didn’t matter. He was even more alone now.

“Please,” He cried. “Please, I’m sorry. Please, I just want a home.”

There was no answer to be spared for the boy.

“Please, I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, I’ll gather stuff for you. Please, I just want someone, please-”

There was no one to respond to his call.

“Please,” He warbled, letting the enderman part of him come out more. “Please, just answer me.”

There was no change in the crowd of lanky, black bodies that gave him a large berth. There was no comfort to be found in those long arms. There was no love in the screeches.

The sobs that racked his body didn’t stop for hours and hours, maybe more, because the sky was no good judgement of time. It was just a dark expanse, almost as unwelcoming as all of the failed versions of family that Ranboo had searched for.

When he looked up next, the city was abandoned for good. It was just him, alone, with no one but his pets to cling to for sanity.

He stayed sitting on the vaguely dusty ground for a while, numb. He’d lost three homes, in just a few days.

As much as he wanted to beg to go back, beg on his knees that he was wrong, beg and plead and hope that someone took pity on him, He knew he couldn’t. He knew he didn’t belong where the sky moved and had colors, he knew that no one would take pity on him, he knew that no one actually cared for him.

He had to face reality. No one cared for him, they only used him for as long as he could provide something to them, no matter how many things he gave, no matter how many times he searched for even a semblance of a family.

As he trudged back to his small little house and tried to sleep, hoping his dreams would take him far away from where he was, or better yet not even wake up, he was only haunted by the words that had caused this whole thing in the first place.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He really didn’t, but as usual, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_________________

“So, now that we have a base and we have a plan, who are we going to invite to join us?” That gruff voice was Techno.

Base? Wasn’t their base just their cottage? They had another one?

A softer voice. Phil. “Maybe Niki? She seems pretty against L’manburg now.”

Techno scoffed. “She’s making some land with Fundy, I think. We’ll have to see how that plays out, keep an eye on them. My voices are saying Ranboo, what do you think about that, Phil?”

“Ranboo could be a good choice. We’ve been kind to him, and he’s useful with all of the gifts he’s been giving us. The memory issues might be a problem, though.”

The pig hybrid hummed, before speaking again, “Wait, we could use it to our advantage! Tell him he’s part of it, get him to go feral on whoever we need him to, drop him off at his little shack, and he forgets. It leaves us clear of the blame, it’s perfect!”

Ranboo felt as if all of the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Techno wanted to get him to join their… whatever, and get him to be violent? Phil would refute it. He had to.

“Hmm, maybe.” Phil said. NO, Phil, no, please, don’t agree- “Actually, yeah, that could work really well. He’s got ties with Tubbo, ties with Dream. He can get in places that don’t trust us. Plus, if he keeps giving us gifts, it’s definitely worth keeping him around. Large profit.”

They laughed a bit, and Ranboo slid down the door that he almost opened before catching wind of their voices. He pulled his knees to his chest, ears still picking up their conversation no matter how much pressure his hands put on them.

“The only problem is I hope he doesn’t get attached. He’s had a rough time, but I’m not sure he’s aware that this is a professional relationship to benefit each other, not a familial one.”

At those words, Ranboo stood up, and teleported to his comfort room. It had been a while since he lost control of his teleportation, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t even register which one said that.

He had thought that this was his chance, his hope for a life that didn’t kick him down all the time. He guessed not, though, if he was nothing but a means to an end, a money giver, a source of information and nothing else.

__________________

He needed to face reality. Phil wasn’t a good father to his other sons, what made him think that he would be a good one to him? Techno wasn’t a brother, he only cared about anarchy, and if Ranboo was the way to get it, why would he mind housing the hybrid?

Really, it was Ranboo’s fault, he figured, because if he hadn’t been so stupid, surely he wouldn’t have clung to a business relationship and blown it out of proportion. It hurt now, but he hoped that the pain would dull. He hoped that now he had gotten away from everyone who he cared about but never cared about him, that he would be able to find peace.

He didn’t expect to have to find it alone, on a floating island surrounded by nothing but darkness, with nothing but his fading memory and a vague sense of direction connecting him to the family that never saw him as more than a weapon.

It was better this way.

Then why did it hurt so much?

***

@tommyapollogist sorry, i gotta write more ranboo angst i guess

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

Note

Ayyyyy 💫 anon here w more c!Punz potential content

Consider,,,,reader being on Wilbur's/Tommy's side during the election and they get exiled with them, and everyone turns on them including Punz right? Well Punz has had a crush on them so while he's shooting, he's intentionally missing the reader, but when he turns to shoot at Wilbur, the reader sees and shoves Wilbur aside, taking the arrow instead. It's not deadly, but it is pretty serious, serious enough to where Tommy and Wilbur have to double back to help them. And afterward, I can just see Punz feeling horrible about it until he stumbles across them one day, outside of Pogtopia, and they're sitting by a pond, with bandages around the area they got shot at and he rushes over and starts frantically apologizing to them and fluff :D

💫 I am sending you all of the virtual hugs and kisses I can muster. I have really been in Punz feels lately and this just hits the spot. Thank you so much <3.

So you would be sitting next to your brothers, really really upset at how the election results had turned out. You had put so much time and effort into helping the two get elected and just hearing that Schlatt had won by 1% just broke your heart. So you would be sitting there, head resting on Wilbur’s shoulder, your hand holding one of Tommy’s, as you half heartedly listen to Schlatt’s speech. But then the tone shifts, the mood gets darker and Schaltt begins yelling. Your head slowly rises off of Wilbur’s shoulder and your eyes widen as Schlatt begins his decree, “Is to REVOKE the citizenship of Wilbur Soot, Tommyinnit, and Y/N.” And everyone’s heads turn to you and eyes snap to stare at you three. “Guys, we gotta go,” Wilbur mutters to the two of you. Schaltt is still talking and you watch as Ponk pulls out a bow. Movement beside him draws your attention and your eyes meet Punz’s eyes. His eyes soften ever so slightly but harden as he looks to your friend and he also draws his bow. “Now!” Wilbur demands, shoving your shoulder causing you to move into action and begin running away from your home.

Arrows began flying around you as the people that were chasing you attempted to take a life. As these arrows fly by you, you begin to notice that none of them are even close to hitting you. You take the chance and slow down, looking over your shoulder to see what was happening. There was nothing out of the ordinary, only that Ponk was the one shooting at Wilbur and Tommy and Punz was the one shooting at you. Again your eyes lock and Punz lowers his weapon ever so slightly. You don’t know this, but Punz had been in love with you since the moment he saw you. He had just never had the courage to actually do anything about it. What he didn’t know is that you felt the same way about him. So you two would dance around each other all the time. Always making nervous eye contact and blushing when it happened. Giving slight waves when you passed each other around the SMP, never fighting each other in wars and stuff. Although neither of you really knew about the other’s crush, you knew about your own and that definitely wormed its way into your decisions. So Punz is the one that breaks eye contact and it’s because Ponk yells something at him. You notice Punz’s gaze shift to Wilbur and he raises his crossbow once again and aims for your best friend. And although you’ve been running for so long, it’s now that your heart begins to pound. You pick your pace back up and run as fast as you can at Wilbur. Once you reach him, you just shove him as hard as you can forward and right. Wilbur is super confused at what just happened but continues running, until he hears your scream. Your scream causes both him and Tommy to stop in their tracks. They whip around and find you now on your knees, an arrow sticking out of the back of your thigh. Immediately Wilbur and Tommy run for you and carefully help you up, putting your arms over their shoulders and helping you continue running away. (Okay I know this is serious time but like these boys are so tall and if you’re short enough, when they put your arms around their shoulders I just picture you dangling between the two… We’re going to ignore that though and pretend that you’re tall enough to do that comfortably lol)

You three get away from the two that were shooting at you but you can’t stop even though your injured, you have to find a safe place. It takes a while, especially cause you’re moving so slow due to the arrow sticking out of your leg, but you get there. The boys sit you down on some wood and begin setting up a small camp so that they could have a clean place to take care of your leg. “I’m so sorry about this” Wilbur whispers later that night, his hand on the arrow about to pull it out. You grit your teeth and squeeze Tommy’s hand harder, “It has to be done. Just do it. You probably screamed the loudest you’ve ever screamed that night.

On the other side of the server, Punz was lying in his bed at his home, beating himself up. How could he do that? Especially to you, the one he was so obviously in love with. He should have known that you would attempt to protect Wilbur before you protected yourself and now you’re hurt and it’s all his fault. Maybe he’ll try and find you to make sure you're alright. Either way, Punz has a really hard time falling asleep that night.

It isn’t until a solid week later does he find you. He didn’t even really mean to. Punz for the whole week would go back to the place where he shot you, but this day he just kept walking. He walked for many hours just to clear his head. It isn’t until he hears running water does he realize that he has gotten so far away from home that he no longer knows where he is. So he just keeps walking to the water, hoping it would give him some sort of direction back home. He breaks through the tree line and finds the most beautiful scene. It’s a small pond that is so clear and blue that he can see all of the little fish swimming around. Lily Pads float pretty on the surface and flowers littered the ground around it. It’s beautiful and peaceful, just what Punz needed. He takes a step forward and a stick under his feet snaps and a voice startles him, “Tommy I told you to leave me alo--Oh!” Punz’s eyes snap to the voice and his breath catches at the sight before him. It’s you. You’re actually there. You are sitting by the pond with pants rolled up to your knees, feet dipping in the pound. “Hi,” He breathes out, looking at you up and down, his heart clenching at the sight of your still bandaged thigh. (You have a bandage under your pants and then one for more support on the outside as well). “Hi,” You breath back, really stunned to see him here, “What are you doing here?” You ask, your eyes not leaving his. “I… I went for a walk to clear my head and found you… How’s your thigh?” He asks, guilt filling his entire system. “Oh, uhhh. It’s alright. Better than it was, but alright…. Do you want to sit?” you ask, patting the ground next to you. Punz slowly made his way over, watching your expression for any form of discomfort as he carefully lowered himself beside you, being sure not to get his feet wet.

