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angelisverba · 3 years

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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mystic-sky · 3 years

Note

A fan fic of Gojo Satoru inspired by the song Heaven by Julia Michaels 😭 I enjoyed your writings 🥰🥰🥰

The moment you met him was ingrained into your brain, even years after you both parted. It had been raining that day, possibly 7:30pm, and you were held up in a cafe for shelter. You had been dosing off a bit after your classmates left you an hour or so prior. You regretted staying up so late to watch that sit-com the night before. But it was a Friday, and you didn’t have class the next day. The paper was finally finished and you proudly packed your things together. You kept fantasizing about how your efforts during the week were soon to be rewarded by slumber.

The sound of thunder brought you back to reality within the quiet coffee space.

“I guess I should sit back down,” you said to yourself. You were standing by the glass doors and ready to leave, bag over your shoulder. You held your book in one arm before fisting the sleeves of your sweater. The one time I forget my umbrella, you thought.

There was something soothing about watching the busy streets of Tokyo while rain hit the window screen. You felt yourself unwinding, relaxing in place. Sometimes your school and work life felt so hectic. It was nice to slow down from time to time and breathe.

“Man, you don’t have an umbrella? That sucks.” An incredibly tall, white haired male spoke beside you, snapping you out of your zen moment.

You turned your head towards him, and he wasn’t even looking at you. He wore a thick black sweatshirt, black jeans and dark boots. He had thick black shades on, and surely an umbrella in his hands. He had a gorgeous profile, and his jawline was extremely defined. Was he some sort of supermodel, you thought.

“Yeah, I know.” You say, sighing to yourself. You were partially offended, but mostly tired. He was handsome, but you didn’t have time for flirting. You just wanted to go home and run a hot bath. He looked like he was going to break your heart anyways.

“It says the rain is going to stop within the hour on the weather app.” He said, scrolling and tapping away at his phone. “You goin’ to the train station?”

“Oh, yeah.” You say shyly. You nervously tucked some hair behind your ears before looking straight ahead. Why the fuck was this supermodel speaking to you?

Granted, it was hard for you to stop looking at him every so often.

“Like what you see?”

You blinked at him repeatedly, earning a cocky chuckle from him.

“Wanna walk with me?” He asked, peering down at you. You looked at him, pondering if he was seriously trying to hit on you right now. Surely if you had known him, maybe walking to the station with him solely for the use of his umbrella would’ve been fine. You don’t know if it was the sleep deprivation or the fact that he truly did seem a little arrogant that stemmed your next response as you spoke.

“I don’t even know you.” You said bluntly, and you meant it disrespectfully.

“Not yet.” He said slyly. “But I’ve seen you around campus a lot.”

You stood still, pondering again if you had actually seen him before. Wait- wasn’t he in your political science class? You put a finger to your chin before finally igniting the imaginary, anxious little light bulb above your head.

“Professor Edamura’s class right?” You were such a lecture worm in that class, and the professor had yet to start group assignments. You had absolutely no need to befriend anyone in that class yet. Nonetheless, it was your largest lecture class this semester, and you only met once a week.

“Bingo.” He grinned.

“There’s like 120 people in that lecture.”

“Yeah. But I think you’re the cutest.” You stared at him, dumbfounded and blush stuck on your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing your arms around your book and pressing it towards your chest.

“Oh look, the rain is stopping.” He says, leaning forward and intently staring out the window.

“Well, see you Wednesday.” He smiled a cheeky smile.

You felt like a child, blushing foolishly whilst you watched him walk out and down the street.

You almost wish you hadn’t met him.

Days would go by until you saw him again. He made his appearance on Wednesday, at 2pm in Professor Edamura’s class. He sat beside you, offering you a wink before taking out his own computer beside you and your own. Aside from a greeting, he didn’t say a word until the lecture ended. You really had spoken too soon about not befriending anyone, because you had gotten slurped up into a group project with 4 other people.

“So, Friday night, we could all go to my place. I don’t live too far from here.” You wanted to meet at the library instead. Why did he want to go to his house? However, it seemed he was a rather popular guy and everyone loved him. You learned his name was Gojo Satoru. And then you lost the vote 4 to 1.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as the women in your group swooned at him as he talked. This sucks.

All of you created a group chat in which you sparked ideas for the project’s format. You honestly think the other girls in your group were just more excited they had his number.

Thursday night came, and you were in your robe and face mask when your phone went off. You blinked repeatedly, realizing Satoru had texted you directly and not the group chat.

Heyy

Hey, Is everything okay?

Yeah, I honestly just can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

You stared at the message, absolutely not having time for his shit. You didn’t respond. Rather, you went in your settings and purposely turned on read receipts and went to bed.

You wished you could’ve left him on read in real life too as you sat on the floor pillow in his living room the next evening. The other three group mates bailed, texting the chat just 20 minutes after you got there.

“Guess it’s just the two of us,” he chuckled.

“Don’t look so happy about it.” You rolled your eyes. This project was 30 percent of your grade, you wanted to punch someone.

“I can’t help it,” he says, sitting across from you on a different floor pillow. “I won’t lie. I had been thinking of asking you on a date. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky.”

“And did you text the other girls in our group the same thing the night before?” You say, nonchalantly opening your book. You didn’t even look his way.

“No, they’re incredibly annoying.” He sighed genuinely. You finally looked at him. They were pretty annoying. Because of them, you were sitting across from him with nothing separating you but an extremely expensive coffee table. The library would’ve been better.

“You’re pretty cool though. Kind of bummed you didn’t text me back.”

“Because I know what you’re up to.” You say, scribbling away in your notes.

“And what might that be?” He takes off his shades, putting them on the glass coffee table. You’d never forget the way he stared at you with his mesmerizing blue shells.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you. I don’t have time for that.” You firmly set your pencil down, looking at him.

“I don’t exactly want you to.” He chuckled. You looked at him before speaking again.

“So what do you want from me?” You say, placing your face in your palm and leaning forward a bit to look at him directly. The intense stare you had was sure to ring out the truth from his lips.

“I said I wanted to take you on a date.” He laughs. “Get to know you a bit, but ultimately take you to bed at the end of the night, if you don’t mind. You can decline, I just wanted to show you a good time.”

He just blatantly asked you to sleep with him. Somehow, you admired that. You hated people that wasted your time. At least this way, you felt like you had some power in the situation. You could decline him or not, and you knew exactly what would become of your situation-ship if you started something.

“Sure,” you say calmly, to his surprise. You shift yourself around the table, right beside his body.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you took hold of his jaw, delicately planting a kiss. He had no idea you were so confident. He only had a girl initiate the kiss once before. Your lips were incredibly soft and pillowy. He was already hard, wondering just what your sex was like if you kissed him like this. The semester’s stress had gotten to you. You were only hoping he could help you unwind.

You shifted over his body, straddling him against the bottom of the sofa. You’d give him exactly what he wanted.

“You better be good at this, or don’t even bother looking at me after we finish this project.” You break from his lips.

“Oh princess, I don’t ever disappoint.” He smirked. You were alarmed at his strength when he lifted both your bodies off the ground. He sucked in your lips, kissing you firmly as he brought you to his bedroom.

That night, he gave you the best sex of your entire life. He wasn’t lying about not disappointing you.

You remember the day you guys finally had to present your project, which didn’t come out too bad. Satoru had seduced the girls who didn’t show up on Friday into doing majority of the work. You remember him telling you that they deserved it after you attempted to nag him for messing with them like that.

“You and me worked hard last Friday night, right princess? So what’s the big deal?” He whispered into your ear while you all gathered in front of the lecture. You presented your part that you did on your own with constant red hues plaguing your face. You wish he waited to say that after the presentation. Now, you were worked up again. The events of skin touching skin had been stuck in your mind.

You couldn’t get his extremely large hands and hot body out of your head. For something that was supposed to be a stress reliever, the thought of his sex lived on within you and it was getting annoying. He caught up with you after you rushed out the room as soon as class ended.

“You have time before your next class?” He peered down at you, grinning a sexy and devilish smile.

“Why?” You ask.

“Let’s go grab a bite to eat, on me. I promise really do work harder than I like to show off. The thing I did for the project isn’t really my character. I just didn’t like how the other girls were going to push all the work on you.”

He sounded genuinely sorry for the situation.

“It’s fine. They deserved it anyway. They never replied to me when I texted them. If it wasn’t for you using your ‘sexiness’ to make them get busy, we would’ve gotten a shitty grade for sure.” You used air quotes around the word ‘sexiness’.

“You think I’m sexy?” He said smugly.

“Of course that’s all you picked up from the entirety of what I said.” You rolled your eyes, and he laughed a hearty laugh.

“Obviously,” you say quietly, he almost didn’t hear you.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he said, laughter dying down. You had this annoyed blush on your face as the both of you walked. You did end up going out to eat with him. But somehow, you also ended up fucking him in the restaurant bathroom right after.

His hands squeezed your hips as you pressed you ass closer against him. You never realized you could feel so full. He slammed his length into you, while you shamelessly watched yourself pant beneath him in front of the mirror.

“You’re such a pretty girl, look how pretty you are. I wanna see your face again when you cum.” He coaxed you whilst gripping your neck.

“Don’t be so loud though, then we’ll get caught. You don’t want this to end do you?”

Your juices were running down your weak legs, and you were holding back pleasure filled squeals while he rammed himself into you. It had been a while since you had been fucked so well aside from last Friday. And something about the thrill of someone knocking on the door, which wasn’t even locked, helped you find your climax during that 10 minute session.

You called out his name as you clenched around his length, causing him to throw his hand over your hot mouth.

“Shhh,” he shushed you as he lifted your body towards his own.

“We won’t be able to do stuff like this in the future if you’re so loud.” His hot breath poured into your ear. Your knees were burning, but the pleasure in your core was enough to over shadow it. You were ashamed to admit it, but you were cumming again onto his dick.

“Satoru, my legs...” you muffled against his hand.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, don’t worry.” His thrusts were quickening and you felt him twitch inside you. He released himself into the rubber he wore before removing his member from you. You collapsed your upper body onto the sink for support.

He was incredibly sweet somehow, sliding your jeans and panties up for you.

“Can you walk?” He asked.

“I can manage.” You say, stumbling back against his chest. He caught you whilst you buttoned your jeans.

“The look on your face is priceless.” He said, looking at you in the mirror. You were a disheveled blushing mess, but somehow you were scowling at him for making you cum in such a short time.

“You can hold my arm for support,” he watched as you fixed what you could of your top and hair.

“Shut up.” You said, wrapping yourself onto his arm and exiting the bathroom.

Sex with him was filled with plentiful moments like this. He would spontaneously show up around you, asking to hang out. It helped out a lot, considering you were less stressed and chirpier, your friends noticed. A little bit of dick does everyone good sometimes.

You did your best to keep it strictly sex related, and you felt like he was casually following whatever you wanted to do. He was a decent friend, listening to your qualms about school and your other friendships. He took in a lot of stories and life situations from you, but he rarely ever talked about himself. You had slept with him countless times by then, but you really knew nothing about him. The thing that made it worse is that he started to sex you more passionately, stirring your feelings in a bunch.

He towered above your body in the dark moonlit room. It was another Friday, and you were lost in his sex yet again. He was so close, kissing and sucking your lips til they were sore and bruised. He dragged his mouth against your neck and down to your chest. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he was keen to keep the space between you as close as possible. You hadn’t see him all week, and you both didn’t have any classes together this season. The spontaneous adventures became more planned due to your busy schedules.

He inserted himself into your warmth, making you arch your back and press your breasts to his chest.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Your entire head was hot from the whisper he made into your ear. You wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It was starting to fuck with you. You let out a moan as he filled you up completely, grinding your sex towards him from underneath.

“It looks like you missed me too,” he chuckled. Your sex was loud and wet. You couldn’t lie to him even if you tried— your body wouldn’t let you.

You found yourself moaning how much you missed him as he rolled into you endlessly throughout the evening.

“I know baby,” he placed sweet kisses against your face and neck, “I know.”

You chose to block this specific memory out whenever you told your friends this story. He had sexed you like he loved you that night and you had too many orgasms to count.

You awoke in the morning with him clinging to your naked body. It really wasn’t the first time something romantic like this had happened but it was the first time you felt provoked to say something.

“Satoru...” You said against his hair. He grumbled a groggy hum into your neck. You didn’t know if this was the right time to say it, but you were tired of the subtle hints of affection he had been mixing in with all the lust.

“It’s getting hard for me to keep this relationship strictly sex based,” you begin.

“I really do want to get to know you more. But sometimes you throw me these mixed signals and I get confused.”

He sat up, bringing his blue gaze towards yours.

“Then we should stop.” He said bluntly. He wasn’t asking you either.