It’s silent between the two of you for a few moments, both of you trying to find something, anything to say. “I’m really sorry,” spills past Punz’s lips before he can stop himself, “For everything. For your exile, for shooting you… For not telling you how I felt before you left,” And you freeze. Because you never blamed him for your exile or shooting you. He did what he had to and besides, he was purposefully missing you when he was aiming for you. But as for how he felt? You never knew about that. “What are you talking about?” you would ask softly. Punz would let out a sigh and a small laugh, “I cannot believe this is what it’s going to take to confess… Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. And I know you probably don’t feel the same, I mean I shot you, but I walked all the way out here because I couldn't stop thinking about you and now… Now I’m here, confessing to you…” Punz explained, very nervous. And you can’t help but let out a laugh, because this? This is what it took for your crush to tell you he likes you? Of course it would be! Punz wouldn’t be looking at you, too nervous to see your reaction, so you would have to reach up and physically turn his head to face you. “Punz,” you whisper, “I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you too. I just never pictured that you could actually like me back… I don’t blame you for shooting me or exiling me, you did what you had to… Can I kiss you?” And Punz can only nod before you lean forward and kiss him. The kiss is filled with so much feeling. Filled with passion, a hint of disbelief, joy and just pure love. It’s perfect.

The two of you spend the rest of the day sitting there at the pond, talking and kissing. You’re there until sundown, and then Punz helps you back to Pogtopia. Tommy is really upset at the sight of ‘the enemy’ in your base, but Wilbur keeps him calm and tells him to shut up. Punz and you fall asleep cuddling in your bed and he’s still there the next morning. He has to leave the next morning, but he’ll be back soon. Now that he knows that you feel the same way, there is nothing that could keep Punz from you.

#ray responds #mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt drabble #punz #punz imagine #punz drabble #i'm in love with this man #someone help me #im too soft for him #i love him

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Mine

1. He what now?

Genre: Yoongi x OC

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.4k

Synopsis: The first time Cara Richie sets foot on the Graham Norton show she’s confronted with questions that have less to do with her upcoming film “Young Rising”, and much more to do with BTS. More specifically with one of their rappers, Suga. Cara is an open supporter and fan of the band, however when Min Yoongi is shipped with the bilingual up-and-coming actress after mentioning her in an interview, things start to get out of hand. Fanart, twitter trends, and stalkers ensue, leaving Cara’s career up to an unknown fate. Then comes the moment the world didn’t even realize it was waiting for: a solo track from Agust D that raises more questions than answers, especially for Cara.

I would recommend the Graham Norton show to anybody purely based off the quality of their couches.

It’s our five minute call when Sebastian Stan, my co-star and annoyingly close friend, shakes me out of my half-asleep daze.

“Hey, we’re about to be called up. Ready?” He helps me to sit up, laughing at the state of my hair. No doubt it looks like a bird’s nest. He motions for one of the crew to help me out, a petite makeup artist appearing out of nowhere and touching up my hair.

“Yeah, I’m excited I swear. I just wish I wasn’t so tired.” Sebastian and I rolled in from where we were shooting in the Democratic Republic of the Congo at about ten o’clock this morning. I have yet to recover from the long trip. Unfortunately, our interview was scheduled for tonight, and we stand to begin our course of promoting the movie for the foreseeable future. It’ll still be a few hours before I can crawl into a bed.

“At least it’s only an hour time difference, right?” Sebastian stands me up, instructing me to do some stretching.

“At least we finally have service. I haven’t spoken to my family in three months, they probably think you killed me and left me there in the middle of the jungle.”

One of the perks of our on location shooting was the fact that we only had a couple of satellite phones. No contact with the outside world for nearly three months. I grew way too attached to it, although the one downside was not getting to know how my family and friends were. A lot can happen in three months. I’ve been so rushed to get ready and get over here to the show that I’ve hardly had any time to even glance at my phone besides a cursory text to my group chat with my family letting them know that I’m still alive and back in civilization.

“Tempting, but too many witnesses.” Sebastian winks at me, coming to attention when we’re motioned over by one of the staff. Glancing at the TV in the waiting room I can see Graham Norton beginning to introduce us.

“Our next guests have just re-entered into civilization, so do excuse them if they’re a little off. Please welcome the dashing Sebastian Stan and lovely Cara Richie!”

Sebastian motions for me to go first, and I jump out into the bright lights. Even though I’ve been on a few shows by now, it never gets old. Granted, I’ve only had one successful blockbuster. Maybe I won’t feel the same once that number starts to climb.

I greet Graham before settling down on the couch beside Billie Eilish, the musical guest of the day. I’ve met Billie before, we actually became fast friends. I was invited to a music awards show (I found out that actors are often invited to them for some reason), and we decided to ditch the after party and settle for pizza and a movie instead.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, glad to know you’re still alive.” Billie mumbles.

“Barely,” I whisper back. Sebastian sits down on the other side of me, waving to a few people in the audience. There are a group of girls near the front row that scream even louder when I look their way, and I smile at them. Sebastian sure does have an affect on people.

“Well, well. Glad to see you’ve made it. Didn’t you two just fly in this morning?” Sebastian jumps in to answer. I appreciate him taking the lead, he definitely has a lot more experience than me.

“Sure did. I think you’re trying to kill us, Graham.” Graham gasps, every bit the entertaining host.

“Now, Cara,” I smile at the man, hopefully masking my exhaustion. I’m a huge fan of him, and I want to leave a good impression. “This is your second major film. How are you feeling with all of the attention you’ve received? Because really, you came out of nowhere.”

I nod, reminding myself not to depend on Sebastian. “That’s true, I kind of did. It’s been amazing though. I think they sent me off to the middle of nowhere so it wouldn’t go to my head.” Graham laughs, the audience joining in. I sit up a little straighter because of it.

“That’s probably smart on their part. Really, from what I’ve seen of the previews for this film, it’s called ‘Young Rising’, correct?” We nod. “Right. It looks quite intense. But you two, you two are lovers in this.”

I shoot Sebastian a look that tells him we are anything but. “Yeah,” I draw out the word. “You could say that.”

“I really don’t know what they were thinking, putting the two of us together.”

“You mean to say that you don’t like each other at all?” Graham asks, feigning concern.

I shake my head. “I loathe him. But he won’t leave me alone, can you believe it?”

Graham nods. “Actually, I can. After all, you were recently named among the ‘most wanted’ stars in the world.”

I look at Billie completely surprised. “I was?” I ask her. She nods, shrugging her shoulders.

“Most wanted? That makes me sound like a criminal!”

“Isn’t that the point?” Sebastian taunts.

We continue bickering for a while. “I had no idea, but really I have no clue what’s happened over the past three months.”

Graham hums, shuffling through his papers before coming upon what he was looking for. “Really? Well I find that quite interesting, because something happened just last week on this show.” Suddenly the girls up front start screaming again, hardly able to contain themselves.

I look at Sebastian. “What did you do?” I whisper. He shakes his head at me, mouthing ‘nothing’.

“Alright, calm down you three. I haven’t even gotten the chance to tell her yet, you’re going to spoil the surprise!” WIth great effort the girls pipe down. Graham swivels back to me, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Oh no, what surprise?” I groan.

Billie pats my knee. “I know what this is about, it’s been all over twitter. This is what I’m thinking of, right?” Billie asks, shooting me a close-lipped smile.

“All over twitter? I haven’t had a chance to check twitter.” To be honest, I was putting off checking the hot mess that is social media. Three months of peace and quiet have been so nice, I’m clinging to it before I have to dive back in.

“Last week, we had a very special musical guest. You’re a fan of BTS, aren’t you?”I nod, furrowing my eyebrows. Where is he going with any of this?

“Yeah, I love them. We were just listening to them in the car, actually.” I gesture between Sebastian and I. Graham studies us like a textbook, nodding along.

“That’s perfect! They came on the show last week, it was amazing. Wasn’t it?” The audience cheers and claps in response. “We got to have a little chat before they performed. A nice little heart to heart if you will. Somehow, I have no idea how, we got onto the topic of their love lives.”

We all give him a complimentary laugh, knowing full well how they got onto that topic. Any successful interviewer knows their way around questions to make even the most composed celebrity fidget in their seat until they slip up.

“Oh did you?” Sebastian prompts Graham on. I know him well enough that he’s just wanting to move on at this point. We’re here to talk about our movie, not BTS. Heaven knows they’re famous enough already.

“Yes. You’ve heard of Suga?” I nod. I know who each of the members are, I really do like them a lot. “Well, he said something quite interesting, er, about you.”

My eyebrows flit up. “About me? He knows who I am?”The audience laughs, the girls in the front are practically causing an earthquake with how much jumping around they’re doing.

“He most certainly does. In fact, when I asked the boys if there was anyone they had their eye on, they all immediately turned to him! It was difficult to get it out of him, to say the least, but I found out that he’s a big fan of yours. And not just from a professional standpoint, if you know what I mean.” Graham winks at me even as my mouth falls open.

Me?

“You’ll have to watch the clip,” Billie says, nudging me. “It’s been all anyone can talk about all week. It’s been so annoying, I see your name everywhere now.” She laughs, and I pull myself together enough to laugh along with her. I look around, reminding myself that I’m on international television, and word will get around quick if I look like a high schooler that just got asked to the prom by her long-time crush.

Even though that’s exactly what I feel like.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur, Graham even going to far as to show me a couple of tweets with the hashtag, #CaraBTS. I’m just relieved there isn’t some weird couple name trending...yet.

“Oh, look at this one! You’ll love it.” Graham holds his paper up to the light, reading off of it. “‘This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Cara and Yoongi are finally happening. I’ve been pushing for this since I found out she went to school in Seoul!’ It would appear this has been a long time coming for some fans. There are others that aren’t quite as excited though, as you can imagine.”

Shuffling his papers he pulls out another tweet. “Here we are, ‘I’m telling you if Cara Richie lays a single finger on my lil meow meow I’m suing.’ Well isn’t that lovely?”

We finally move on, Sebastian telling a funny story from our time filming in the Congo. I add in whatever tidbits I can, but I remain so focused on looking normal and unbothered by this new information that I nearly miss Billie getting up to sing. It’s during her performance, when the lights are down low and our mics are turned off that Sebastian nudges me, whispering something under his breath.

He makes it look like he’s pointing something out on stage, “Hey, you alright?”

I nod along, looking for all the world like we’re chatting about the lighting. It’s true that it looks striking, the dark greens and blues cut across the stage, highlighting Billie’s haunting voice.

“I think I will be. Is this going to be a disaster? Now all anybody will want to talk about is my love life.”

“Which we both know is nonexistent.”

“Exact-hey!” I shove my friend before turning my attention back to the performance. I still can’t quite relax, but I feel a little better. At least I have Sebastian by my side. He certainly knows how to remain low-key when it comes to the press.

Once the interview ends the three girls at the front squeal until I look at Sebastian who gives me a shrug.

“I don’t think it’s for me,” he gestures to them. “Look at their sign.”

Sneaking a glance over there my eyes widen and I struggle to keep my mouth from hanging open. One of the girls holds up a little poster that I didn’t see before. She probably wasn’t allowed to hold it up during the show because she would block other people’s view.

There, written in big bold miss that only a blind man could miss it reads:

Cara x Yoongi nation

Graham notices my attention from where he’s saying goodbye to Billie and makes his way over to me. He gives me a pat on the back.

“That,” he points out the sign that is now burned into my eyelids. “Is only the beginning, love.”

🌙

By the time Sebastian and I make it back to the hotel where the rest of the cast and director/producers are staying, I want to lock my door and throw something.

Sebastian told me not to check twitter, but I ignored him. Curiosity did kill the cat, folks. News flash.

If I wasn’t known before, I certainly am now. Twitter is a mess of supportive fans, those fans who are heartbroken but happy for Suga, and the fans that are out for blood. Like, real blood. I’ve read the words “better watch out” so many times that I can’t help but look over my shoulder every few minutes.

I do appreciate the fans that claim that only true ARMY will support the boys’ decisions. Nevertheless, I decide to hold off any kind of presence on social media until further notice. A glance at the official BTS twitter shows them doing the same thing, apparently. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or worried about that.

“I told you not to,” Sebastian chides once we enter the hotel. “Now you’re all depressed.”

“I’m not depressed,” I defend myself. “Just nervous. I’m not sure what this means for my whole acting career. I don’t like knowing that I have no control over it.”

Sebastian wraps an arm around my shoulders as we enter the elevator. “Not to worry, I’m sure the PR team is on it. Stacey is good with these kinds of things. Trust me, I’ve put her through enough near disasters that this will be a piece of cake.”

Sebastian and I share managers, PR reps, and many more things. We’re strange friends, thrown together through a series of random events, but I’m so grateful for him. I would be so lost without all the resources he’s provided me with.

I give a dry laugh, slumping against my friend as the thought of being so close to a bed only serves to make me more tired. “She’s probably glad that it’s not you for a change.”

“Yeah, probably.”Sebastian bids me goodnight, heading down to his room on the other end of the hall. I can hear our director and a couple of the producers talking, but it’s too muffled to make out much more than their voices. I’m too tired anyways, so I opt to head straight to my room and get into bed before anyone can ask me any questions. I barely make it into my pajamas before I hit the mattress, sighing as I sink into the covers.

“Ah, finally. Goodnight world,” I mumble, turning to flip my phone on silent. The moment I go to grab my phone, it lights up with a notification. Groaning, I pick it up, squinting at the light.

“He...he what now?”

Taglist is open! Lemme know if you wanna join.

What do you guys think Yoongi did??

taglist: @taylorroe3 @eusticenatalie

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hongism · 3 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 26.5

➻ pairing: this chapter centers around yeosang x wooyoung ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut, fluff ➻ Word Count: 3.6k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part 1.5

“Hey, did you take my green blanket?”

“Hm?”

“My green blanket! The one Jongho got me for my last birthday?” Wooyoung puffs his cheeks full of air when his companion merely squints at the ceiling rather than responding. “You’re using it right now, aren’t you? Under the comforter? You just took my blanket, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yeosang hums, pulling the sheets up closer to his chin. Wooyoung strains to see if there’s a flash of green underneath, but he isn’t able to catch anything at this angle. “Besides, what good are birthday presents for someone who doesn’t even have a birthday?”

Wooyoung can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. The question is far from offensive or harsh; Yeosang tends to be blunt more than anything else, and he does have a valid point in the question since Wooyoung truly has no recollection of when his birthday is. Although it was Yeosang’s idea to claim his birthday as the day he was set free. The warmth in Yeosang’s eyes when he suggested that was far too enticing to say no to, so Wooyoung agreed without batting an eye.

“You are a terrible liar, Kang Yeosang,” he hisses out, edging closer to the bed. Yeosang lifts a brow but doesn’t budge.

“I don’t lie.”

“You omit the truth, and that’s the same as lying.” Wooyoung lifts a finger to jab it in the blond’s direction, unamused when the other cracks a small knowing smile.

“How so?” He inquires nonetheless. The teasing gleam to his gaze doesn’t let up for a second.

“You know how so!” Wooyoung protests quickly. He pulls himself further onto the bed, tossing all his weight onto Yeosang’s torso, and the other man releases a groan from the sudden pressure. “I hope you pass out, you thief.”

“God, have you gained weight? You seem heavier than usual.”

“Heavier than usual? Heavier than usual! Why you little–” Wooyoung reaches behind Yeosang’s head and snatches up a pillow before smacking it hard against the Elitist’s face. Yeosang manages to bring his arms up in time to block a majority of the impact, but Wooyoung’s superior position allows him to work around his arms and hit him on the crown of his head. “I hope that feels heavier than usual too!”

Yeosang huffs out a laugh in response. He snatches the pillow from Wooyoung’s hands when Wooyoung next brings the cushion down, pushing it to the side and grabbing hold of his wrists with such ease that Wooyoung’s heart practically jumps in his chest. Yeosang twists his body despite being caught under the sheets, and all of a sudden Wooyoung is the one being pinned to the bed, red rushing up his neck at the intimacy of the position.

“H-Hey,” he mutters as he glances away from Yeosang’s prying gaze.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Woo.”

“I know, I was just teasing you!” Wooyoung stretches his grin, cheeks scrunching up as he beams at Yeosang without a care in the world. The Elitist doesn’t seem pleased with his quick response though and continues his train of thought a moment later.

“You could afford to put on a bit more weight at that. And we could spend more time in the training room if you’d like. I’d be hap–”

“Oh hush, you.” Wooyoung blows air into Yeosang’s face to shut him up, and the tactic works out rather well for him seeing as Yeosang blinks against the assault with confusion painting his features. “Unlike you, my stomach was never fit for a prince’s diet or a royal meal plan. But I can eat a bit more if that would make you happy!”

“I like you just the way you are,” Yeosang hums in response. He speaks the words so softly that Wooyoung hardly catches them but when he does, the flush on his cheeks deepens to a scarlet.

“You can’t tease me about my weight, tell me that it wouldn’t hurt to put on a few pounds, then say something like that,” he grumbles under his breath, shoving a hand against Yeosang’s shoulder. The attack is half-hearted at best, and Yeosang laughs it off without too much care.

The Elitist lets the sound fade into silence, leaving his gaze to trace over every millimeter of Wooyoung’s features. The heat in his state is not lustful or seeking anything more than the gentle peace hanging in the air between them, but Wooyoung still finds himself flustered more than anything else.

“What are you doing that for?” Wooyoung wriggles a bit under Yeosang’s weight. He doesn’t manage to budge the man even an inch, completely stuck under both his grasp and gaze.

“Let me admire my lover in peace.”

Wooyoung squeals at the nonchalant attitude Yeosang holds and the way he says the words like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He frees one hand from Yeosang’s hold and snatches up the same pillow from before, sending it cascading into the side of Yeosang’s head.

“Excuse me, wh—”

“You’re excused!” Wooyoung interrupts before smacking Yeosang once more for good measure. Yeosang huffs and rolls off Wooyoung to escape the relentless attacks with the pillow, not bothering to fight back. As he slips out of the way, Wooyoung catches a flash of green under the black comforter. “You did steal my blanket!”

“Is that truly what you’re worried about right now?” Yeosang slips off the bed to stand upright, hands coming to rest on his hips as he blinks down at Wooyoung.

“Yes because you lied to me!”

“All I said was that I didn’t know what you were talking about.”

Wooyoung pulls himself into a sitting position and inches ever closer to where Yeosang stands by the edge of the bed. He pouts out his lower lip as far as he can in a desperate attempt to win the man over but it is to no avail because Yeosang just arches a brow and smiles a little.

“You look so cute when you act hurt.”

“Make it up to me and I won’t be hurt,” Wooyoung pleas with wide eyes. Yeosang slips a finger under his chin and lifts him up a bit more. Wooyoung follows the motion but Yeosang dips away at the last second, lips merely ghosting over his, and the younger of the two gasps at the audacity of the other’s teasing. “You are absolutely cruel!”

“I can’t help myself when you look as cute as you do.” Yeosang begins to pull back, but Wooyoung isn’t about to let him get away with it this time, so he reaches up to snag the man by the collar, yanking him back down so hard that Yeosang has to grip the mattress to keep from crushing Wooyoung.

“Do it properly.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I will find someone who can do it prope–” Pressure invades Wooyoung’s mouth, and he doesn’t get the chance to finish that train of thought thanks to Yeosang’s lips crashing into his. Wooyoung sighs into the kiss, a content smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and sits back to let Yeosang do most of the work. Yeosang doesn’t stay long, releasing Wooyoung’s lips with a wet pop and harsh glare that doesn’t scare Wooyoung in the slightest. Huffing out a laugh, the dark-haired man brings a thumb to his lips and wipes at the excesses saliva Yeosang left there. “Better.”

It is still difficult to ignore the dull pain that blossoms in his chest when his lips part from Yeosang’s, but he has at least gotten better at not letting that pain shine through his features or show in the slightest. Whether Yeosang doesn’t notice or he is merely pretending to ignore it, Wooyoung does not know, but he does not particularly care either. Not talking about it saves them both from further pain that neither of them wants.

“I put up with too much of your teasing.” Yeosang readjusts his tunic, pulling the white silk back into its original resting place. Even with all the man’s insistence that he hates every part of his past, he sure does wear many regal and fancy clothes. Not that Wooyoung is complaining in the slightest because Yeosang just looks so pretty: blond hair that falls in soft waves around his face just long enough to be pulled back into the smallest ponytail, dark brown eyes with gold flecks throughout them, that precious birthmark hiding beside his eye that his side bangs cover all too often. The silk regalia he always wears on casual days like these only add to that beauty. Wooyoung could spend hours sitting back like this and staring at him. “Perhaps that should be your next lesson.”