“We should,” you sort of agree, confusedly.

“I had a feeling this was going to happen.” He said, tearing himself from you.

“But it’s cool. I’ve got somewhere to be. You need a ride home?” He asked. You nodded. That morning for the first time in a long time, you both got dressed together in solitude. There was no banter, no joking around and none of the occasional compliment or kiss.

He drove you home, in comfortable silence on his part. When you both of reached in front of your house he finally spoke.

“Don’t look so down, honey. At the end of the day, you were just a warm body to me. Cheer up though, you served your purpose.”

You could’ve cried but you knew exactly what this was from the beginning. Was it possible he was starting to feel something? And this was his way of running from it? You stared at your lap. There was no point of trying to read too hard into it now.

“Thanks for the ride.” You say, shutting the door. He watched you walk into your house. He hadn’t known you were so sensitive considering the persona you’d been giving him since the very beginning. He would never be able to apologize to you for it either— he had too much pride.

He never texted or called you after that. Not that you were surprised, you knew he wasn’t the one for you. He was too secretive despite his outgoing nature. An experience it was, you thought it was fun. You did your best to look at the situation as optimistically as possible.

Whenever you saw him on campus, you didn’t even bother looking at him. You walked right by him. He knew better than to speak to you. One day you were sitting in the cafe you first met him in. It was raining just like it was last year. You knew he saw you scribbling away through the glass window. He entered anyway, with a brunette attached to his arm. She laughed loudly as she pressed her breasts to his bicep. You casually sipped your iced coffee, eying him briefly before returning to your work.

He was pretty ballsy.

“You okay babe?” Suguru slid his large hand over yours, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You hummed in delight, watching him take hold of your hand and press your knuckles to his lips.

“When you’re done, how about we go to that Hibachi place you like?”

You held back an excited squeal at the dark haired male in front of you.

“I’d like that a lot.”

part 2

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo sensei #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #jjk #jjk smut #im sorry but just because they're your fav does not mean im gonna write the relationship all lovey dovey #fictional characters are not exempt to toxicity #but I love the song so much I couldn't write it any other way

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jjkpls · 3 years

Text

Mean Yoongi 4 - Finale (M)

> genre : angst (a hell of a lot), smut

> pairing : min yoongi x reader (f)

> total words : 11k+

> warnings/content : takes place post rona quarantine, explicit sexual content (bj, fingering, dirty talk, lowkey cum play), bad writing (it’s been a while, i hope you don’t feel the struggle too much)

> summary : You haven’t talked to Yoongi in so long, now that you’re allowed to see him again, you’re not sure how to do it anymore.

> previous

"Your hair has grown a lot."

I don't say anything. I stare, probably a bit cold, I don't make an effort to answer. There's a lot of things to say but no words seem right. Her attempt sucks anyway. I can tell, from the way she nibbles on her bottom lip, eyes shying away, that she thinks the same.

The moment is filled with tension. The bad kind of tension. She's fidgety, feeling awkward. I feel it too but I'm better at hiding it. I've always been. Sitting back in my chair, observing her attentively, I can't help my insides from twisting on themselves, my heart from squeezing painfully in my chest. She's the same, mostly. With a shadow under the eyes she didn't use to have, a pallor I hate on her cheeks -usually painted that lovely shade of crimson, whenever I'm here to watch, as if the colour exists only for me- a slump in her stance. I wonder what I'm like to her. My hair's changed, as she mentioned. It's quite long, it's grown indeed, and enough for my natural colour to take over my whole head. I am tired, both in body and mind. So much so, I don't find the energy to tease her like I would before. And maybe, that's the biggest thing that's changed about me, and this sole thing is turning me into someone else entirely. I may as well be a whole someone else. Not the man who used to, every now and then, sprinkle glimpses of an awkward grin I've never gotten used to wearing but that I know, she loves. Certainly not the one who teased her with a relationship she could graze but not catch, with my fingers deep in her cunt, using crude and harsh words foreign to my lips straight in her ear, because she secretly loves it. Dancing on her feet, playing with her own fingers, gesticulating and waiting, hoping for an easy way out to manifest somehow. Probably for me to grant it to her because no matter how difficult I make myself to be, I've always been good at that. Dictate and guide how things go between us. I am sweet even if I wouldn't ever admit it aloud and it's been convenient, always, for her. I'm sort of curious to see how it'll go, how it can go if for once, I'm not making any effort for the both of us. I raise from my seat, eyes dropping from her. (She's wearing Converse, I note. This probably because she didn't plan on seeing me.) Hands digging deep in my pockets, I'm not sure I can approach her. These weird, implemented reflexes raise in her too. People don't do it so much any more. Getting close. And I can see her flinch in impulse before her eyes grow big and demanding. "I got tested-" She cuts herself short. It sounds weird. To speak in this deafening silence, she can hear it as much as I can. And to say those words too. She doesn't have to finish the sentence, I get the idea and from the shade of her voice, I can tell her results have turned out negative. Maybe I'm a bit irresponsible. Maybe a bit too desperate. In any case, it makes me scoff, roll my eyes. Staring down at my feet, hair hiding most of my face to her, I have to bite back on my tongue the words that almost roll out. Something about not giving a shit about that, and her being ridiculous. I don't really trust my mouth, I have no idea what would come out of it, therefore I don't speak. My hand reaches forward, bony fingers catching the front of her shirt before I'm dragging her to me. Very naturally, as if it hasn't been months since the last time I've touched her, as if even before that we were used to holding unto each other like that, she melts in my arms. "Why didn't you call?" She could, technically, ask me the same thing: I could have done it. I hope she doesn't ask. I wouldn't know what to say to her. How honest to be. I'd probably say that I was waiting for her to do it first. Which sounds ridiculous, childish as hell but couldn't be more true. I'd say, if I had a different tongue, that wouldn't get tied up anytime deep feelings are involved, that I was worried and terrified and sad, like I had not been in a long while. And all this because she wouldn't call, she wouldn't reach out for me and my heart, probably too profound and too serious, couldn't quite comprehend and certainly not accept her silence. Those months drove me crazy. Literally. I came to ask myself if I didn't make it all up. If the special bound between us had ever really existed or if it was just all projection. "You didn't either." She ends up saying. Clearly, she's as speechless as I am when it comes to explaining months, almost half a year, of pure dumbassery. It's not like it's necessary to explain anyway. She should just know how to tell me that she missed me. And I should know to do it too. She's better at that stuff. Not that good but still better than I am, I think. If she can't do it then I'm not sure I can even try. But today I'm different, as I said. And when she accuses me like she just did, I tense but don't let go. I can hear the way her breath catches in her throat, her shoulders rising to her ear. She's probably expecting me to back away and start cursing at her. I only squeeze further though, sliding my chin along her shoulder so to tuck my neck nicely with hers, humming pure appreciation, when it feels as comfortable and warm as it possibly can. She smells wonderful, she's warm and so willing to let me wrap myself around her. "I wasn't at my best so- I thought I'd just wait for you to call when you would-" I found the courage, apparently, to say all the things that's been heavy on my mind. It's easy when she's this tender. Embodiment of warmth, of welcoming, of loving, I can only be serene, voice low and soft. "But you never did." The only reason I allow myself to reproach the things that technically she can also blame me for, is because I know, that pressed that hard and that close against her, she can feel my heart beating insanely, exposing and telling on me. "You should have!" I don't need to say anything for her to gather that I'm not amused. I unwrap from her, deciding she's being too much of a stubborn brat. I sigh, watching her pointedly not watching me. She yelps and finally grants me her pretty eyes when a pinch to the back of her thigh, right under her ass, scalds her. Here's her "Mean Yoongi", as she so calls me, according to the Snapchat conversation she shares with Taehyung. I see her bite back a smile, her pretty lip flushed when she releases it. "What was that for?" She whines as if it's not fair, rubbing the soreness of her thigh with one hand. I smile mostly with my eyes, deciding to ignore the tears that have gathered in her eyes while I wasn't looking. I back away, taking a stand against the top of my desk, arms crossed tight on my chest. "You deserve way more than that. Lucky for you, I feel lazy." Her gaze follows mine, aimed at the leather sofa. The thing presently empty but virtually filled with the substantial memory of that one fateful time I touched her for the first time, her ass made red by my ministrations. I can't do that today. I'm too soft for now. I still enjoy seeing her squirm, blush and shy away while simultaneously loving thinking about it though. "I could tell you the same, Yoongi. You could have-" I'm losing patience. It's not entirely against her. It's more accurately against us. We're playing the same pointless game. The unnecessarily torturing game of denying, of dismissing. I should probably just drop it, even if it hurts and leaves me with too many pressing interrogations. I might look a bit more serious when I start studying her face with great attention. She's beautiful. I missed seeing her. The mental picture I had kept of her, along with the real ones I'd spent months looking at, didn't do her much justice. She looks somewhat surreal. Prettier than I remember, yet printed with the same aura I recognize. "I told you why already." I whisper to her. My own voice surprises me. It's as if my heart, that's been too hurt, has been left tender, exposed and I'm turned weak even in demeanour. I bet it's confusing for her. It is for me. Feels disarming. "But- what's the point then? If when you're down you don't call-" To that, I don't know what to say. I don't know how to admit to her, if she hasn't guessed it yet, the extend of my inability to seek for what I need, for what makes me feel good, for her who I've wanted and craved for. Of course, I needed her. Of course, I wanted her to be here for me -and be needed and wanted by her. I don't know how to say it though therefore I kiss her. A soft press to the corner of her mouth. I smile, probably looking dumb, when I see her wide eyes blinking, sending one lone tiny tear on her cheekbone. Her cheeks turn red because apparently, she's not immune to me and my kisses anymore, her immediate, strong reactions turning out to be the same as the ones she used to have, in the very, very beginning, when she was so putty, so lenient, such a good girl and also, the shyest and most innocent little thing. She needs some time to accommodate, to say the least. She's barely kissing me back. Simply letting me pepper her mouth with kisses, closing her eyes, hands reaching for my sweatshirt yet not so much giving me back.

After too long of not enough, I need to stop. Because what I think I know might not be so right anymore. Maybe I read things wrong, yet again, and she's not in the same place I stand. After looking at her face, and her eyes, who struggle to dry up and look at me, I ask, "What's wrong?", granting her all of my attention. "Wha- you, what's wrong?" I scoff. She looks like she's about to cry while snarking like a brat. "You're really testing my patience." "You're different. You don't have patience normally." I tilt my head to the side, a tiny smile lifting one corner of my lips. I can't say it's not true. "I thought you wanted me sweeter?" She stares, frowning. Confused, embarrassed and almost upset. I know I'm a weird fucking version of myself right now. The one that hasn't come out a lot these past few years and that she'd certainly never met before. I'm scared she doesn't like it. Maybe she hates it. If she liked me before, there's no reason she'd like that one Yoongi, is there? "I'm just messing with you. I'm tired and-" Gentle fingers wrap around her hands, intimating her to walk forward, forward and close enough for me to close my lips on hers again. "It's been a while." I let her look into my eyes, read the longing and probably the sadness. "Sorry if I'm weird. If you don't like me like that just- bear with me for today, hm?" "I bear with you all the time." Well. That's not even the last thing I expected her to say. Pretty mean for a sweet girl like her. "What does that mean?" She shrugs. She knows but she won't say. She has that pout on her mouth. The tilted one she does whenever something's been said loud and clear in that little head of hers but she's not generous enough to indulge in sharing. I stare, disapprovingly, thumb chastising kindly her cheek. "That's rough." "I don't mean it like that-" "Then what do you mean?" My mouth finds her again for an instant. It's a soft gentle kiss that doesn't hint at anything more. She remains silent. "Cats got your tongue? You usually can't shut up but you're so quiet today." Through her cute pout, she mumbles, "I guess I'm weird too today." My phone buzzes where it lays on my desk. With a quick glance, I can tell it's a text from Namjoon. I don't even need to read it. I can guess it. He's probably calling me an idiot while simultaneously demanding me not to be one.