“Hm, maybe, but if I really wanted to, I would have you pinned to the bed right now. Especially with how pretty and delicate you look in that shirt.” Wooyoung grins a bit too cheekily, and Yeosang rewards him with a sharp flick to the forehead. “Ow!”

“You were asking for it.”

“You are oh so cruel and harsh, Prince Kang,” Wooyoung laments with a dramatic flair to his tone. He throws himself back onto the bed, releasing an all too fake sob as Yeosang just rolls his eyes and ignores the other’s antics.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Would you rather me call you sir? Perhaps while you have me face do–” Yeosang darts forward, clapping a hand over Wooyoung’s prattling mouth without hesitation, and he glances around the room nervously even though it is empty aside from the two of them.

“You’re too bold,” he hisses before pulling his hand back and letting Wooyoung grin happily to himself.

“I’m just trying to get to the point here! You promised to teach me more today, and I haven’t heard you breathe a word about that, so hurry up mister!”

“You and your teasing mouth have prevented me from doing so actually.” Yeosang catches Wooyoung by the chin, and he inches the man’s head up with just his index finger. Wooyoung’s smile stretches wider in defense, and the other can only manage a deep sigh as pulls away. “What is it you want to learn today? Anything particular in mind?”

Wooyoung slides himself over to the edge of the bed and tosses his legs over the edge. He taps at his chin as he thinks, trying (and failing) not to get distracted by the soft expression Yeosang wears currently.

“Um, you said – you said you had to go to lots of dances when you were younger right?”

“I did, yes,” Yeosang hums. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that overtakes his lips as Wooyoung speaks, and once again, Wooyoung finds himself slipping further into distraction.

“W-Well then, teach me to dance!” Wooyoung hops to his feet and looks Yeosang in the eye. They stand at about the same height; perhaps Wooyoung is only a centimeter shorter at best, but Yeosang would most likely say it’s more like two or three centimeters.

“We don’t have music though?” Yeosang’s voice lifts at the end of his sentence, changing the statement into a question, and Wooyoung slaps the flat of his hand down hard against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Do we really need music? Isn’t it all about – um, I don’t know how dancing works actually.”

“Counts, Woo, it’s all about counts.”

“Okay, see! That’s not music.”

“But it’s counts related to the tempo of the music,” Yeosang hums but he slips an arm about Wooyoung’s waist nonetheless and tugs him closer. “I suppose coming up with a tempo of our own wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Wait, which part are you teaching me?” Wooyoung inquires as Yeosang guides one of his hands up to rest near his bicep. The blond clasps the other tight in his own hand, pulling it out to the side to hang in the open air.

“The typically female part.”

“I want to learn the male part!” Wooyoung protests, fist balling around the fabric of Yeosang’s delicate shirt.

“You want me to dance to the female’s part?”

“Would it truly be the first time you haven’t taken control?” Wooyoung quips, and Yeosang’s grip on his waist tightens to a point where the younger yelps.

“Don’t think with such a dated mindset, Woo. There are many things a man can do from that position, and I would be happy to teach you those next,” Yeosang purrs, pressing his lips to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. The younger releases some sort of noise that sounds something like a squeak and a gasp mashed together. Yeosang revels in the sound, and he tosses his head back as a bout of laughter overtakes his body. The sound is crisp and clear in a beautiful way. Wooyoung cherishes it while it lasts, knowing that the Elitist is only ever so relaxed and carefree like this when they are alone.

Yeosang nudges Wooyoung’s hand off his shoulder and catches hold of it before it can fall uselessly by his side. He pulls it to his waist in attempts to urge Wooyoung to take hold of him, and Wooyoung is quick to do so, folding his fingers around Yeosang’s lithe waist.

“You can’t expect to dance properly while standing that far away from me, Wooyoung,” Yeosang grumbles under his breath. He hooks a hand onto Wooyoung’s shoulder and tugs him forward until their chests have no space between them. Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath, stifling a smile when he sees the flush that rises up Yeosang’s neck as he tightens his grip on the man’s waist.

“Did all the princesses have the pleasure of dancing so close to you?” Wooyoung hums. His eyes remain wide and innocent, but Yeosang knows better than to believe the innocence there.

“You are the only one I would ever allow this close to me.”

Wooyoung is pleased with the response even if it catches him off-guard because he was honestly expecting another jibe from the man. The small statement has more than one meaning, and Wooyoung basks in all the possibilities, taking a moment to just absorb Yeosang’s warmth and presence.

“Alright, you don’t get to ignore my instructions just because I’m letting you lead this one time. I expect you to pay attention to every detail.”

“This one time?” Wooyoung laughs.

“I won’t let you lead again after this.”

“Oh, you’ve said that before but–”

“Think with your brain not with your dick, Jung Wooyoung!” Yeosang squeezes hard at the muscle under Wooyoung’s shirt, and he releases a yelp from the sharp pain that spreads quickly through his body.

“Okay, okay! I’m thinking with my head! And not that one!”

“Remind me why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me?” Wooyoung grins, and while Yeosang doesn’t provide a verbal response, he has one in the way Yeosang smiles before clearing his throat and standing up a bit straighter.

“Just move with me. It’s rather simple to get the hang of, but there will be a lot of stepping on toes until you get a feel for your partner.” Wooyoung’s lips don’t even part a centimeter before Yeosang sends him a pointed glare that has him snapping his lips back together with no further comment. “When my right foot moves backward, step forward with your left. We can work up to you leading the movements, but if you were in full control, you would push against my hand to signal that you’re taking a step forward.”

Yeosang’s right leg slips away from Wooyoung’s left one, and he chases after him, taking a hasty step forward and hitting the tip of Yeosang’s steel-toed boot. Wooyoung backtracks immediately and tugs back, but the blond keeps him firmly planted to the spot.

“Easy, Woo… move a bit slower than that. It’s not a race; it’s a dance. It’s supposed to be slow and rhythmic.”

Wooyoung lets Yeosang guide his next steps, blindly following them without focusing on any of the words coming from his lips. They sway to an inaudible beat, a song only the two of them can hear, an unspoken melody that holds them to each other. As it turns out, Yeosang doesn’t need to explain anything because Wooyoung’s body picks up on the guidance within minutes.

“I think you got it,” Yeosang whispers eventually, and neither man is sure how long they’ve been dancing. They don’t pull away though; instead, Yeosang slips his hand free of Wooyoung’s and moves it up to his other shoulder. Slowly but surely, he intertwines his fingers behind Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung takes it as a sign to drop his hand to Yeosang’s waist, and he mimics the position with a faint smile. Yeosang arches his back against the touch. He’s in the middle of a laugh when Wooyoung drops his forehead atop the other man’s, eliciting a quiet gasp from him that devolves into a huff of laughter again less than a second later. “We aren’t even dancing anymore.”

“Do we need to be?” Wooyoung lets his eyes flutter shut. Every sense is so full of Yeosang that it’s almost overwhelming: the heat of his warm skin under the silk, the soft sounds of his breathing and slightly lisped tone, the smell of that goddamn cologne someone bought for him some time ago that Wooyoung adores so much, Wooyoung can even still taste Yeosang on his lips from their earlier kiss. And when he opens his eyes once more, there Yeosang stands before him – real, living, able to be seen and held and cherished.

Too often do those dreams come, the ones where Yeosang remains out of reach or broken and hurt and dying before Wooyoung’s eyes but he can’t do a thing to stop it. They come in a wide variety of nightmares, a plethora of troubles and hardships and pain, and yet there is only one that never arises.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Yeosang murmurs once he recognizes the gleam in Wooyoung’s eyes. “Come back to me, Woo.” He’s a bit too far gone as it is, too lost in thought and caught up in the frightening possibilities. Yeosang’s hands slip loose and fall forward to cradle Wooyoung’s face in his palms.

The one that has never awoken in his mind is the one where Yeosang is his master, his owner, the one dealing punishment after punishment, and if Wooyoung dwells on the thought for too long, he can start to hear the crack of the electric whip in his ears.

“Come back to me,” Yeosang says a bit louder this time. Something binds Wooyoung to the words, and he finds himself leaning into the warmth of Yeosang’s touch. “There we go, come back to me. Just like that…”

“’m sorry.” Wooyoung’s words are a bit slurred and broken, but he’s free of the intruding thoughts for the time being at least.

“That’s enough lessons for today, I think.” Yeosang hums as he trails a thumb over the skin of Wooyoung’s cheek.

“Let’s stay like this a little while longer, please.”

“Whatever you want, Woo.”

“All I want is you,” Wooyoung whispers, slipping his head away from Yeosang’s so that he can bury his face in the man’s neck. A few of the longer strands of blond hair tickle his ear, and a shiver travels down his spine with the sensation before he settles comfortably there.

“I know.”

“I would have you for the rest of my life if you let me.”

“You know I would.” Yeosang reaches a hand up to cup the back of Wooyoung’s head. He combs through the charcoal locks there, fingernails brushing over his scalp in such a way that Wooyoung feels himself growing drowsier by the second. “We’ll see what fate has in store for us.”

“What if I don’t want to wait that long?”

“You don’t have to. I’m yours now.” Wooyoung smiles against Yeosang’s skin, and a sigh passes through his chest as Yeosang shifts to press a kiss to his hair.

“I did pretty well for myself, I suppose. Getting a prince all on my own.”

“You said that as if there was ever any doubt of me falling for you,” Yeosang laughs softly. “But I must admit… a traitorous runaway prince and an ex-slave. Fate can’t even try to tell me that—”

Wooyoung cuts the thought short, pulling up with haste to slot his lips against Yeosang’s much smoother ones. He knows the man will complain later – tell him that the more they kiss, the more painful it will get in the long run – but right now, Wooyoung just wants to appreciate every inch of Yeosang while he can. If fate wishes to deprive him of that one day, then Wooyoung doesn’t want to look back with any regrets about what they could have done or said in their time together.

For now, it’s enough. The feel of Yeosang’s lips sliding over his and returning the kiss with equal parts love and passion. The hands tangling in his hair as Wooyoung grips harder at his waist and pulls him impossibly close. He feels like he’s fifteen again in those damp and dark alleyways on Aera, shaking from the cold but oh so warm thanks to the weight of Yeosang’s words that night. He feels like he did the moment Yeosang set him free, the moment he promised that he would take care of Wooyoung. He wouldn’t let him be alone anymore, he wouldn’t let anything happen to him, and he would protect Wooyoung no matter the cost.

It’s enough, and in the back of his mind, Wooyoung thinks that it will be enough for a long time to come.

✧✧✧ a/n: okay so this!! is not specified when this interim is set, you can leave that up to your own imagination, just for something more lighthearted important and insightful on our lovely bois 🥺 i was a bit nervous about this and almost decided not to post bc it’s the most forward i’ve been with the mxm content but i am really happy with how it turned out so i hope you guys enjoy it too even if you don’t typically enjoy mxm content !! and i also listened to pov by ariana grande while writing it and that was a mistake :’)

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Not Planned | Damian Wayne

Pairing: older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader (she/her)

Word Count: 4k

Request(s): Can you do one where the reader used to have a crush on Dick? Like a child crush because she’s Damian’s age so when Dick gets married to Kori, Damian consoles her and things happen? & older damian wayne smut plz!!

Warnings: nsfw, mentions of alcohol, a little angst, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), oral sex (both receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of food, fluff, probably language.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Damian shook his head. The dress you had worn the prior night was carelessly laying on the living room’s floor. He remembered how long it took you to pick the color and length which only annoyed him more.

Placing the paper bag he had been carrying onto the kitchen counter, he turned the coffee machine on. The place was silent, almost deadly — he would’ve found it soothing if he didn’t know you so well.

As Damian pushed your bedroom door open, he took note of the mess near your bedside table. Curious, he stepped into the room in effortless silence. There were a few drawings on the floor, some of them were half-finished silhouettes but others were full heart patterns with his oldest brother's name in the center.

He remembered watching you do a few of the latter while babbling those crazy theories you would come up with about the way you would make Dick fall in love with you. Damian had imagined you were upset when you left the wedding early the night before yet he never considered it was affecting you that much. In fact, he had assumed you were partially over Dick years ago when you started dating around.

The wine bottles next to the bed didn’t go unnoticed by him. Damian picked them up and put them on the bedside table so you wouldn’t knock them and make a mess when you woke up. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he stayed still for a few seconds to hear you breathing.

Your usual light sleep was gone. The softness in your features made him pause, wonder if waking you up was needed or worth it. Seeing you upset had never been easy, not even the first time he did. Damian wasn’t always nice, he knew he still needed to work on it but when he realized how upset you could get when he carelessly spoke something inside him switched.

Bruce had been shocked. Psychiatrists and psychologists had branded Damian as a nightmare to work with, they said he didn’t want to be helped. And Damian didn’t, there was nothing wrong with him.

You had never complained, but he could see some of his words got to you. Making you feel bad wasn’t his intention, other people didn’t matter but you did. It was hard not to care, so being nice became second nature around you. His brothers would only ask things from him when you were around, he had thousands of annoying memories where he had caught himself saying please and thank you to the people he had called nuisances on a daily basis before you arrived in his life.

Alfred said he was changing because he had needed a friend which in Damian’s mind made sense, but you would always tell him his nice persona had always been there — you believed that, you had seen it before he started showing it.

He shook his head again. Dwelling on things wasn’t good. Not to him. As softly as he was able to, he placed his hand on your arm and lightly shook you awake.

You covered your eyes with your forearm, whining. Damian scoffed. “I woke up early to buy bagels from your favorite bakery, the least you could do is eat them fresh.”

“Can I take a shower first?” you dragged your words, too sleepy to argue, certain Damian would win.

He hummed to then softly command, “be quick.”

You wouldn’t say breakfast was tense, but it was different than anything you had experienced in Damian’s presence. He watched you carefully throughout the meal as if expecting you to say something.

There were things you wished you could say, but words often fell short around him. Not many things surprised him, and the ones that did were never emotionally transcendental.

Making matters worse, unaware of the effect the chastising could have on you, Damian reminded you he had gifted you reusable handkerchiefs so you would stop using Kleenex.

You should’ve imagined he would visit in the morning, therefore you should’ve discarded the Kleenex before going to sleep. You had been drained, and dizzy after drinking wine past your limit.

“I forgot,” you mumbled, avoiding him by washing your plate and mug. As you dried the latter, you observed he wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.

Damian popped back in, with the empty bottles in his grasp. Silently, he handed them to you and disappeared back into your bedroom.

Leaving the bottles on the counter, you followed him. At first, he ignored you, roughly fluffing up your pillows.

“You don’t have to do that. Let me.”

Shaking his head, he gripped the pillow more tightly.

“Da—“

“Not now, please, not now.”

You lifted your arms in a surrendering gesture. Reading him had never been easy, but you had gotten better at it as time progressed and he allowed you to see more of his true self. Still, you weren’t as good as you wanted, or as he was with you. You were an open book in his eyes.

And his favorite one. You were that story he never wanted to like, the one he begrudgingly read only to end up becoming devoted to halfway through the first chapter.

He pulled your vanity’s chair out and sat down, looking down at the yellow spot on the rug. He had offered to buy you a new one after he ruined it with his oil paints, you asked for the painting he had done in exchange.

It was a beautiful piece. You had never been a big fan of paintings, preferring posters and photos, but the warm tones in that particular one made you feel safe in such a way you feared you’d never know peace again if you didn’t own it.

You kneeled on the opposite side of the room, picking the scattered papers and stacking them up to store them in their hiding place. You heard Damian shift on his sit.

“If you have other things to do, you can leave,” you assured him. The only instances when Damian was antsy were when he was in need of doing something else.

“I don’t.”

“Ah.”

He scoffed at your reaction. “You want me to leave?”

You carelessly threw the stack of papers into the drawer. “No, but you’re acting weird.”

As you stood up, he crossed his arms. Oh, God, not one of his challenges. Damian could get too competitive and although you enjoyed it 90% of the time, that day was part of the other 10%.

“I thought you were over him.”

His lack of tact while saying it would’ve hurt you mere months ago. You sat on your bed, nodding. “I am.”

“Right,” he condescendingly gritted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You left early last night and got drunk looking at the dumb drawings you did of him, what is that supposed to mean?”

There was no mocking in his voice which made the question harder to answer.

“I—“ you breathed out a nervous laugh, “I miss those days.”

A part of your adolescence had evaporated the night before. Your innocent illusions of marrying Dick, of eventually having a happy home with a nice and caring man. You had understood it was a childish thing very quickly, and Dick himself had explained to you he was too old for you very early into your crush on him — yet you clung to it, such a romantic and beautiful dream couldn’t hurt you.

“I miss thinking everything was a fairytale.” You shrugged. “Dumb stuff like that.”

Your attempts to dismissing the depth of your words were ignored by Damian who shifted on the chair again. You looked down at your thighs.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” you admitted, “it’s just a nostalgic bout.”

“Like those ones you get watching animated films?” he teased. Your only answer was a hum. Damian frowned for a millisecond. “Come here.”

Lifting your head, you lingered your gaze on him. He opened his arms, fixing his position on the chair. With wobbly legs, you walked toward him. You enjoyed the sensation you felt through your system by seeing him have to look up as you stood in front of him — something swirled in his eyes, a glint you had seen a few times yet had never deciphered.

Damian placed his hands on your lower back, pulling you closer. “Come on,” he encouraged you to sit on his lap.

“What for?” you inquired, not used to being so close to him. He lifted both eyebrows, prompting you to ease down onto his lap very slowly.

“I just want you to do it,” he answered, shifting his legs so you wouldn’t fall off his lap.

You focused on a spot on the wall behind him, wishing the earth would swallow you before you got any stupid ideas.

Damian whispered your name. You dragged your eyes toward his face, too abashed to look into his green ones.

“You do know I care about you, right?” His voice dropped.

You nodded with your attention on the tiny scar in his left cheek.

He confessed, tilting his head to find your eyes, “I hate seeing you sad. I feel useless.”

“It’s nothing, it’ll pass. You know how I am.”

“Pretty and angelic? Yes, I know.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “Now you’re flirting with me? Really?”

“I always flirt with you. This is just the first time you’ve seen it like that.”

You searched for his eyes. His curious gaze, endearing and bright, fixed on you. “Why?”

“Because I like you, why else?”

With elaborated breath, you caressed his soft skin by brushing his cheeks with your thumbs. “I didn’t know,” you mumbled. “You were never explicit. I thought you were just being nice.”

He traced your spine with two fingers, up and down. “You were obsessed with my brother.”

“You know why.”

He hummed in agreement. “But I didn’t know what to do.”

The two of you allowed a moment of silence to linger. You wished you could be surprised, but him liking you made all the sense in the world. Damian was more than a comfort in your life, he wasn’t the calm before the storm nor the storm itself — he was the rainbow, the security that things would eventually turn out okay and that if they didn’t it wasn’t the end of the world. A reality check and the assurance of not having to go through adversities alone.

As the seconds passed and everything sunk in, a question came to you. “Were you mad about... that... earlier?”

“Perhaps.” He lightheartedly scoffed when you glared at him. “I thought you had been crying over him,” Damian explained, trying his best to not grit his words. You breathed a nervous laugh out, taking your eyes off him. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he added, “but now I think you were crying over me.”

You failed to hide your amused smile. “You wish.”

“I would kill myself before making you cry.”

You felt him fully relax under you as he slid his arms around your plump hips. Damian rested his head on your shoulder, prompting your hands to slip — hugging him by the shoulders, you started playing with the small hairs on his nape.

Shuddering, he exhaled on your skin, “you always smell so good.”

“My mom always buys me that lotion for my birthday.”

He already knew that. Like most things about you. Your favorite color, the way you liked your tea, your sleep schedule, your clothing size, your least liked brand of sparkling water... he knew every twinge in your voice, the length of the scar you had on your upper back from when you fell off your bike as a child, he had long ago gotten every twitch of your face mapped into his brain, and for the same amount of time had longed for kissing every inch of it.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” you asked, remembering he must’ve been tired from patrolling the night before after the wedding.