I heard him earlier, I bet she doesn't know, when he held her hostage by telling that I was awake and that she should go say hi. He held her hostage because she was just passing by. From how loud Taehyung and Jimin were when the front door banged opened, half an hour ago, I could tell they were drunk as hell and she had just planned on dropping them off and leave. And Namjoon, being the good man and even better friend that he is, wouldn't let that happen. How could he when he's seen me all those months in states he probably hoped, back when we were young trainees, that he'd never had to see me again in? It hurt and it still does a little, to imagine that for the first time after so long, after finally being freed from the government harsh but necessary restrictions, she would come so close to me yet consider pass by me, without saying hi, without inquiring if I'm here, even. If it were not for the firm, absolutely non-subtle suggestion coming from Namjoon, she would have done it. She would have left ignoring me. Then she knocked gently on my door, I could tell she was terrified when I opened it and faced her, quiet. And maybe it was pure projection but I felt she wanted to be here. She was scared and embarrassed, didn't know what to say, what to do with herself and me, but she wanted to stay and try to untie this shitty intricate ball of knots. The thing is, it's late. It's super fucking late and I'm reminding when the screen of my phone lights up again to remind me to check the text I just received. She arrived too late at the dorms. We wasted, collectively, too much time not saying much and here we are, standing in the dimly lighted studio, facing each other with too much of an ambiguous tension surrounding us. Everything is unclear. The kisses she would allow me to leave on her lips but not give back to me, tasting lovely but with an aftertaste, a bitter taste of confusion, raising questions as far as their meanings – are they greetings or goodbyes. It's past one in the morning but I'm not ready to let her leave, especially when I don't know what she'd be leaving behind. Anxiety is creeping in my bosom. It's pissing me off. Vainly I bend over, to my side, tapping my finger on my phone to have it lit up. Maybe Namjoon is not just insulting me and has left actual practical advice for me to follow and not fuck this up. "Yoongi?" My ears perk up but I don't look up yet. My eyes are messed up from the exhaustion and I struggle to read. I see keywords: idiot (as expected), asshole, chance, upset. I see the word "love" even, that makes me wince. How can he believe he'd help me by sending me this word when she's standing right in front of me? She called yet she still has not talked further. I shut my phone instantly, worried to have been too lowly engaged to her, to have vexed her in any way, to have been an idiot, precisely what Namjoon threatened me into not being. I raise an interested eyebrow, inviting her to talk and she finally does so, fast and barely audible, "Can I spend the night?" She grimaces. I mean to frown but I realise my face is already squished in a scowl. Maybe her grimacing makes sense. "You mean here, at the dorms?" I ask, forcing my expression to quiet down by a tonne because my shock seems wrongly interpreted by her. That seems to help. She looks at me with her big demanding eyes, the ones I know. The ones that beg, unapologetically for my affection. She nods. "With me or- in the spare room...?" She nods again. "That doesn't answer my question, ___." "Yoongi." Here comes the little brat tone half-whining, half-menacing because she doesn't get her way straight away. How lovely to meet her again. I decide to spare her from any torture, for now, shutting the light off and guiding her, with my hands on her waist, through the dark and out my studio. "Why do you even ask? How many times have I invited you to stay?" I whisper in her ear, adoring the way I feel her tremble against me. "It's different now." She huffs, not the least hiding her annoyance. I can admit things are different now. Sort of feels like a whole different fucking life, if you ask me. I wouldn't have imagined that I needed the world to be taken upon such a devastating global catastrophe for my lover to accept spending one full night with me, for the first time. I don't even see the correlation, honestly. I don't even know why she didn't want to before. I forced myself not to dwell on this question too much. Simply accepting that she wouldn't and that's her right to not want to. But that was weird. "Is it?" My arm reaches before her, turn the handle right because she's left lost and awaiting in the dark. There's a gust of her smell coming to me. The sweet, comforting, familiar and magically charming, addicting scent. There's the click of the knob in the dark, and the door opens up on the hallway's bright lightening. No words are exchanged as I lead her, a hand gently pressed to the bottom of her back, so close to her ass the idea that I could just let it slide down can't leave my agitated mind. Most doors are closed shut, there's no much noise being heard in the whole apartment apart from the occasional high pitched giggles from the two drunk kids in the living room. She's too quiet to be entirely at ease with the situation. I don't even think she's ever come inside my and Seokjin's bedroom. Seokjin.

I wonder how aware she is of the fact that I'm sharing my room with someone else. If she does, she didn't seem to mind when she asked, with her battling lashes and irresistible pout, to spend the night with me. If we do end up making him spend the night elsewhere, he might curse at me or give me the cold shoulder for a minute or two tomorrow, but he'll live. "Is it? Different?" I ask again. We've reached the bedroom and I decide to lock the door for good. If Seokjin were to, perhaps, come to our room to head to bed, he'd be met with a locked door.

She doesn't answer, still. I'm pretty sure she allows herself that because of how lenient I am with her today. She knows I'm not going to force the words out of her. I sigh calmly, resolved, black eyes patient as they fix her. "Of course, it is. Isn't it to you?" "What is?" Hands raised to the sky, eyebrows high in bewilderment, her confusion, so big it's almost revolt, couldn't be more explicit. "I'm asking because I don't know, ___. You don't talk to me, how am I supposed to know?" "Sorry." She mumbles. Blushing from embarrassment, as she lowers her hands, looks down and sinks on herself. "It's ok." My hand leads hers to my lips, I kiss its back. "Why didn't you call?" "Yoongi, sometimes I just don't know how you feel. No, always- I mean, never, I never know how you feel-" I'm not sure how much she means to hurt my feelings. I'm pretty sure she knows, if the way she seeks for words, not to offense me, is any tell. But she sucks at preserving them. Her words sting like hell. "During- I just- I didn't want to force myself into you if that's not what you wanted, that's all." "And that's not what you wanted? Just hearing me, you didn't want that?" I have to ask. It's probably better talking about her feelings than mine, right now. "Course, I did..." She sulks. "Then why not try? At least for yourself, I don't get you." Maybe resentment of a tortured, sensitized heart is unleashing. I don't want to ever harm her but she's done it, a lot. I don't want to believe it but maybe we've parted too long for a cold, unpenetrable wall not to have taken place between us. At least, provisionally. It can't be that unpenetrable. "I'm sorry." She lowers her head, whispering. Looking all saddened. Guilty. Nervous. And of course, I'm too soft. "You used to force yourself into my life all the fucking time, sneaking in my studio like an affection craving puppy, you didn't care back then but now that I like you, you don't want it anymore." Her eyes blink, shift suddenly up. Wide and alarmed. They scrutinize me sitting on the bed, checking my own nails, pretending to be nonchalant about the bitty bomb I've just dropped. "Wouldn't peg you for the heartbreaker type but ok-" "Don't say stuff like that." "Like what? Stuff that I mean?" I roll my eyes because the moron watches me with an emotion in her gaze, anger, she's menacing me. "It's not funny." "It really isn't." I shake my head along. "I talked with a friend and he said the reason you didn't call is probably that I was messing with you too much, not saying anything you wanted to hear. That you got tired of waiting for me." "Namjoon?" I nod. I had to talk to Namjoon. Because I had to talk about her to someone. Taehyung was simply out of the question. He's her best friend. One of the closest of my own friends. He probably knows me too well, knows I'm not that well-off in my personal life, in my heart and mind to be with his non-biological sister. And Namjoon is kind and loves me a lot, even if we wouldn't talk about that. So much so that it makes him genuinely happy to see me excited about someone. "It's not really- that. I'm just a coward, Yoongi. I didn't know how to talk to you and ask you the things I wanted to and-” She's staring down, at her own fingers pkaying with each others. Cute. “Yeah, I don't know, I didn't know how you felt about me." "I thought I was obvious." She shrugs. She shrugs. It should anger me. I'd have the right to be mad. I was obvious. I've been obnoxious. Letting her mess with me and my stuff because she owns me and therefore, by definition, also everything I have. Letting her in. Filling up all the room, all according to her own whims. "Com'here," I demand, rather gently, spreading my legs and leaning back, hands holding me up. She obediently steps forward, takes her seat on my lap, right where I want her. That's perfect. Everything I needed to obliviate the fact that she hasn't confessed liking me back yet. "What is it you wanted to ask me?" She's hovering over me, slightly taller, should feel superior. But her pretty face is turned down, eyes avoiding mines from shame, staring at her hands toying with the strings of my sweatshirt. The bubble, so intimate, is small, very very small and it's hard to live in it. The air she's breathing is mine, the same way the air I'm breathing is hers, and she must be aware of the way all I'm seeing are the tiny, pretty details of her face. "Yoongi. You really like me?" "Course, I do." My cheeks burn from embarrassment. I kind of hate it but I live for the grin she struggles to hide. "Stupid." Totally free and unnecessary but not unjustified, I deem. "Then can you be my boyfriend? Or like would you- would you like to be?" With a hurried press of my lips to the corner of her mouth, I attempt to hide the grin growing on them. "Took you long enough." I fail miserably as I can't help but smile against her mouth, poorly kissing it. "It doesn't answer my question." She points out. I know it doesn't. I hate how happy and rather emotional I felt just having her ask me to be her boyfriend. Who would have thought I would mind this much? Honestly, I wouldn't have guessed it. I never thought it'd move me that much. But I suppose, I should have known by now, that, that's what she does: she moves me. It's a breathtaking kiss, stolen or given while I press her down on her back, body not hovering but laying on hers, every inch of hers pointedly connected to mine, that shuts the conversation down. It does not have to matter. Now that we've found each other back, we believe again we have all the time in the world. Maybe it's a mistake. The state of our world, these days, tend to suggest we don't, we never know how much time we'll have and what exactly it'll be made of. I didn't actually answer but maybe the answer is so fucking evident, she should trust my lips and my hands and my eyes each time they linger on a part of her they seem to have a liking for. And perhaps, she could just accept me and everything else along and assume rightfully that if I wasn't saying it all, it wasn't because I didn't feel it, didn't want to, didn't have anything to say but because I could not. "The gears in that head of yours are killing the mood," I mumble against her cheek, bothered by her loss of commitment, here again, to make me feel lonely when she's just right fucking here. "What is it?" I ask in a gentle whisper.