Damian angled his face, nodding against your skin. His hot breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, prompting you to shift on his lap as you shuddered. Seeing the effect he was having on you, he boldly peppered a few kisses on your skin which earned him a whine.

Gripping his hair, you tugged on it to pull his head back. The wanton look in his face took your breath away, his eyes were glowing as they dilated. You kissed him, moaning when his hands dropped to your ass as he stood up.

Damian put you down onto the bed, sucking on your bottom lip as he trailed his hands down your soft stomach. You whispered his name, not sure as to why but desperate to do it. He hummed, manhandling your hips to fit himself between your legs.

Urgently, he rubbed your thighs as you explored his mouth with your tongue. You needed him, your breath catching in your throat burned like your still clothed skin was burning under his touch. Sliding a hand down his side, you stopped at his hips to then palm his crotch by spreading your fingers over his bulge. You felt immensely proud of yourself when he immediately moaned.

Damian gripped the edge of your top, dragging his mouth to your jaw. He breathily spoke on your skin, “can I take this off?”

“Please.”

It took you longer to answer than it took him to kneel between your legs. He pulled the material off your torso, licking his bottom lip at the sight before him. You reacted quickly too, seeing the opportunity to unbutton his shirt — he looked down at your hands as you painfully slowly undid the shirt, button by button. His breath hitched when your hands caressed his naked chest as they moved upward to his shoulders.

You pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall behind him. Damian pounced you, palming your breasts on top of your bra. Moaning, you arched up into his bare torso. Dragging your hands down his back, you brought them to the front, between your belly and his abs, to unbuckle his belt.

He sneaked his hand under your back, unclasping your bra with an easiness you wished you could do it. A whine escaped you as he latched his mouth on one of your breasts, sucking on it. Meanwhile, he kneaded your other breast, giving both your tits the same amount of attention by switching the order.

You bit into your bottom lip in attempts of muffling your sounds. Damian kissed down the valley of your breasts, mouthing your stomach as you struggled to pull his zipper down.

Damian circled your nipple with his tongue before speaking on the wet spot, his breath giving you goosebumps. “Let me hear you.”

He suddenly pulled away, rushing to take his shoes and pants off. You kicked your own shoes off, planting your feet on the bed in order to slide your pants down your legs. Damian’s eyes, full of lust, bored into yours as he placed his leg between yours while getting back into the bed.

You rut your wet core against his muscular thigh. Only your underwear was on the way and yet you felt as if you would explode. Damian was panting just by watching you, pushing his leg forward to prompt one of your sweet sounds to come out.

He gripped your hips, moving them up and down against his thigh. You moaned, placing your hands on his lower back. “Do something, Damian, please. Something else.”

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered with a sly smile on his face, you could hear the rumble of his words in his chest. “Use your words, beloved.”

Fuck. The look he gave you, raw and hungry, was so startling and enticing at once that you wondered why hadn’t you done this sooner. He lowered his hands and gripped your ass. Lust radiated off both you, so intense you had already broken into a sweat. Damian moved you closer to the edge of the bed, withdrawing his hands from your ass to pull your underwear down your thick legs.

“Words,” he reminded you, sniffing up as he once again licked his lips.

He was driving you completely crazy. “Anything,” you begged, “please.”

Damian kneeled, burying his head in your pussy with no warning, hungrily lapping and purring. You rolled your hips further against his mouth, squealing when his tongue flicked your clit while he dug his fingers into your soft legs.

“You taste so good,” he hummed on your pussy.

Kissing his way up to your hip, he rested his head on your lower belly as his fingers trailed up and down your slit. Your hips bucked up, covering his hand in slick. Damian circled your clit, pressing hard on it as he rubbed.

You whimpered, “just make me cum already, please.”

Grunting, he nodded. “You sound so hot when you beg.” Damian went back to your pussy, sucking on your clit harshly — the sounds of your slick and his mouth filled the room in the dirtiest way, then the howl you let out of his name joined. He overstimulated you while lapping at your slick as he cleaned you up, humming happily.

He popped up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You licked your lips at the sight of his tight underwear. Sliding off the bed, you kneeled before him.

Damian placed a hand on the back of your head, softly, cursing when you nuzzled against his dickprint. You mouthed his length, licking the salty wet spot on the cotton material. “Shit,” he breathed out.

You smiled against him, pawing at his underwear to slide it off. The sight of his cock, standing proud a mere inch away from your lips made your mouth water. You had never seen a prettier cock, or a bigger one.

“Hurry up,” he urged you, pushing your face onto his cock.

You licked a line up his shaft, swirling your tongue over his tip smeared in precum. He hissed. You took him into your mouth, little by little as deeply as you could. Your hand came up to hold his base and so you comfortably loosened your jaw.

Sucking him down a little further, you felt him twitch on your cheek. Damian pulled you off him, growling, “on your back, now,” he pointed at the bed.

He beamed down at you as he made sure you were wet enough. Lining himself at your entrance, he plunged inside you in one swift motion. Your mouth fell open, not a sound was able to come out as you felt him bottom out. You moaned in unison then, him while holding your waist and you gripping his biceps.

You stretched around his size as he slammed back into you after having pulled out. You cried his name and that was all it took for him to start hammering into you with all his strength, so hard the bed rocked.

His soft lips bruised yours as he kissed you, teeth clicking a few times as he pounded into you, making you feel your eyes roll back into your head even while closed.

As he pulled away, he panted, “fuck, (Y/N).” Your name dropped from his lips in such a sinful way, so sensually as his bottom lip trembled.

You let yourself go wild, latching your mouth on his neck and shoulder blade. Damian grunted when you bit into his skin, leaving a trail of saliva behind.

Licking a line up his neck, you whispered into his ear, “Damian, I’m close.”

Damian started fucking you harder and faster, determined on making you come again. He brought you closer, making you wrap your legs around his hips as with his knees he rocked himself in order to plunge into you deeper.

Kissing you sloppily, leaving a string of saliva hanging between your mouths, he gasped. Your walls were tightly hugging his cock, making it pulse against them.

He rode out his high in quick and deep thrusts, hitting your spot as your legs trembled around him. You held yourself by gripping his shoulders, moaning and arching up as you looked into his eyes.

Feeling warm strings coat your walls, you jumped. A spasm broke through you as you came at the same time as Damian, crying out his name once again as he roared yours — both sounds vibrated in your chests and into the other’s.

He dropped his face into your neck, catching his breath as he inhaled your scent mixed with your sweat. His cock softened inside you as both of you calmed down, along with your arms and legs that fell limp onto the bed.

You moved your head to keep his hot breath away from your neck, slower than you had thought you would be able to move.

Damian huffed a teasing laugh. “Tired?”

Humming, you shimmed on the bed to lay on your side. Damian copied your movements once you were comfortable, giving you enough space to cool down.

“Do you want some water?”

“I want a shower,” you responded honestly, “you shouldn’t have made me shower earlier if you were going to fuck me like that.”

“I didn’t plan it,” Damian defended himself, rolling on the mattress to leave the bed. “How warm do you want the water?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, or to tell him you could do it yourself. You dragged yourself toward the bathroom, almost regretting having said anything.

The situation was surreal. You wouldn’t have let Damian watch you in underwear the day before, but there you were comfortably standing in front of him as he unabashedly stared at your naked body.

Entering the shower, you sighed as the water fell onto your head. The temperature was perfect. Damian closed the stall as he entered too, eyes not leaving your form. You made way for him to get under the water too, reaching behind him for the shampoo. There wasn’t much space to move, but you weren’t complaining and he wasn’t either.

You watched him from the couch, pouring coffee into a mug, only his boxers and with a frown on his pretty face. The sight of Damian in his underwear, walking around your apartment with such familiarity had to be what dreams were made of.

Placing the mug on the table after taking a gulp, he occupied the spot next to yours. You offered the remote to him, but he swatted a hand dismissively. Shrugging, you put the controller down and sprawled your legs comfortably.

He silently rested his head on your shoulder, ignoring the movie playing on the tv. He didn’t even know the title, and he was sure you had put it on just to have something in the background so asking was pointless.

“You’re like a cat,” you chuckled when he nuzzled onto your shirt, trailing your hand up to run your fingers through his hair.

Damian hummed, hugging you by the waist. “I’ll never speak to you again if you tell anyone,” he half-heartedly threatened.

“And risk someone else getting cuddles instead of me? No thanks.”

“This isn’t cuddling.” You bounced your shoulder, making him lift his head. Annoyed, he asked, “what?”

“What’s going on with you now?”

“Nothing.” Damian dropped his head back onto your shoulder

“Tell me. Is it something I d—“

He interrupted, tightening his arms around you and pulling you toward him, “I was trying to find the words to ask if this was only a one-time thing without sounding like an idiot, but you clearly ruined it.”

“Of course not.”

Resting your cheek on the top of his head, you went back to play with his hair. At first, you had assumed he would be against you touching his hair again — he surprised you by purring happily.

Damian hoped nothing would ruin the moment, his family was known to call at the worst time. He would do anything to not be forced to move, faking tiredness or an emergency wasn’t below him — not when it came to being around you and having your full attention.

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years

Text

Aizawa x Reader 18+

Title: Easy Come

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4914

Warnings: established relationship, 69 position, oral sex, cunnilingus, anal fingering, competitive sex

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674393

♥♥♥♥

Peaceful evenings at home with Shouta were the best. It was easily the highlight of your week and had been for the last year since you’d started dating. He was such a busy man that just finding the time to be together was often difficult but, somehow or another, the both of you made it work. There wasn’t a single thing in the world you’d trade this time for and you suspected he was in full agreement with that sentiment. He hadn’t come right out and said as much but he may as well have.

The tranquility in his demeanor when it was just you two was impossible to miss and such a stark difference from how he was in public that you couldn’t help wondering how many other people knew this side of him. You had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t many. Although a good man through and through, Shouta didn’t exactly have a reputation for being easy to get on friendly terms with. A tough nut to crack would likely be a good metaphor but you cherished that part of him more than you could put into words. It just made the soft spoken endearments and late night cuddles all the more meaningful. Of all the potential partners he could have chosen, he’d picked you and that had to count for something.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?”

You thought about that for a moment. “Surprise me.”