Here above her, close enough to still share breath but far enough to see her face, it's impossible to act like a dick. Her eyes are shiny, dripping emotions. I can see them clearly without knowing exactly how to read them. She's held back by so many things but as always a timid mouth won't let them slip. I've yet, after all this time, to decide if I love or hate that about her. She can be so open, in appearance, she's animated, she's enthusiastic, she's bright and welcoming. But at the same time, the corridor she lets you in hides a door at the end that she simply cannot allow to let you slide through. I've caught glimpses of this room when she left the door ajar a few times, mostly when I'm balls deep in and maybe a bit too soft when I whisper sweet words in the shell of her ear. She's mostly a mirror of myself, a better version though. When my eyes can look bored, uninterested and sometimes borderline mean, hers are always soft, always kind. It doesn't matter what or who they are set on. Even when she's upset, when I've said something she didn't like to hear, when she's been teased one too many times by Taehyung or her boss has been a fucking asshole all day long, she'll have her eyebrows cutely dropping down, mimicking anger and failing poorly because the eyes, right under it, are still as tender and bright and beautiful. Right now the door is ajar and from what I can see in her eyes, she looks like she's in love with me. It's pure torture because I know, and I can see that too, that even if it were to be the case she wouldn't say, she wouldn't say the words, not to me, not like that anyway, she couldn't. Perhaps I'm seeing things. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, or worse, my own reflection I catch in her eyes without recognising it. After a few seconds of her deliberately ignoring my question and me not getting impatient because I get to just watch her, I decide it doesn't really matter if she is or not in love with me if she keeps looking at me like that. The illusion so realistic, shocking my heart with delicious waves of electricity, I could live with that. "Yoongi?" And if she keeps saying my name like that, like a whine, like a shy little girl, I'll be spoiled forever. She says my name a lot today, I realise, as my spine is taken by an umpteenth wave of chill. Maybe she missed saying it. I surely missed hearing it. "Yeah?" I'm even more breathless than she is. Hovering above yet hanging from her mouth. I must look desperate to her. Even if this has the potential to tickle me the wrong way, I decide not to mind. It's pointless to fight back innate facts, isn't it? I am desperate for her, have been for fucking months, before even circumstances distanced us, I thought it could even end up killing me at some point. It was bad after a couple of weeks when I realised she'd still not called me. Not even a text or a word passed through Taehyung. Nothing at all and I had the sickening feeling growing in my stomach that it wouldn't change. After making sure she was ok, wherever she was, with whoever or maybe alone, she was fine and she was simply not reaching out for me, the torture really started. I just didn't get it. How could she, the most annoying little bug, stop doing what I thought her to like best, it is to say, bugging me? The last time we saw each other was fantastic. She had left slamming my door but with the pretty shade of infatuation on her cheeks, I had no doubt, even if things were not entirely cleared out yet -because I thought the cat and mouse game was entertaining to her as much as it was to me, and because at the time, we still felt like we had all the time in the world for this and for everything else- that we were good, better than good actually. I was confused, utterly lost. Too coward and too upset to reach out myself. If she wanted to talk to me, she would have done it, wouldn't she? She used to before. "Can you lie down? On your back, I mean." The request makes me raise an eyebrow. "You're always sorta on top of me, and I-" The sentence is never finished. She's embarrassed if the cute button of a mouth she wears along with the stealthy avoiding eyes are any teller. For some reasons, my heart beats faster in my chest in an uncomfortable thumping. Maybe I'm a grumpy old man. A grumpy control freak of an old man who's terrified by the least changement. Because Change to me, in all honesty, sounds horrifying -which sounds ridiculous given chances were bet on changes that ended up bringing the life that I now live, some rollercoaster, made of the worst up and downs sitting on top of the least trustworthy, stable ground. It's scary, feels ominous even when it's just my now-girlfriend sweetly starting to ask, and demand for things in my bed. Maybe I need to chill. Match better the chaos that's inside with the unbothered, emotionless exteriors. All I can think about is how lame her justification sounds given, "I can recall quite a good amount of times when you were on top.", and therefore, freak out about what's really behind her request. She frowns then glares, right in my eyes, at last, and sighs. She's being the snarky little girl who doesn't want to discuss and that's cute. That's adorable because I'm on top and I decide but she thinks she can control, demand from me. And she'd be right. She can ask anything from me. She always could. Rolling my eyes like I don't care, lazily rolling on my back like I'm not nervous as hell to just lay there for her, I watch carefully and savour the way she bites on her smiling lips, ecstatic as she is to have been granted an upperhand over me. She takes the seat she owns on my thighs, a mischievous glint decorating her gaze. "Do you remember our first time?" It does the trick. Her ephemeral sense of confidence flatters and she sinks down a little on herself -conveniently on my crotch-, flushing darkly. "I'm not senile, 'course I remember." Softly, the pads of my fingers press on her covered thighs. My eyes fixed on her lively face. She can't really bear it, they might burn her a little. She tries to flee, falling over, hiding her face in the crook of my neck. Her lips brush my skin, she sighs there, it's a wonderful, dip into her. "Remember the first time?" "I just said yes." She whispers the same way I do. I pinch very lightly the back of her thigh, not to hurt, just to warn her because she has a little edge to her tone. Of course, she'd be so impatient when I find myself able to be patient. "When we met for the first time." She leans back, curious eyes peeking at me. A lock of hair is brushing her cheek, I drag it behind her ear, kissing her lips with my thumb because I'm too lazy and laid too comfortably to try and raise up to her mouth. She frowns for a second before she shrugs. I can see she doesn't get where I'm going with that. If she can't even remember, she surely won't see. "You were in the kitchen with Tae, being loud as hell until I came in and you just stopped talking altogether." She rolls her eyes. "I thought you hated me." "I was just shy." She's a bit vexed that I'm bringing it up. I know that she hates that, when it's pointed out, that she gets shy and embarrassed and timid. I understand because I'm the same. The difference between us is that I hide pretty well my inner turmoil with a mask made of coldness, of confidence or disinterest. "You were, weren't you? Now, look at you..." Her eyes don't quit mine. She knows damn well what I mean. "Sitting on me like you're sitting on a throne." She actually giggles at that, tilts her head to the side, gaze going up to the skies as if she's considering the thought, a blatant giddy feeling of importance and timid pretension written all over. She knows it's right. I'm not sure to what extent she understands how much she owns me but she knows there's something big that's unsaid if she's allowed to just have me like that just from asking -only mildly politely. "Could have imagined that, princess?" She's too honest, shakes her head no. I smile lightly, amused because now that I've raised the question, I realise I couldn't have imagined that either. I didn't like her too much at the beginning. Or to be more precise, she gave me a bad first impression. I'm never good with new people but this girl, it just went wrong. I'd been chanted so many praises about her and when finally, I got to meet her because she was for once hanging out at the dorms when other people than Taehyung and Jimin were here, she shut off as soon as I walked in, for some reasons I didn't get at the time, decided to be unfair and that I was not deserving of her infamous sweetness. The stark contrast between her bright boisterous peals of laughter before I entered the room and heavy mean silence once I'd sat on one of the bar stools made me livid. I thought it'd be the end of it. I wouldn't get to know the person, the "amazing person", I've been told about because I wasn't meriting somehow. And after months of forced proximity, because she kept being invited over, involved with outings, something clicked within her and she became the annoying little brat I've known her to be and just had to grow fond of -because it was easier than to just stay reluctant to her advances and become mad each time she'd come to me. It didn't take too long, if I'm being totally honest, to go from deeply confused vexation to an out of character giddy fondness. I've never said it. Don't really plan on doing it. Even now that I'm feeling all mellow and sappy as fuck. She doesn't need to be told from my mouth anyway. I'm pretty sure Namjoon, if he hasn't had a word about this yet, will do later. And from her ever insistence, her never flattering determination even when I, from self-admission, had been harsh or mean in the way I could have told her off, I suspect she knows, she's always known. Her dizzying smile tastes the sweetest and her annoying voice is addicting, as if dipped in a thick layer of dopamine. And I'm too weak for pretty smiles matching pretty eyes, and for brats harassing me with their affection. Therefore when she starts peeling my shirt off of me and spreading her kisses everywhere she can reach, I don't say anything even though I half-hate it. I hate feeling exposed like that when she's fully clothed and on top of me. I don't really like in general being too naked especially for her knowing what she has for me compared to what I've got for her. And she's touching me, one of her hand pressing my wrist onto the mattress and I know what it means, she doesn't want me to protest or try and touch her. I don't because I want to be good for her, for once, not be an ass and impose everything because she seems to want peculiar things today and I can do that for her. But I adore the way she's humming against my skin, smiling uncontrollably against it and sprinkling the most tender kisses. For once, I'm letting her have her way, and won't thrash and push her over to get the upper hand I prefer to hold, bear with the flush burning my cheeks and speeding my heart. It is nice to have her being so willing to take her time with me, with loving me, as if she really wants me. She's also very much hot precisely where she presses her centre to my cock and my patience, if exceptionally efficient today, has limits. "You-" I'm cut off by a strong shudder born from her tongue swiping along my jaw and the little suckle on my ear that follows. "Undress." I groan once half of my composure found back. "No." The short but firm answer triggers me, without taking a second to think, my hand, the one she hasn't been holding hostage, raises and seizes the back of her thigh meanly. "What do you mean no?" "Yoongi, listen. I think I'm tired of you bossing me around." My eyes grow wide at that. She has the acutely tiny singing edge to her voice, the one that I know well for it rings louder every time she's embarrassed or doesn't feel the most confidence. But she's standing straight and tall on her throne, pressing steadily on my crotch as she slowly explains how this will go, her way. "Now that I come to think of it-" A hard grind stealing a huff from me. "You couldn't even- you couldn't even ask me out properly! I did it! I do everything all the time and you still get to choose? That's not fair." "If I remember correctly I always make sure you come first, don't I? So how unfair is that, princess?" She pouts. Stops moving altogether. I can picture her in a second raise her arms to her chest and cross them tight there, frowning and sulking. The little girl is upset. She's adorable. I suppose she hopes to intimidate me somehow or to make me swoon enough to give in. It does the opposite though. The more she pouts, the brattier she gets, the more she tickles my fancy. And I always want more. She's all the more fun when she's feisty too. "I have something in mind, Yoongi." I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Hers lower down, condescending, unwilling to give up her position. "I want to take care of you." She says, voice quieter from her prior disdainful approach. The Adam apple seems to double in size in my throat when I try to swallow this time, struggling so much so it's audible. I think I knew. I suspected something the moment she started to stare at me with those eyes. I just thought I could get away somehow, I managed to many times before. She's pretty easy to manipulate, a firm precise press of my fingers, a hot whisper to tease her core and she'd let it go. I'm pretty weak today though and here she is saying words that set me off, reach someplace dusty and far, so far away hidden within me that it feels uncomfortable. The trigger is uncomfortable. It's scary. I don't know what it'll be. I don't know how I'll handle it. I don't know if I ever want to try. Sincerely, the greatest and easiest pleasure I've ever had to indulge in has been hers. In her pleasure and her body. Her orgasms I tasted on my tongue, the ones that hug me tight, have always been the most spectacular. "You don't need to take care of me." I need to take care of you. I'm not sure where it comes from. I've come a long way in my own personal journey, I now know I deserve more than I used to believe I did. Yet I don't, I can't imagine her being the one taking care of me. It needs to be me. I need to spoil her. "You don't like that? When someone... focuses on you?" I think about a lie or a little distractive thing to say. I choose to be frank. If there's a day to be and a moment and a person with whom to be, it must be it. "Not really." "Maybe because you're not used to it. Wouldn't you like that? Because I want to. I thought about it a lot." That's the issue with her. She owns the power. Ultimately she does. Even if she doesn't feel like it, she does. Always. Today it shows in more ways than one. She's so eager, so excited, I don't know how to disappoint her. Reluctant but kindly enough, I ask. "What did you think about?" My mouth is dry as hell. I don't understand how I can be filled with so much anxiety, still. When I feel this old and this wise, and so pleased and spoiled yet, still, terrified. It should just be heaven. I don't get why sometimes the sweetest things have to be so scary to take a bite of. She smiles to herself, satisfied to find me willing to hear her. It's a shadow of promise. I will judge later on if she'll get what she wants or not. For now, I'm just hearing her out. She's sweet and she deserves to express herself. In no time, she meets me centimetres away. She's leaned over, forearms pressing a bit on my chest to keep herself from crashing completely onto me. She's beaming through her eyes, mostly, shining intensely in the dim light as she observes my face from up close. There's the scent of her shampoo, the vanilla coconut mix that I used to be obsessed with, smelling around me even when she wasn't there. It's awfully comforting to have that too sweet smell again, for real this time, teasing my senses and waking up a lovely nostalgia. With the tips of her hair brushing slightly the bare skin of my neck, how am I supposed to refuse anything she asks me. "I realised that we've never- I've never got to- taste you." The last words are not even pronounced out loud. There's the t I read on her teeth biting slightly her pink tongue, the rest of the syllabus she just gives up on and it's for me to read on her lips. Given how obsessed I am with them, the task is not that demanding, her request couldn't be clearer to me. I should be ecstatic, shouldn't I? I'm not. I'm nervous as hell. I don't know what's wrong with me. "That's what you thought about a lot? My dick in your mouth?" She flushes bright pink but doesn't waver. She decided she's a big girl and gets to fantasise about what she wants and she won't be shamed for it, not now that's she's grown the courage to ask aloud. I chuckle humourlessly. "Princess." I can almost see her ears point out at the pet name. She seems to like it. I think I'm keeping it. "You're too pretty to have a dick in your mouth." Her face twists in the loudest mask of indignation and revolt. Straightening her back again to stand tall over me, she looks down on me under her severe set of frown eyebrows. "What does that even-" Her hand falls flat on my chest, meeting the skin hard enough for a sharp slapping sound to resonate in the quiet room. "Yoongi! It doesn't make anyone any less pretty to- what are you even saying? How can you- Why are you diverting? You're always diverting-" She raises her hands to the sky in pure bewilderment. Her face is still contorted in anguish though, I can tell she's not done arguing about this. "I'm telling you I want you in my mouth and you- what do you say to me?" I can't really hold back the cackling laughter erupting straight from my bosom. She's startled by it, upset still but unsure of how serious I am and for some reason, when she stares at me laughing, the tiny shadow of a smile colours the corner of her mouth. The tempting beautiful thing suddenly appears only a few centimetres from my face. She looks down on me with all the seriousness she can gather, eyes squinted tight. "Are you serious, Yoongi? Do you really not like that?" How honest should I be? The ever same existential question. How honest can I be? "Because you- like everything else and I thought you liked going down on me but- do you not like receiving?" Because my own personal question is loud, louder than the soft whisper of her voice, and so much more pressing because finding the answer seems to be more essential, it'd answer her questions and a lot more, the ones she may have but never dare ask. I hope to find the answer or at least a hint of it in her eyes. I don't know any other more evident places where to look for it. My quiet gaze shuts her off a little, I see how she doesn't physically back away but there is something in her eyes wavering and suddenly she looks kind of sad. She might just be disappointed but the effect is immediate, I feel my heart cracks. "I just," I raise for a second just to find some courage on her mouth. "I'm better at giving, it's all. I feel weird just sitting here and taking, it's just weird." It's just hard. "But it's the very principle of Lo-" She cuts herself off before she finishes but too late for me not to make out the last syllable. "Of what?" I ask, a growing crooked grin teasing. I allow myself that because I know that I can't get her there. She might even be more scared than I am. That's funny how I find ease in teasing her in those places yet I know that if we really do get there and start being serious about it, or if she'd dare tease me back, I'd lose my shit. I can hardly handle her calling my name in a whine as if she needs me so much she can't handle me not being a constant part of her. "Do you really not like that? Like not want it?" She asks, eyes boring in mine, looking all serious and grave. I can't disappoint her when she looks at me like that. I don't want to. "I don't want to do anything you wouldn't want or like but-" Gently, the pad of my thumb caresses her soft cheek. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve her. I'm pretty sure there's been a mistake somewhere, an error in the matrix. While I'm not bad, I'm quite good as a person, I'm persuaded that pretty girls with hearts that gentle can't be for me. I can't even tell her how beautiful she is. "Actually no buts. Just, do you want it or not?" How could I say no? When she asks so nicely, so many times to and of course, she looks the way she does. I might be a huge hypocrite. Turning this into her using her charms to get what she wants rather than me accepting to be selfish because it's easier that way. Nonetheless, it's almost reluctantly, with a fat lump in my throat that I let out a tiny, "'Kay." She leans over, eyebrows high. "Was it a yes?" I hum, rolling my eyes a bit. I'm feeling embarrassed, too embarrassed, and she's bouncing on my cock like it's the most exciting news she's heard all year -which might actually be given the circumstances.

It's nice but confusing.

Does she like me that much or is she just really into giving heads? Suddenly I have flashbacks of all those times she got on her knees to fetch something from a low hanging shelf, or under the coffee table. I just thought, innocently, that she had no sense of adulthood and she didn't realise, that once adults are grown they don't get on their knees like children, looking up to you talking like it's not weird at all. Like it's not suggestive at all. Like if I were just to ask nicely she'd probably say yes and I'd be the opening of a pants' fly away from sitting comfortably on her tongue. I can't lie and say that I've never thought about it. Evidently. I have. Probably each and every time she's done that little supposedly innocent thing, and then, a few other times in between. She's giddy when she leans even further, sliding off to the side of my lips when she tries to smooch them. She's even giddier when she crawls down my body, hoping to the side so that she can start unfastening my belt and jeans. She's giddy but quiet when she starts pulling my pants off of me. She's feeling timid, I can read it on her cheeks, but she can't possibly be as much as I am. I don't think I've ever had her undress me like that, in the open, when the light is too bright for comfort and her eyes so focused on me. Now that I come to think of it, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been naked with her. And it's never been like that. With her not fucked out enough to not pay so much attention. With her eyes roaming over me, and every now and then glimpses to my face, gaze smiling and tender. The gaze doesn't leave me as her tiny hand tentatively reaches for my covered shaft. It still remains there, attached, for the longest time, while her fingers pressingly roam over it. I twitch under the touch, heart pounding harder, full of anticipation and anxiety. "Don't drag this shit forever." Maybe I could be nicer. Maybe I could show more patience -if I hadn't been so challenged all evening, I'd probably have some left but clearly, I don't. Maybe I could be less of an ass, I could precisely be the sweet, lovely boyfriend she deserves when she's moments and centimetres away from swallowing me down her throat. Probably I should make more efforts. Or learn how and when to make them. I'm probably not the most practical right now. Being rough when I should be sweet and sweet when she needs me to push her a bit. "But I wanna take my time." She says that with a smile on her pink lips, not vexed at all. And here she proves once again that maybe I don't know shit about her and women in general. Because when I feel like she should get offended or at least aggravated, she just takes me in and finds something that she likes in my insufferable self. I simply bite on my lip, pensive. Doesn't say much to her but she sees it and translates it a way that fits me well. A lazy blink later, I have the ghost of a new kiss on the corner of my mouth and then her lips tightly wrapped around my tip, concealing the fresh breeze of air that her undressing me completely brought. It's undefinable, the sensation of her hot wetness wrapped around me. She doesn't waste a second, visibly having changed her mind about taking her time, trying to have me as far as she can. Bobbing her head and sucking me in with so much enthusiasm, I have red flushing my cheeks when I hear the sounds that she makes, wondering if I seem as desperate, as voluntary, as messy when I do eat her cunt - and the rash comes directly from the blatant, easy answer: a big fat yes. Of course, it would feel that good. When her pussy feels like some Heaven, naturally her mouth would have me like that. In no time, my cock is rock hard and balls tight and ready to blow. It's been months since I've felt this good and even then, I didn't have that treatment. Having someone and her, at that, giving so much of herself, I see the way she tries to catch back some air, frowning because I'm pretty sure her jaw is hurting a bit, jerking me off fast to compensate the lack of warmth and her pretty, pretty eyes, smiling at me, doing the most. My thighs are tensing, my right leg keeps jerking upward uncontrollably, fists holding tight onto the sheets, overwhelmed. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this. And maybe I'm going to doubt the universe placing this stupid princess on my way even more now that I've had her been so good to me, by just being herself, especially given that she's turned out to be an expert and a passionate at sucking my cock. "Fuck" Here goes my tip hitting the back of her throat again. And her hands, soft and encouraging, playing with my balls, pad of her thumb pressing sometimes between my perineum. "S-stop, I need to-" "You'll fuck me later, come in my mouth." She demands, breathlessly, diving back in before I even get to protest. "You can't say shit like that." I whiningly stutter, she's brought fucking tears to my eyes. I see blurry as I stare at the ceiling, vainly trying to hold back my climax. It makes her chuckle a bit, hum something I can't possibly understand with her mouth full and bells ringing in my ears, all I capture is the vibration it sends to my whole shaft, tickling along my spine, making me bent it embarrassingly. "Really wan'you to come-" She mumbles, lips making out with my tip in the process. "Then swallow me down." It comes out before I plan on it, before I mean to say it, through gritted teeth. She slides down my length, taking me in, like my every word is her command. The unexpected rush of pleasure, like an electric shock, seizes my hand which jumps to her head and decides to stay there, fingers fighting against the very weak remain of my brain cells to grab and clench and tear the head of hair they laid on. It's when I meet the back one more time and she decides to swallow down just then that I reach it, spilling down her throat, growling aloud without meaning too, spurring few words I probably wouldn't say to her if my mind wasn't so cloudy. I'm somewhere else. Body empty of any tension and I realize that a blowjob is exactly all I needed all those months. I haven't felt this relaxed and satiated and satisfied in so long, I feel dizzy and a bit lost. Even my own bed feels foreign, maybe it's just because she's on it. Smiling down on me with her small fingers painting shape on my skin and her pretty smile kissing my chest. She kisses her way up, leaving a path of warm sprouts, takes her time right on my drumming heart, smooches my cheeks with a tiny giggle that blooms probably from the red dots I assume are on them. She looks down on me, eyes sparkly and lips stuck in an upward curve. I see her hesitating. She's unsure of something I don't get because she just blew my mind off. My fingers knead gently the flesh of her thighs, inviting her to speak if there's something she needs to say. Her soft finger presses on my lips and she raises an eyebrow. "I don't know if I can kiss you..." "Why?" I ask, probably a bit too abruptly because I'm stupid right now and I don't understand under what circumstances she couldn't press her mouth to mine. She rolls her eyes evidently, scoffs and finally points at my crotch then her mouth, flushed all over her cheeks, when she sees me still struggling to understand. "Course you can. You always can." She shrugs, eyes fleeing away. I kiss her hard on the mouth, the hand buried in her hair pressing her further onto me. I consider vaguely how gross she might believe me to be when really, I'm just a bit too whipped for her and cum, no matter if it's mine or hers and shockingly enough I realise anyone else's too, I don't fucking care, any of her kisses are kisses that I want to consume. I roll her over on the bed and kiss her harder, licking and sucking her tongue until she's just wide eyes glinting up to me. "You can always kiss me." She nods, swollen lips tilting up. She doesn't find me too gross, it seems. Good. "And thanks." One kiss. "Was really nice." She tries to bite back her grin but fails, tittering even as I pinch lightly the side of her waist. "Was it nice for you?" I kiss the side of her jaw, smiling against her as I continue, purring close to her ear, "Just like you imagined?" I can feel her frustration before she even expresses it by raising a fist ready to punch me. It makes me chuckle. That's what she deserves for putting me in this situation anyway. I can't be the only one embarrassed, especially when I made an effort to content her -even if to content her was to content me but it doesn't matter. When my hand slides so naturally down her stomach, fingers strumming teasingly along the hem of her pants, the nagging and the arguing should be postponed for now. "You're an-" I slide easily under her clothes, palm cupping perfectly her cunt, it cuts her off. She gasps, eyes growing wide as they stare off at the ceiling, biting on her lip. "I'm what?" "Nothing." She grunts between tight jaws, both mad and horny and that's just too funny. I'm enjoying this immensely, torturing her kindly, while my fingers dip in her soaked heat, with her lips centimetres away so that I can kiss them as much as I want. She responds to all of my kisses. Tense her neck every time I part away for a second to take a look at what I'm doing, at her overall form, her laying in my bed with her twitching legs parting to give me more access. "I'm nothing? That's mean." "Yoongi, not now." I catch the curse she doesn't spit in my face before she gets to swallow it back down. The prospect that things should be cleared out now and that this will happen again, and again, and again until the day she decides she's tired of me drives me wild with excitement. It means I'll get to push her buttons and piss her off enough she'll curse at me the way she rarely ever does Taehyung when he's reaching her very limits of patience. Maybe I'm a bit gross, at least a bit freaky, if the idea of her mad beyond herself, calling me names yet simultaneously letting me play with her body like that turns me on so much. "When if not now, princess?" She pulsates around my fingers at that. It has to be the name. How lovely. How adorable. So adorable I can't help but grin giddily, effectively hiding my face in the crook of her neck so she doesn't catch me when I do. "You're so close already." "Shut up." "All worked up just from having my cock in your mouth." She groans, closes her eyes tight as if she's trying to focus all her attention on my fingers fucking her. "So easy to please, I'm a lucky bastard, am I not?" I keep mumbling next to her ear because I don't care what she pretends, I know she loves hearing me and I can bet with great confidence on what she loves to hear me say. "Having a girlfriend like you-" "Oh my Go- Yoongi-" "Come for your man." So easy to please. I know I'm not reaching the spot she likes best because her fucking pants are in the way. I've learned that the stretching is something she enjoys thoroughly and from how tense and on edge she got herself, my three fingers are doing wonders, dragging the ring along with every thrust. But I'm sure, I know, what's triggering her. She's too much like me. Probably worse than me. So desperate to feel the love, and here she is, coming around my fingers but mainly around my words when I'm just calling her mine. It takes her ages to come back to her senses, to stop desperately drinking my love straight from my mouth, and for her sweet cunt to stop kissing the tip of my fingers and let me slip them out. She's fucked out when she's back. Hair I barely touched all over the fucking place, eyelids heavy, mouth red and swollen, eyebrows low and eyes wet the way they get when the pleasure is so good she becomes a bit too soft and sensible and sometimes a tear or two escape. I get to clean her up a bit, rearranged her clothes and then realise that she's actually spending the night with me so I might as well get her pants off, throw my own pants away and put some shorts on, turn off the lights, and catch her in the most comfortable spooning session I've personally ever had before I feel her alert and with me entirely. "You okay?" She nods her head, blinking a few times more than necessary when she watches me raise my fingers to my mouth and mechanically lick them clean. In a whisper, after too long of laying quietly in the dark -apart from the angry stomping going on in the hallway along with mumbled curses that can only come from Seokjin and that we both decide to ignore- she timidly asks, "So we're dating, Min Yoongi?" "We've always been dating, dumbass." Which is not exactly true, not exactly false. To me, anyway, if she'd ever come to decide that the whole thing was just a fling then, it would have been just that. But I'm pretty sure she's always liked me as much as I have and even if I never expressed it clearly, I don't just fuck around like that. Especially with girls as sweet as her. And I don't really get that words define what we are anyway. Nothing changes now that I've said that. Maybe she's happier with the situation and that's all I want therefore I can give them to her, but honestly, yeah, to me we've always been each other's. "You're an asshole." "I'm your asshole." I don't know if she can hear my grin but the exasperated sigh suggests she does. "That's- gross." She still kisses my cheek and then my chest, huddling to my side, humming to herself when my arms wrapped around her squeeze a little harder. She's warm and soft and all mine, and when the realisation hits, that just a few hours ago she was infinitely far away from me, and now she's here in my arms, in my bed, (kind of) officially just mine to please and enjoy, my heart swells. That's all I've needed.

A/N: Guess what, it’s one of my new year resolutions to STOP taking a break from writing and this blog. *clown*

I hope it wasn’t too bad, too stiff. I meant to give this couple a nice ending because I got attached to them as quite a lot of you have. Hopefully, you’re not disappointed and sorry if it was so angsty but I guess, my heart felt a bit heavy writing it. SOZ

I'm already working on another story I’m really excited about and inspired for. I’ll try to have it release very soon.

If you’ve come this far, THANK YOU immensely. I LOVE you.

I hope all of you and your loved ones are doing fine. My best wishes for this new year. Let’s meet here more often.

#ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts scenario #my writing

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dc41896 · 3 years

Text

The Whole Time?!