Issuing a good natured scoff, Shouta picks up the remote from the nightstand and turns on the TV.

You could hear him clicking through multiple screens to pull up an almost endless list of movies that were available at just the touch of a finger while you finished getting ready for bed in the attached bathroom. His apartment was starting to feel more like home than yours did and a smile touches your face when you looked down at where your toothbrushes were nestled together in the same holder. That something so small and insignificant could hold so much weight still took you by surprise even now but you were slowly getting used to it. He’d been very open about wanting you to make a space for yourself once the relationship reached the point of being serious whereas you’d had plenty of lingering reservations. Past hangups and all that.

But you were both slowly moving forward together as a couple and you felt good about the future. Everything seemed to be falling into place one piece at a time, against all odds and, perhaps, your better judgement. Only time would truly tell if what you had was meant to last though and you were determined to enjoy every possible moment with him that you could.

Finishing up at the sink, you pull a fluffy headband over your forehead to keep the hair off your face before switching off the light. Shouta glances up from the TV when you step into the bedroom. You catch the corner of his mouth hitching with what could only be amusement and it lights a mischievous spark in your chest as you cross over to climb up on the bed.

“What’s that look for?” You tease, scooting close to give him a peck on his stubbly cheek.

“Don’t make me say it. You know what that headband does to me.”

“Maybe that was my intention.”

A snort of mirth rumbles out of him as he reaches over to first tweak one of the plush cat ears sticking up off the top of your head and then further back so he can pinch at a loose strand of hair. Absently curling it around his finger, Shouta turns his attention back to the glowing screen against the wall. You sigh in contentment and lean into the firm weight of his body, listening to the click-click-click coming from the TV as he scrolls through the list. You’re positive that this has to be pretty close to what heaven feels like.

“Are you sure you don’t have any preference?” He asks at length. “Action, horror, romcom. Anything stand out?”

Thoughtfully humming, you regard the screen in quiet contemplation for a moment. “Maybe something light?”

“Romcom it is then.”

Your lips curl at the put upon tone in his voice, knowing full well he enjoys those kinds of movies more than he’d ever admit. He’d taken you to the theater on one of your first dates and you’d been surprised at his choice of film, initially writing it off as one made in deference to what you liked rather than what he liked. But then it kept happening, over and over again. You’d seen every romantic comedy blockbuster in the last year and then some, his inclination for that particular genre delighting you to no end. It was such an unexpected surprise but one that made perfect sense in retrospect. Shouta was a true romantic at heart even if he didn’t outwardly look it, after all.

“How about this one?” He says, nudging his shoulder to get your attention.

“Oooh, a classic. Good choice.” You sit up and wiggle over to your pillow as he selects the title and starts it up.

Setting aside the remote, Shouta reaches over onto the nightstand to turn off the light. The both of you settle in and get comfortable, snuggling close to each other with his arm curled over your shoulders and your cheek resting on his chest. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday night with the promise of the weekend looming just on the horizon and, try as you might, you can’t shake the feeling of being genuinely happy. It was hard sometimes but so, so worth it at the end of the day.

You don’t make it very far into the movie before the close proximity with him overrides your wish to simply relax though. It’s near impossible to keep your mind out of the gutter when the clean, soapy smell of him is surrounding you like this, invading your nostrils and leaving a vaguely reminiscent taste of him on your tongue. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breast just under your cheek serves as a silent reminder of the densely packed muscle his lithe frame carries. With it comes the memory of how it feels to have those same muscles heaving against you, driving into your body and working you over right to the breaking point.

The desire you harbor for Shouta had not waned at all in the last year. If anything it had only gotten stronger. Just lying next to him in bed was enough to make you want him and you squirm, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to stave off the growing heat there. But it’s no use. Your urges are simply too strong where he’s concerned and you can feel yourself starting to get wet, particularly when the steamy sex scene with the leading actress’s soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend starts up on screen. Shouta had taken you in similar fashion down in the apartment complex's laundry room late one night when you’d first started staying over for extended periods at a time and the thought alone is enough to make you ache.

He shifts beside you the third time you start to squirm, a wave of pleasant tingles erupting across your skin when he tightens his hold around your shoulders and pins you against his side. He’s strong enough to crush you in his arms if he felt so inclined and it makes your breath come a little faster. A little harder. The notion of letting this scratch go unitched doesn’t even cross your mind as you grasp at the plain black t-shirt he’d put on for bed, tilting your pelvis forward to discreetly grind into his thigh. You had to have him.

“Don’t tell me this is getting you riled up, kitten.” Shouta murmurs, the reverberation from his deep voice making your head feel like it’s vibrating. “If you’d wanted something a bit more explicit, all you had to do was say so.”

“No … this is fine.” You quietly assure him. The somewhat breathless quality of your words makes a shudder race up your spine and you arch, stretching your legs out to wind them around his. If you could get any closer you’d be on top of him by now and you can’t quite convince yourself that it would be such a bad thing.

Noising a muted sound of agreement, Shouta obligingly angles his body away from the TV and towards you. The rough pads of his calloused fingers give you a brief squeeze before tracing lazy circles into the meat of your upper arm. You tilt your head back to peer into his face, a mere hair's breadth from yours, and for a small eternity it's as if you’re simply passing the same oxygen back and forth. Every exhale feeds into the next inhale, his breath mingling with yours until you can’t be sure who's is whose anymore. Then, finally, he closes the distance.

His lips are slightly dry against yours, they always are, but it’s nothing a quick swipe of his tongue won’t fix. The second kiss is more demanding than the last and you all but melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him the access he seeks. A needy moan tries to claw its way up your throat when he slips into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth for a taste only to pull out a regretfully short moment later. You try to follow him, eager to give yourself over, but Shouta’s attention drops to the spot between you two instead.

“What’s got you so worked up tonight?” He brings the arm that’s not wrapped around you forward, giving your breast an idle squeeze through the thin cotton of your shirt, and you keen.

“You. It’s always you.”

“Is that so?” He says with a mirthful snort. Adjusting his hand, Shouta brushes his thumb over the pebbling peak of your nipple in taunting slow motion until you whine. “Am I really that good or am I just lucky? What do you think, kitten?”

“Both.” You croak, jutting your chest towards him for better access. “I love what you do to me and that makes you lucky.”

“Can’t argue that.”

A genuine smile graces his face, highlighted by the glow from the TV. You’ve completely forgotten about the movie by now, its low chatter mere background noise as you focus in on Shouta and how he makes you feel. His hooded gaze is still locked on your chest and you watch with bated breath when he delicately takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling the bud to stiff attention. The resulting friction makes your pussy clench and tingling warmth spreads throughout your body to set every nerve ending on fire. You draw a slow breath to try and ground yourself. It doesn’t work but, to be fair, you hadn’t really expected it to.

Shouta looks up at the sound though and you exchange a long look with one another. Keeping his eyes on your face, he pulls at your top until it's bunched under your chin and your nipples immediately start to pucker in the open air. Moaning softly, you watch as he dips his head to catch one of the meaty nubs in his mouth and suckle. He starts off slow and gentle but gradually increases the suction he’s applying until you finally gasp and writhe against him.

He comes up off your tit with a dull pop. The quiet breath he lets out fans across spit lathered skin, making your nipple pucker all over again and even stiffer than before. You seeth and blindly reach behind him to worm your hand into his dark plaid boxers. Pausing long enough to give his ass an encouraging squeeze, digging your nails in for good measure, you work your way towards the front of his body so you can grasp the half hard length between his legs. Wiry pubic hair tickles your knuckles as you subduedly pump at him, teasing him to full arousal while he idly flicks at your nipple with his index finger. Despite the thrumming arousal pumping through your system, it seems neither of you is in a hurry to rush this and you can’t say you have any complaints about that.

“Was it the sex scene in the laundry room?” He husks after a long moment.

“It certainly didn’t help.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should revisit that later. You might have an unrealized kink for having your pussy ate on top of a washing machine, sweetheart.”

You outright laugh at that. “ I think I just like having you go down on me period. The setting doesn’t really matter.”

Issuing a low, rumbling growl, Shouta drops his arm to worm his fingers between your pliant thighs and possessively cup your pussy in his hand. “Is that what you want? Want me to eat you out until you’re screaming and begging me to stop?”

Your breath hitches with a little gasp. “God, yes …”

He takes a moment to grind the heel of his palm into the apex of your slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to leave you desperate for more. Then, too quick for you to react, he rolls over onto his back and drags you on top of him so that you’re half sprawled out across his chest. Your pulse jumps at suddenly finding yourself nose to nose and you brace your palms on his firm pecs, intending to give him some breathing room. Shouta is fast though, much faster than you, and he brings his hands up to catch your cheeks before you can retreat. He pulls you into another deep kiss, the stubble on his chin abrasively scratching your skin in the process. You shudder at the dominant gesture, feeling your cunt gush more sticky slick to coat your labia as you moan wantonly into his mouth. His ability to drive you wild was as profound as it was unfair. You’d have to make sure to pay him back for this later.

“Turn around.” He grunts upon pulling back just enough to speak. “And pants off.”

A sharp swat to your ass has you practically vibrating with eager excitement as you carefully stand up on the bed and start shimmying your sleep shorts down your hips. Shouta watches you with nothing short of barefaced interest, his hands coming up to caress the soft skin of your legs where they’re bracketing his ribs. One foot at a time, you cautiously step out of your bottoms and toss them over the edge of the bed before turning to face the TV. You glance back over your shoulder with a sly grin, giving your behind a taunting little shake.

“Like this?”

He snorts. “Come here before I decide to punish you, kitten. You already know exactly how unpleasant I can make this for you.”

Your pussy tightens at the playful threat which ultimately only succeeds in exciting you all the more. You’d rather not endure another one of Shouta’s infamous edging sessions though and you lower yourself down onto your knees, fighting back the anxious flutter in the pit of your gut that always accompanies this particular position. No matter how many times you do it, shoving your ass in your boyfriend's face will probably never not be an awkward experience.

It’s clear as day that Shouta doesn’t mind it one bit though and he loops his arms under your thighs so he can take your waist in hand and guide you into place. The fact he actually pulls you closer doesn’t come as a surprise and you wait with bated breath for him to deem your positioning satisfactory. You start slightly just a moment later at the tickle of his coarse hair on your inner thigh, unable to shake the feeling that he’s nose deep in your pussy like this. It’s a bit embarrassing but somehow thrilling at the same time. A real conundrum.