Pairing: Jake JensenxBlack Reader

⚠️: Maybe a tiny bit of technical angst (🤷🏽‍♀️ lol), fluff💕

“P-Pooch?,” you stammer unable to fathom that your supposedly dead brother was standing in front of you and his wife who was about to give birth to their son in any minute.

“Hey peanut,” he smiles stepping further in the hospital room. “I’d hug you, but I’m w-,”

You didn’t even let him finish before immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Good thing he was already wet from the rain, your tears would just be a welcomed addition.

“Wait. D-Does that mean-”

“Hey babe,” the all too familiar voice speaks making more silent tears fall as you lift your head. Just as soaked as Pooch, he nervously smiles removing his hat to reveal his spiked frosted tips. He pretty much looked the same as you last saw him. Toned arms and chest shielded by his dripping jacket along with your personal favorite, his black circular frames bringing even more attention to those crystal baby blues.

There were plenty of times you thought about what you’d do if granted this moment. Cry, scream, maybe jump into his arms clinging onto him like a koala on a tree. Possibly all three even. Now, finally being granted your wish after all these months, there was one main thing on your mind.

“Wow,” he smiles as you slowly move closer to each other. “I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow you’ve gotten more beautiful.” Just as the words left his mouth, the back of your hand connecting with his abdomen in the hardest hit you could muster nearly knocks the wind out of him as he keeled forward.

“And apparently stronger too..,” he coughs.

“How could you?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! We had to so we could go after the guy who set us up. And why didn’t you hit Pooch?! He was in it too.”

“He’s got one coming after my nephew safely enters the world, right now though it’s your turn,” you glare before smacking him again.

“Told you she had a strong backhand,” Pooch states quickly closing the room door before his sister decided to direct her rage at him.

The rest of the team merely watch in entertainment as your hits move to his shoulders and biceps until Jensen can grab your wrists pinning them by your sides.

“I’m sorry for putting you through all that, but it’s not like I completely left! I could still see you.”

You tilt your head in confusion ready to ask what he was talking about, until seeing Clay nervously scratch the back of his neck as he and Cougar shift their gaze clues you in on what he meant.

“SERIOUSLY JAKE?!”

“Wha-? I-,”

“Did you really think that would make me feel better?!”

“...Honestly at this point I’m afraid to answer.”

Annoyed groan falling from your lips, you tried to escape his grasp, but his larger hands slightly tightening their grip on yours, along with him following your every movement, keep you in place. “When we go home I can explain everything.”

“Will you? Or are you just gonna lie some more?”

“I promise I’ll tell everything,” he whispers, leaving a chaste kiss on your temple before flashing one of his ‘please don’t stay mad at me forever because I love you’ smiles. So far, it’d gotten him out of any argument you had. Including this one.

Darn those good looks of his.

“Fine,” you reply as you cross your arms, leaving him to find a seat in the nearby waiting room.

“Any tips here Colonel?,” Jake sighs.

“I’m probably not the one you’d want relationship advice from.”

Another heavy sigh leaves his lips as he follows your path down the hall to sit next to you. That is if you’d let him.

“Okay, is anybody else stuck on the fact that Jensen actually has a girlfriend?,” Aisha states breaking the momentary silence and making both men chuckle.

———

It’s the happiest he’s ever been to walk into his small, outdated apartment. Things weren’t exactly the same as he left it with your few new decorations and pieces of furniture trying to make the place a bit of your own, but of course he didn’t mind. It actually warmed his heart that although he was “gone” you still chose to stay, sticking by his side when you easily could’ve moved on with your life.

“Jeez, the faucet always drip that loud?,” he lightly chuckles shedding his coat and placing it on the small hanger by the door.

“It started a bit after you left,” you sigh kicking off your shoes. “Think it’s loud now, it’s even louder when you’re just sitting here alone.”

Following you to the bedroom feeling like a dog with its tail between his legs, he sits at the foot of the bed looking down at his hands as you move about the bathroom getting yourself ready for bed. Your words were like the sharpest sting as his mind vividly showed an image of you just sitting in this apartment with nothing but thoughts of loosing your brother and boyfriend along with the hum of the AC. He knew for the sake of their mission, and the team, he couldn’t say anything, but it still didn’t take away his guilt of what you went through mentally and emotionally.

“I tried to write you.”

“What, your computer go down and you couldn’t watch me anymore?,” you counter over your shoulder before rinsing the soap from your face.

“That was only once okay? I was watching my niece’s soccer game and then I thought about what you were doing and kinda sorta hacked your office’s cameras, which yes I know was wrong. Speaking of, they really should update their software, a fifth grader could easily hack into it just guessing the password,” he answers making you roll your eyes with a chuckle.

“And who’s Tom?”

“Tom?”

“Yea. Curly brown haired guy, cubicle across from yours. Big head you can see a mile away.”

“I’m sorry are you somehow trying to turn things on me when you’re the one that’s supposed to be explaining why I’ve thought you were dead this whole time?,” you ask wiping the remaining moisturizer from your hands before crossing them in front of your chest as you step closer to the now nervous looking man.

“N-no, of course not! But I mean since he’s been mentioned...”

“He’s just this guy at work that apparently likes me and asked me out but I said no, because a small part of me kept hoping that you’d miraculously come back. Happy?”

“I-uh...y-yes?”

Sighing, you sit beside him tucking your bare legs under you and taking his hand in yours to trace the lines on his palm. You never knew how or why you started, but it was something you occasionally did while you two were talking or just lying next to him enjoying each other’s company. It brought a smile and giddy feeling to Jensen, just as it did to you.

“Listen, I’m sorry I’m giving you a hard time, I know you didn’t have a choice, and understand. Selfishly though, I just missed you so much and wish I could’ve known. It definitely would’ve saved some sleepless nights and tears.”

With his other hand, his thumb and index finger gently grab your chin guiding you to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through having you think I was dead. The second we threw our tags in that fire you and my family were all I could think about. Like I said I wanted to write and give you some sign that I wasn’t gone, but I could never figure out how to start. Plus Clay threatened to cut off little Jensen if I did send anything back home once he found out, which only made it tougher.”

“Yea we wouldn’t want that,” you softly laugh following a short sniffle you were trying to hold back. You really were done with crying, having done so since you got that devastating call so long ago, and just wished your tear ducts would shrivel up already. “Sorry, I thought I was done with the tears.”

“Shh, don’t be.” Leaning forward, his soft as clouds lips meet the single salty droplet in the middle of you cheek erasing its presence before moving to yours in quite possibly the most delicate, tender kiss you’ve ever experienced. Any other time, you’d probably call it painfully slow, trying to take the lead to move things along. But as you both sat there taking everything in from each other’s scents to the feel of how one’s lips and mouth felt on the other, you couldn’t feel more connected.

Just barely pulling away, his swollen lips rest centimeters above yours ready to take them again as soon as he caught his breath.

“I don’t know if I should be embarrassed at myself or amazed at whatever powers you have,” he starts, a light chuckle escaping him. “But I think you just made me-,”

“Jensen!,” you laugh, playfully smacking his shoulder. “Way to ruin a romantic mood.”

“If it’s romance you want, say no more,” he smiles taking your hand in his and placing it on his chest as he clears his throat. To the best of his ability, he begins singing the opening lines to your couple’s song, as Jake proclaimed it, instantly making you fall back on the bed in laughter.

“You actin' kinda shady, ain't callin' me baby, why the sudden change. Say my name, say my name!”

“This is definitely not a couple’s song,” you laugh feeling his forearms rest on either side of your head and chest vibrate from his laughing.

“I’ll admit lyrically wise..yes, you’re right. But it’s still ours which makes it special.”

You’d never forget that day in the grocery store trying to find a pint of your favorite ice cream as the song played overhead. Without really looking, you thought you were on the freezing aisle by yourself and began singing along as you gently bobbed your head. Suddenly hearing a voice singing the background vocals made you slightly jump turning to see the taller man in a grey sweatshirt, blue and white basketball shorts, and sneakers holding up his hands.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I-It’s Destiny’s Child, I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s okay, and I mean who can?,” you respond, both softly laughing before shyly looking back at your respective sections to get your frozen desserts.

“Soo...you like ice cream?,” he asks interrupting the momentary silence.

“Yea, um my favorite’s moose tracks,” you answer briefly holding up your pint with a smile.

“You know who has a good moose tracks? Bennie & Bailey’s downtown. They make it from scratch and I don’t know what all they put in it, but it’s amazing.”

“Oh, okay thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

“Well you should definitely go one day. I mean if you want,” he nervously chuckles.

“Will do,” you smile. “Only if you’ll take me though?”

At first, being met with his shocked, speechless expression made your newfound confidence falter thinking you might’ve been too bold with the cute stranger, whom you hadn’t even asked if he was single or not. However seeing his eyes shine bright and adorable smile grace his pink lips, your excitement returned as he moved closer handing you his phone.

Years later, the rest is history as you lie in bed with the man you were sure was the love of your life.

“Hey what’s going on in there?,” he asks brushing his fingertips across your forehead noticing you become quiet. Lightly scratching his goatee, you feel your eyes start to water again causing you to blink a few times trying to keep them at bay.

“I just don’t want you to leave again,” you whisper, moving your fingers to card through his chestnut and blonde mixed strands.

“I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me too.”

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

One Last Time - One Shot

a/n: heavily inspired by Let Me Love You Goodbye lmao. I didn’t proofread, sorry!

Warnings: smut and angst

Words: 8K

After months of bottling things up, they finally had the discussion they needed to have. They argued a little, but never really raised their voices. Tears had taken over them at some point, and when they had both calmed down, they were able to think and speak more rationally. It was over. A year and a half over and done, just like that. It wasn’t from a lack of trying or a lack of love. They loved each other very much, it just wasn’t enough anymore. Sometimes when two part start to grow up, they grow apart instead of growing together. This is what happened with Harry and Y/N.

“I’ll stay in the guest room tonight. Meg said I could move in with her. She’s been looking for a roommate anyways.”

“So…you’ve discussed us breaking up with her before you even discussed it with me?” He was hurt, of course he was.

“She’s my best friend, Har. I told her how I was feeling and how I wouldn’t really know what to do if things ended with us, and well…she offered.” His eyes were still puffy. His lips part to say something, but there wasn’t much else left to say. “I’ll need some time to get all of my things, divide up the shared items…but I should able to do it while you’re at work.”

“I’ll stay in the guest room, you can stay in the bed.”

“No, I…I don’t want to.”

“Why not? Now the bed’s not good enough for you?” It was a jab, one that he needed it get in.

“The guest bed doesn’t smell like you, like us.” She says quietly, and his face softens more. She blinks away a few more tears and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I wish things could be different.”

“Me too.” She laughs to herself and he raises an eyebrow. “At least I can say the first boy I ever truly loved, loved me back, and it was good.” She stands up and wipes her face. “I’m gonna get settled for bed…not that I think I’ll be able to sleep much.” She sighs.

“Me neither. Go on, do what you need to do, I’ll give you your privacy.”

“Thanks.”

Every night when Harry got home from work there were more and more things missing from his home. First, she cleared out all her toiletries from their shared bathroom. Her special hair color shampoo and conditioner, her Dove soap for sensitive skin, all of her raisers, not even a box of pads or tampons. One would never know a woman had lived there. Then it was her clothes. She had about six different mental breakdowns packing her clothes, not that he would know. She had to stand there looking at the closet and decide if she wanted to keep any of the sweatshirts she had taken form him over the years. T-shirts, sweatpants, bandanas, scrunchies, so many things they just shared. She decided just to keep one of each, her very favorites, and leave the rest for him. This caused him to breakdown. He wanted her to keep these things, he wanted her to keep part of him. Her next task, he realized, was the kitchen. Her favorite mugs were gone. She had a knack for collecting them. They had a shared home office that she had to finish packing up. That was about it, though. He had all the furniture they needed when she moved in. He wondered what she was doing for a bed at Meg’s. He thought to ask her if she wanted to take the guest bed, but he knew she was would just say no.

Y/N knew the last time she would go to pick up her last bit of things, she would be leaving the keys to the once shared home behind. Meg said they could go out for brunch once it was done, so she made sure to doll herself up. She did her hair and makeup, and put on a cute red crop top with some mom jeans. She looked cute, yet casual. She took a deep breath as she pulled into the driveway. She took an even deeper one when she keyed into the house. She walks all the way to the back where the office is and gasps when she sees Harry at his desk, headphones on, typing away at his computer. He jumps when he turns and sees her.

“Christ.” He says, taking his headphones off. He looks her up and down. Why did she look so good? Did she always dress up like this when she’d come by to pick up her things.

“Why are you home…here?” She corrects herself. This wasn’t home anymore.

“I didn’t have any meetings today, so I thought I’d work from home. You didn’t tell me you were coming by today.” He stands up and rubs the back his neck.

“I didn’t think I had to.” She looks at her boxes and moves to go pick one up.

“Let me do that.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Please, it’s the least-“

“Harry, it’s too weird! I don’t want you helping me move out, okay? It’s too much.” She picks up a box and moves down the hall. He watches as she comes in and out four separate times. The last time she comes in she takes the keys off the key ring and sets them down on his desk. “That was everything, bye, Harry.”

He grabs her wrist just as he’s turning.

“You’re sure? You double checked everything?”

“Yes.”

“I think you left some clothes upstairs.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”

“Will you at least come up and look?”

“Alright.” She sighs. “But then I need to go.”

He nods and gestures for her to go first. He watches her as she walks up the stairs. Why did she have to wear this outfit? She knew he loved when she dressed like this. It was so simple, but she made it look so good. And she was wearing a very particular shade of lipstick that he liked on her. She was also wearing the perfume she knew he liked most. What was she trying to do?

“Show me what you think I left.” She says, crossing her arms.

He looked good today too. He was just in a simple t-shirt and grey joggers. Those damn grey joggers.

“These sweatshirts, they’re not mine.” He tosses them on the bed.

“They are.”

“But you wore them more.”

“So that makes them mine? I don’t want them.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, get rid of them.”

“Nice of you to let me do that.” He huffs and shakes his head. “And why did you come around here looking like this, hm?”

“Looking like what?”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

“I had no idea you’d be home. I’m going to brunch after this, and-“

“Must be nice to have an appetite.” He scoffs.

“Hey!” She snaps. “This is a mutual breakup, Harry. Neither of us were happy, and noting we did helped.”

“Doesn’t mean this part doesn’t suck. You’re leaving, you’re really leaving, and…I’m never going to see you again.”

“We have mutual friends, we’ll see each other.”

“But we’ll do what all people do when they breakup. We’ll share an awkward smile, and then we’ll avoid each other the rest of the time.”

“What do you propose we do then? We agreed we shouldn’t really contact each other unless it was an emergency.” She looks down. “You’re dressed how I like too, you know? It’s not just me.”

“I literally had no idea you’d be coming here today. Also, I’m just in sweats, what’s so special about that?”

“What’s so special about a fucking crop top and jeans?!”

“It’s because you’re wearing it.” He steps closer to her. “We always makeup after a fight, and this time we didn’t.”

“Because we broke up, Harry. We don’t need to makeup.”

“I just don’t think we’re getting a proper goodbye.” He whispers as he cups her cheeks, making her look at him. “You’re about to walk out of my life…can’t we just…”

“Are you asking to have sex with me?” She was shocked. They hadn’t had sex in a really long time.

“Just one last time.”

She’s be lying if she said she didn’t want to. Why not go out with one last bang? All she does is nod her head yes. He leans in, but she backs away.

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Y/N.” He frowns.

“I can handle the rest, but don’t kiss me on the mouth, please.”

He moves some of her hair away.

“Where can I kiss you then?”

Her face flushes. They hadn’t had sex in a while, and they certainly hadn’t done that. Would it be so wrong to ask him to do it…just one las time?

“Anywhere but my mouth.”

His hands move to her hips to pull her close as he mouths at her neck, and just under her ear. Her hands move up to his hair to tug at it how he likes. His hands slides up her back to pull off her top. He takes his own and then unhooks her bra. He brings them both back to the bed for her to straddle him. He presses their chests close as he kisses on her neck. It was difficult not to kiss her, and that’s when he realizes he had taken it for granted. She rolls her hips down on him, causing him to groan. He needed this, he really did. He needed her so badly.

He grips her hips and places her on her back. He gets between her legs to undo her jeans. He pulls them down on her legs, she lifts her hips up to get her under wear off. She was breathing heavily. He knew what she wanted. He dips his head down to suck on one of her nipples while his fingers slide around her folds. When he pushes them inside her, she gasps and tightens around him. His thumb rubs on her clit as he works his fingers. She grips at his hair and pushes his head down further.

“Harry, please…I’ll return the favor, just please…”

He nods and moves down her body, finally wrapping his lips around her clit while he continued to finger her. Her hips move in sync with his fingers. Harry was always really good at this, there was no denying that.

“Oh my god, that’s ittttt.” She moans.

Harry felt like a fool. Why hadn’t they done this in a while? If they had would it have made a difference? Listening to her moan was almost torture because he knew after today he’d never get to hear the beautiful sound again.

“Shit, oh fuck, Harry!” She nearly screams as she comes on his fingers. He retracts them so he can suck on her center, bringing her way over the edge. “Fuck.” She breathes.

She watches as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He stands up to take his joggers off. He was commando under them. He lays on the bed next to her, and she gets between his legs. She spits into her hand before gripping him. She pumps him a few times before wrapping her lips around his tip. She listens to him grunt appreciatively. She sinks a little further down, but she doesn’t take much. She never could. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get her gag reflex under control. Harry never minded, felt best around his tip anyways.

“Feels so good.” He groans. “But I need to be able to fuck you.”

She pops off him, and crawls up his body, lining him up with her. She sinks down on him, and she nearly came from the feeling of him stretching her out alone. How the fuck was she supposed to move on and find someone else when Harry literally had the perfect dick. And she was just supposed to live with knowing that some other girl was going to be able to know him like this? It was bullshit. She was angry with him, and with herself. The entire situation was complete shit.

She bounces up and down on him at first, taking control of the pace, but he doesn’t let her for long. He pulls her close to him, and thrusts up into her. He essentially moves her up and down on him. She clutches at his shoulders, nails scratching at his tan skin. One of his hands snakes between them so he can rub her clit.

“Harry.” She whimpers.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” She says into his ear. “Faster.”

He rubs her faster as she moves up and down on him. She comes again, easily. Just as she’s coming down form her high, she’s being put on her back. Harry fucks in and out of her nice and hard.

“God.’ She groans. “So good, Harry.”

“Like it like this? Nice and hard?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

She can feel herself starting to tear up, so she grabs him by the back of the neck to pull him down. His face goes to the crook of her neck, and he rocks in and out of her.

“Can I?” He asks.

“Yes.”

His pace quickens and before she knows it, he’s coming inside her. Maybe it was a little irresponsible, but she was on the pill, and just wanted to feel all he could give her one last time. They were both glossy eyed when they looked at each other. After getting cleaned up and dressed, he walks her down to the front door. He hugs and holds her close, kissing the top of her head.

“Goodbye.” She whispers.

“Bye.”

He closes the door and rests his forehead against it, bursting into tears. She cried too, the entire way to meet Meg for brunch. She had tissues in the car, luckily, so she looked perfectly normal. She didn’t tell Meg about her abrupt and passionate romp with Harry. She didn’t want to be scolded or be told she was stupid for once again giving him exactly what he wanted.

“That’s impossible, I’m on the pill.”

“Sometimes birth control fails, Y/N.” Her doctor told her. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Two months ago.” She groans. “With my ex-boyfriend. I don’t understand, I hadn’t missed a pill or anything.”

“It just happens sometimes.” She says, trying to be as sympathetic as possible.

“How far along am I then?”

“About ten weeks.”

“How could I be so stupid?! All the signs were there! I just thought I had mono or something, and maybe that’s why I haven’t been feeling well.” Her voice cracks.

“You know…you don’t have to…I mean, if now’s not the right time for you to have a baby, there are options.”

“I know.” She sniffles. “I just don’t think I could go through with it.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out.”

Y/N explained to Meg that she was pregnant, forcing her to come clean about the last time her and Harry had sex. Meg was a really good friend, so she told Y/N they’d figure it out and make it work.

“Are you going to tell Harry?”

“No.” She sighs. “I can’t. He has so many plans, and-“

“So your life is allowed to change, but his isn’t?”

“He’d want to get back together, Meg…”

“I think he’d just want to help you.”

“You don’t understand, he has this thing…sometimes when we’d have sex we’d talk about having kids someday, it’s like a kink or something. If he sees me like this he’s not gonna let me go. I don’t want to be with him. I feel like I’m finally moving on, you know? My career is launching, I don’t want him in my life again.”

“Alright.” She sighs. “I just think he could help you…financially, that’s all.”

“I never wanted him for his money, and I certainly don’t intend to want him for that now.”

“And you want to have this baby? It’s okay if you don’t, Y/N…”

“Thanks.” She smiles a little. “I want to keep it. I’m already ten weeks along, I heard the heartbeat…I know it’s not even a thing a yet, but I-“

“Hey.” She squeezes her hand. “It’s your choice.”

Y/N gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her parents were shocked when she had initially told them, but they supported her, they were going to be grandparents after all. They were right there in the hospital with her. Y/N named her Emily, having always loved the name. Meg was a saint, being perfectly okay with using their office as a nursery.

Y/N loved her baby girl so much. As she watched her grow she realized that she had Harry’s eyes and curly hair, but Emily also had Y/N’s nose and face shape. A perfect mixture of the two. Among all this, Y/N had become quite friendly with a guy she had only ever been friends with. He wasn’t scared away by Emily, he knew Y/N wasn’t in contact with Harry. His name was Kevin, and she was wonderful.

Things were going better than expected, and Y/N took to motherhood way better than she thought. She was greatly enjoying her maternity leave as well. She only had about two weeks left to milk it before she’d have to leave Emily with her mother while she was at work. She thought it would be nice to have some mother-daughter time, and go a nice walk in town. Y/N heads inside her favorite coffee shop. Still not able to really drink caffeine, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a fun smoothie or something.

“One blueberry and banana please, with avocado, a little cocoa powder, and coconut milk.” She smiles. She has Emily strapped to her chest as she snoozes. It was pretty cute.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes grow wide as she steps aside to wait for her drink. She turns around and sees Harry there, in his suit, small coffee cup in hand, no doubt housing black coffee.

“Harry, oh my goodness, hi.” She says, almost in shock. This wasn’t exactly how she thought he’d ever meet his daughter, if she ever allowed it at all.

“It’s so good to see you.” He smiles. “It’s been…”

“A little over a year.”

“Miss?” She turns and sees her smoothie is done, and thanks the barista.

“Yeah, uh…” He looks down at the baby. “Did your sister have a kid or something?”

“No.” She giggles. “I did, about three months ago.” She could tell he was trying to do the math in his head. “Maybe we should sit.”

“I just came here quickly on my lunch hour…” His heart was racing.

“I really think we should sit.” She gestures to a table in the back. He sits down with her and watches as she takes the baby out of the little restraints she was in against Y/N’s chest. “Shh, shh, sweet girl.” She coos as Emily stretches out and yawns. “Harry, this is Emily.”

“Hi, Emily.”

The baby blinks and looks over at Harry. Harry puts his hand out and she grabs at his finger. Harry chuckles as he tries to get his finger out.

“Quite the grip.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty strong.”

“So…uh…” Harry furrows his brows as he looks at the baby. She almost looked familiar.

“She’s yours…” She says quietly.

“Pardon me?”

“She’s yours, Harry.”

“How is that even possible?” He searches for his inhaler on his person as now he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He takes it out and takes a couple of puffs.

“My birth control failed…after we…said goodbye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracks as tears start to well up. “I could have…I mean…I would have wanted to be around for all of it.”

“I was selfish.” She admits. “I didn’t want to see you. I thought you might try to get back together with me, and I didn’t want that. I was doing really well, still am…and it’s not like she doesn’t have a male figure in her life, I’m sort of seeing someone. You remember my friend Kevin?”

“Kevin?! I knew I never liked him.”

“Harry.”

“Can I hold her?” He could scream. He could pout. Hell, he could punch her in the face for keeping something like this from him, or he could be the bigger person and do what he could now to get his supposed daughter in his life.

“Of course.” She passes Emily over to him. He holds her like he was always meant to. “I have pictures from every moment, even when I was pregnant if you want to see…”

“Could we find a weekend to catch up? I’d love to see everything.”

“Harry.” A woman walks over to them, clearly annoyed. “I’ve been waiting outside for fifteen minutes, what the…what’s going on?”

“Heather! Uh, this is, um, this is Y/N…and uh, Y/N, this is Heather, she’s my colleague, and-“

“I remember her.” Y/N says. “Hi.”

“Haven’t see you in quite some time.” She crosses her arms. “What’s going on Harry?”

“You may want to go back to the office without me…I’ve just got some news, and I don’t think I can make it back.” He gestures to the baby.

“Are you say that’s yours?”

“Yes.” Harry and Y/N say at the same time.

“She could be lying, you know? Probably just wants your money.”

“She doesn’t. If she did, she would have told me she was pregnant. This meeting happened by chance, I’m glad it did, now go back to the office and tell them I’m not feeling well or tell them I just found out I’m a father, I don’t care, just go.”