“There.” He says at last, stilling behind you, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath on your skin. “Remember what you asked for, kitten. I won’t stop until you’re screaming.”

“You would’ve done that anyway, whether I’d asked for it or not …”

He chuckles faintly in response. “That’s true.”

You start to smile, that undeniable spark of genuine happiness making itself known again. But then you feel him lean close and your mouth warbles, dropping open with a silent groan instead as you brace for the first expert stroke of Shouta’s tongue. It doesn’t come right away though and he takes his time merely nuzzling into you, placing wayward kisses along your puffy slit and taking deep breaths of your scent. A slow moving tremor works its way up your spine, causing you to shake and clench your pussy in anticipation. The suspense alone was enough to make you start begging.

But Shouta knows exactly how to tease you to vibrating fever pitch and giving him any more ammunition to work with would just be inviting one of his drawn out games so you stay silent, biting down on your lip when you can feel the word ‘please’ bubbling to life inside your throat. He’s as aware of the underlying tension as you are and he grunts against your cunt. Dragging his palms up the backs of your thighs, he reaches up to squeeze the doughy soft flesh of your ass and spread your cheeks apart, baring you fully to the room. You whimper, unable to hold back such an instinctive sound when you’re totally exposed like this, and Shouta’s lips curl against your labia.

Apparently pleased with that, he presses his lips to the center of your slit and kisses you. The ministrations of his mouth are hungry and demanding, the friction of his facial hair against your petal soft folds leaving a burning trail in its wake while he works you open. You sway slightly on your knees, eyes slipping shut as you bask the sensation.

His tongue emerges a brief moment later and you give your hips an encouraging wiggle when it slips and slides through your wet cunt lips in search of your entrance. He takes his time just circling the rim, lapping up the accumulated slick and swallowing the taste of you before delving in deeper. Your muscles contract at the slimy intrusion, fluttering in delight, and you teeter forward to brace your hands on his sharp hip bones so that you can better present yourself to him. A rumbling groan rises up behind you, the vibrations traveling through your pussy, and you twitch in pleasure.

“Mmm … that feels good, Shouta. Do you like how I taste that much?”

You receive an incoherent grumble in response and it makes you smile.

Cracking your eyes open, you glance down at the straining tent in his boxers. Knowing you could never leave him hanging like that, you lift your hand to tug at the cotton. Inch by excruciating inch, you push it lower until his hard cock pops up into the air with an enthusiastic bounce. He tenses underneath you, just enough for you to notice, and you tuck the elastic waistband under his balls before taking him in hand. A slow pump is all you reward him with at first but then, as if sensing your intentions, he withdraws his tongue from your body in favor of licking his way down to your clit. Your grip on him eagerly tightens and you rear back, grinding your pussy on his face.

The resulting grunt of pleasure goes straight to your head and you do it again. Dragging your cunt across his mouth and no doubt smearing your arousal on his skin, you give Shouta’s cock another tug that makes the foreskin bunch at the tip. He issues a rumbled warning and pulls back just enough to speak.

“Watch yourself, kitten. We can still do this the hard way.”

With that ominous reminder, he dives back in. Shoving his face so deep into your cunt that it's a wonder he doesn’t suffocate, Shouta works the meat of your labia open again and his tongue darts out to lash at your clit. You go ramrod stiff on top of him, twitching and shaking like a leaf at the sharp starbursts of pleasure that shoot through your nerves. It’s enough to make you freeze up, so overwhelmed by the sensation that you almost overlook the very obvious challenge he’s presented you with.

You’ve played this particular game with him more times than you could count though and, through sheer force of will alone, you start to pump him in earnest now. It takes a staggering amount of concerted effort to do it but if it's another round of who-can-successfully-distract-who he was looking for then that’s what he’d get.

Lowering yourself so that you can lie down on top of him, you angle Shouta’s cock towards your mouth and seal your lips around the head. Your free hand travels further south, curling around and cupping his balls so that you can massage them. He was particularly sensitive in this area and, just as expected, the muscles in his legs jump at the first gentle squeeze. You feel real proud of yourself for all of five seconds before he retaliates by closing his mouth on your clit and sucking. Hard.

You come up off his dick with a half strangled squeal, futilely trying to squeeze your thighs together and shut him out. It’s a losing battle though and Shouta merely tightens his elbows around your hips so that he can hold you in place no matter how much you squirm. A shock of static electricity zaps up your spine and you arch so hard that something in your lower back pops. The damp presence of reflexive tears wetting your lash line manages to ground you somewhat and, with a haggard gulp of air, you take his stiff cock into your mouth again.

Swallowing him as far as you can in this position, you start bobbing your head and laving the underside of him with your tongue while your hand pumps at the base where you can’t quite reach. He lets up on your clit long enough to groan appreciatively and flex his hips off the bed to meet you halfway. Bending his knobby knees towards the ceiling to accommodate the awkward angle, Shouta begins thrusting into your mouth enthusiastically enough to make his balls bounce and a tinge of victory lights up inside your chest.

It’s regretfully short lived though and you stiffen when his fingers abruptly find your slit. He wastes no time pushing one inside, giving the searching digit a taunting wiggle for good measure, and you moan around his cock. The sudden pressure on your upper wall has you clenching around him as the tension in your gut doubles and then triples. You know it's only a matter of moments until you reach the breaking point if he keeps that up but, much to your surprise, he pulls out after a prolonged beat.

Confusion curls at the back of your mind but he’s still fucking your mouth and you can’t think straight. The drool spilling out around his cock and running down your chin is particularly distracting. All you can seem to do is wordlessly noise your bewilderment and dig your nails into his flexing hip, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say.

You get your answer soon enough in the form of that same finger, sticky with arousal, finding the pucker of your asshole. Squawking wetly in surprise, you jerk against him but Shouta hold’s fast. With one hand pulling your cheek to the side, the other applies just the right amount of pressure at the center of your entrance to sink inside your body. You freeze, feeling the muscles clench and flutter around the intrusion, but this is not the first time you’ve had your ass penetrated and it offers only a cursory amount of resistance. Your eyes start to water again, rolling towards the back of your head, and Shouta stills underneath you with his dick rammed as deep into your mouth as he can reach.

A small eternity seems to pass and then you feel the ring of muscle give way. Once the first joint makes it through, the rest follow suit easily enough and Shouta wiggles his finger into you straight down to the knuckle. You groan in perverse pleasure, rocking forward on your knees, but the only place you can go is further down on his cock. You’re thoroughly trapped between two equally unrelenting forces like this and you can’t quite shake the impression of being a spit roasted pig. Damn him. What a devious bastard.

“That seems to have gotten your attention.” He groans, very softly, and the sensation of his lips brushing against your cunt makes you jolt. Allowing himself a strained chuckle at your expense, Shouta nuzzles into you again and your body responds with a warning tremor that he doesn’t miss. “Maybe I should start using your ass more often. You seem to like it.”

You gurgle noisily in response, struggling to swallow around the girth shoved in your mouth.

He seems to take that as an agreement and tilts his head, slowly dragging the flat of his tongue across your throbbing clit. You shake so hard that your eyes rattle about inside their sockets but there’s nothing you can do to turn the tables now. He’s got you completely at his mercy and he was just as aware of that as you were.

With his finger plugging your ass, Shouta takes a leisurely pace to eating you out and it very nearly drives you insane. It quickly becomes apparent that he intends to drag this out for as long as possible, which he was adept at even under the best of circumstances but it was particularly torturous in this case. Your clenching muscles gave you away and any time he felt you starting to tighten around him, he’d merely shift his attention to kissing the outer portion of your pussy until the tension began to fade. You were toeing the line of release for such an extended period of time that it actually started to hurt and you whine around him, trying to pull yourself up off his cock. He wouldn’t permit that either though and merely tightened his arms around you or jutted his pelvis up higher as needed. It was maddening in the best possible way.

It seemed as if hours had gone by in this fashion before he finally spoke up again. “Are you ready to cum, kitten?”

“Rrmmhrm.”

“Are you going to scream for me?”

“Rrmh!” You jerkily nod your head, fingers fisting in the sheets.

“You’ll have to try hard if you want me to hear it while you have my cock in your mouth.”

Groaning, you weakly jut your pelvis back against his face, urging him to finish you already. Shouta quietly chuckles, sounding more like a moan than a genuine laugh.

He tilts his head then, slotting his mouth over your clit, and you let out a muffled wail when his tongue drags across the swollen nub with real intent this time. Every inch of your body shakes in rapidly mounting tension, the sheer force of it almost too much to bear. He holds you tight as you quake on top of him though, your chest heaving frantically against his stomach, but he won’t let up this time. Now he wants you to cum and you’re entirely helpless to stop it even if you’d wanted to. It takes everything you have to keep breathing through your nose as starbursts erupt across your vision and, before you even realize it’s happening, you tip over the edge.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wail around his cock. A fresh wave of drool dribbles out of your mouth as you struggle to keep your jaw open while you ride out the cresting waves of ecstasy, realizing in some far off, dreamy way that the ball gag training was really paying off now. It’s a hysterical thought to have when your mind and body were being overwhelmed with a flood of dopamine but you don’t even have the wherewithal to find it funny. You were soaring on cloud nine, somewhere far above the physical constraints of your body, and you’re only vaguely aware of your asshole sporadically squeezing his finger when you start to come back some moments later. It was the sort of transcendental orgasm you’d only ever experienced with Shouta.

You were positive that no one else could ever hope to take you to such dizzying heights as this and you go limp on top of him with a frazzled sigh.

After a long beat, when he’s sure you’ve milked your release for all its worth, he slowly eases his hips back down to the bed. You gratefully spit his cock out, watching it bob and glisten wetly in the dim light from the TV while you try to steady your breathing. He gives you another moment or two before idly tapping his fingers against the meat of your ass.

“That didn’t exactly sound like screaming to me, kitten.” He says quietly, the sly note in his voice not escaping your notice. “I think we might have to give that another go.”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #hero academia #boku no hero academia #self insert bullshit #my writing

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