Heather huffs, but leaves.

“So, shitting where you eat?” Y/N smirks.

“It’s not like that.”

“So you haven’t hooked up wither?”

“No, I have, she’s just not my girlfriend or anything. We’re colleagues.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t really have a leg to stand on, you’re dating a guy I never trusted, and you never told me you were pregnant when you should have.”

“Fair.”

Harry looks down at the baby in his arms and then back up to her beautiful mother.

“Can we go somewhere?”

“What happened to meeting up on a weekend?”

“As you just heard, I’m not going back to work this afternoon. Come on, I can call a car.”

“No, I walked here from my apartment, and I’d like to walk back. You can keep holding her if you want, or I can strap her back in.”

“I wanna keep holding her.”

The walk back was quiet. Y/N sipped on her smoothie while Harry carefully held Emily.

“So…” He finally says. “Are you and Kevin, like, serious?”

“We’re taking things slow. We’ve been on a few dates, but I’m really not in a position to have a boyfriend. All my free time goes to her. I go back to work soon, and then she’ll be with my mom.”

“Oh boy, they must love me.”

Y/N chuckles and keys into her apartment. She takes Emily form Harry and grabs a bottle out of the fridge.

“I pump.” She tells Harry as they sit on the couch.

“Wasn’t judging. You’re her mum, you know what’s best.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you burp her.”

“You were never going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “There were a lot of times I wanted to call you…but…I wanted to do this without you. I wanted her to be a little older before I reached out to tell you.”

“How much older?” He scoffs. “Eighteen?”

“Harry.” She hands Emily to him, and puts a rag on his shoulder. “I know, it wasn’t a nice thing for me to do. I was sort of resentful.”

“Shouldn’t keep a baby from their father. I’m not a bad person.”

“I know.”

She takes Emily back and puts her down for her nap in the nursery. She comes back out and sits with Harry again.

“You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I walk a lot, helped get rid of some of the extra fluff I put on.”

“Can I see the pictures?”

Y/N nods, and takes her phone out. Harry smiles at the pregnant photos.

“You were glowing.” He gasps when he sees the pictures of when Emily was first born. “Well, you’ve sold me. I’ll be setting up a nursery at my house. We’ll have to set up some type of schedule. Maybe I could have her on the weekends?”

“Whoa, slow down.”

“What? I have rights, don’t I? Is my name on her birth certificate?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” He shrugs. “I want to be involved in her life, Y/N. I want to be her dad, not just her father.” He frowns. Y/N knew Harry’s father wasn’t around much, and it really affected him. “Couldn’t we try to co-parent?”

“I suppose we could…you’re not too busy? I know you’ve moved up a lot at work.”

“I can make it work. I want my home to be her home.” He looks around at Y/N’s apartment. It was small, not tiny, but not big enough to have a child grow in. “Let me give you some money, you could get a bigger place, and-“

“You’re nuts!” She laughs. “She has her own room here.”

“What happens when Meg moves out, or doesn’t want a baby around, or whoever she ends up dating doesn’t want a baby around? Oh! I know, I have a guest house, you could-“

“Harry!” She puts her hands on his shoulders. It was the first time he had felt her hands on him in so long. “I’m not moving in with you. We’ve done that before, remember? Didn’t quite work out. We’re two very different people.”

“You wouldn’t be moving in with me, you’d be moving into my guest house. It’s sort of like a pool house, but larger. I have friends use it when they come visit, but it could be yours if you wanted it. It even has its own driveway and garage. It would feel like your own place.”

“One step at a time.”

“It would just make things easier.”

“Harry, what do you think other people do? Normal people don’t live within the same vicinity just to raise a kid.” She shakes her head. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“What’s that?”

“If I move in there, you and I will start getting close again. Then some night you’ll suggest I just move into the main house, and before we know it, I’m sleeping in your bed, we’re married, and we have three more kids.”

It sounded like a dream to Harry, why not to her?

“Well, we did talk about having four kids.” He smirks, but his smile fades when he realizes his joke didn’t exactly land. “I don’t have any schemes. I just want you well taken care of, along with her.”

“You just found out about her. We’re plenty well taken care of. I take care of her, and soon my mom will be with her when I go back to work.”

“You’re gonna outgrow this place.” He sighs. “But I won’t force you to move, just think about it. In the meantime, let me…” He takes his checkbook out of the inside of his suit jacket. “I’m not sure how much all your hospital bills were, but I want to-“

“Put that away.”

“At least let me send you money weekly, or monthly? She must be costing you a fortune.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“It’s not about you, it’s about that little baby girl.”

“You really wanna help financially?”

“I do.”

“Start a college fund for her then. I make plenty to cover things, but I haven’t been able to start a savings account for her yet. Any time you want to send me money, put it into a college fund for her.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll do that.” He smiles. “When can I have her?”

“We can pick a day to go shopping, I can help set a room up for her, and then we can discuss a custody agreement, okay? I know how busy you get with traveling.”

“Maybe every other weekend for now? If I can get it on my calendar they won’t schedule me for anything.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “It would be kind of nice to have some weekends to myself.”

“Yeah, you can keep going out on dates with Kevin, and then eventually, she’ll call him dad. Won’t that be great?”

“You’re impossible.” She nudges his arm. “Harry…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know how much you love kids, and-“

“I get it. You thought you were doing what was best. And you’re right, I would have tried getting back together with you.” He shrugs and stands up. “Still might, you look really fucking good, love.” He winks at her and heads out.

He leaves her flustered as all hell. He always had the effect on her. She tells Meg all about the encounter when she gets home from work.

“You know you’re going to end up moving in with him.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you are. An entire guest house to move into for free? Fuck, I’d move in if he asked me.” She laughs.

“He’s different, but still the same. It was crazy just running into him like that.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t pass out when you told him.”

“He took it really well. He jumped at the chance to be involved. It was sweet. I feel guilty.”

“Don’t.”

“I told him I did it because I was being selfish. He made a good point that it was more about her than it was about me.”

“He’s smart, I’ll give him that.”

Y/N brought her mother with her when she met up with Harry at the baby store. It wasn’t as awkward as she thought. Her mom always loved Harry. He held Emily throughout their time in the store. They all drive back to his place so he can show them the room what would be hers. He already had it painted.

“Tell me again why you don’t want to live in that nice place out back?” Her mom whispered to Y/N while they let Harry change Emily.

“It would be weird. What about Kevin?”

“What about Kevin?” She scoffs. “You’ve got a perfectly great guy in front of you, and-“

“Mom, please.” She says.

“All done! Not too shabby.” Harry says, holding his daughter up with pride. “So, think this could be a place she’ll partially grow up in?”

“She’ll love it.” Y/N says, taking Emily from him. “Once you get all the furniture, we can figure out when your first weekend with her is.”

“Sounds great.” He smiles. “I can’t wait to have her to myself. Already got her picture on my desk and everything. I promise, I’m gonna be a great dad.”

The first weekend Y/N didn’t have Emily she felt conflicted. She missed her like crazy, but also slept better than she had in a long time, not being woken up by the crying and all. Harry did well with his baby. He enjoyed having her there very much, and nearly cried when Y/N came to pick her up.

“So…I’ll see her in two weeks.” He frowns.

“Harry, I can’t give her to you every weekend, then I wouldn’t have any of the fun time with her. She just gets me after a long day of work.”

“Maybe I could have her on Wednesday nights? A lot of people do that.”

“So, every Wednesday, and every other weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I think I could make that work. I could drop her off here after work.”

“You’re serious?!”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I won’t keep her from you, Harry. Not when I see how serious you are about all this.”

“You’re amazing, thank you.” He nearly almost kisses her, but stops himself, and gives Emily the kiss instead.

“Nice save, Styles.”

“Wait…uh…I had a thought the other day. If I needed to bring her to the doctor or something…is her last name mine?”

“Of course it is.”

“So, you were just going to let her grow up with my last name and not even tell her who I was?”

“No.” She chuckles. “My plan was to tell you about her when she was around six months. I just needed more time and courage. I’ll regret it forever, I can assure you.” She sighs.

“Well, what matters now is the present and the future. We don’t need to dwell on the past.” He smiles.

“Thank you.”

Y/N was exhausted from work when she had to bring Emily over to Harry’s. She mumbled under breath that he should have to come pick her up if he wants her so badly. She gets Emily out of the car, and Harry opens the door.

“Come on in, I’ve got dinner on the table.” He smiles.

“You’ve got a bottle of formula for her on the table?” Y/N smirks as she enters the home.

“No, silly.” He chuckles and takes Emily out of the car seat and gives her a big kiss on the cheek. “That’s on the counter in the kitchen. I’ve got dinner for you and I. A little thank you for being so wonderful to me.”

“I really don’t deserve dinner, Harry. I’m not wonderful.”

“You are. You could have told me to fuck off, or you could have told me Emily wasn’t mine when we ran into each other that day. I’ve never been so happy. I can’t shut up about her at work. Please, have dinner with me after I put her down. You must be hungry.”

“You’re lucky I am. I’ll help you put her down.”

Harry nods and goes upstairs with Y/N. They get Emily fed, burped, changed, and down for bed. They both go downstairs. Y/N’s mouth waters when she sees chicken, potatoes, and asparagus on the table.

“You made all this?” She asks, sitting down.

“Course I did, I’m a great cook, remember?” He sits down adjacent to her. A little too close perhaps, but oh well. “Want some wine? Water?”

“Wine, please.”

Harry pours her a glass, and one for himself. Y/N dives into the food and moans.

“Delicious, thank you.”

“Anytime. Maybe this could be our Wednesday night tradition? It could add some normalcy for Emily, and you wouldn’t be starved dropping her off.”

“Oh, so I always need to drop her off.”

“Makes it easier, I’m on the way. Plus, it gives me time to get home, and get everything ready.”

“I suppose as she grows it would be good to have some type of family dinner.”

“Exactly!” He smiles and takes a bite of the food. “So tell me, how was your day? What did you do?”

“Harry…the last thing I want to do is talk about work.” She chuckles.

“Alright, then how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?” She laughs.

“I’m great.” He smiles and sips on his wine. “Like I said, never been happier.”

“And how’s Heather been with all this?”

“Every day she asks me to get a paternity test. As if you could look at that child and not know she’s mine.”

“Are you two stil…?”

“Nah, probably another reason why she’s been so pissy with me, but, oh well. I got a kid to worry about now. No time for random late night hookups.” He looks at her. “How’s Kevin?”

“Oh, we stopped seeing each other.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t thrilled that you’ve come back into the picture, and he said he wouldn’t compete with you, and I told him there was nothing to compete with, and then he told me I wasn’t even worth it because Emily would never be his.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “He showed his true colors. I didn’t love him or anything, he was just someone to go out with.”

“Sad neither of us have met someone else we’ve wanted to take things to the next level with.”

“Well, I was busy being pregnant, what’s your excuse?”

“I was busy being busy. Threw myself into my work, moved up, bought this house as soon as I could. I couldn’t stand living at the old place. Too many memories. I love it here though, it’s amazing. It’s gated so I have peace of mind, and the guest house has been amazing.”

“You’re not lonely?”

“That’s what Heather was for.” He shamelessly admits. “I went on other dates, tried to meet new people, but none of them…well, none of them were you.”

“You say that like the breakup was all my idea.” She frowns and pushes her plate away.

“I had a lot of time to reflect after that day. As we were…saying goodbye…I realized we hadn’t had sex in a long time, and I wanted to punch myself for being so stupid, for neglecting you. It was like we had become friends.”

“The intimacy depleted, that’s for sure. We were un a never ending rut.” She stands up and brings her plate to the kitchen. “We grew apart, Harry.” She says to him as he follows her in, taking her plate to soak it. “I was really starting my career, you were doing you’re thing…”

“I just ignored things when they were going wrong instead of getting on it.”

“So did I. It was easier to pretend.”

“And look where that got us.”

“I was scared at first, but I love that little girl with my whole heart. I don’t regret having her. I’m not mad about it. I was…because I just couldn’t understand how my birth control failed, but I accepted it.”

“I love her too. I know I haven’t known her as long, but I love her too.”

“That makes me really happy.” Y/N starts tearing up. “I know you said we didn’t need to dwell on it, but I hold so much guilt and regret for not telling you. I should have told you right away so you could have been around for the doctor’s appoints, fuck, so you could have been there when she was born! I’m so sorry, Harry. How you don’t fucking hate me is a wonder.”

He pulls her in close to his chest, and lets her cry on him. He strokes the back of her head and her back to try to soothe her.

“I forgive you.” He whispers. “You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Why are you being so nice about all this?”

“Because I have a beautiful baby girl…and you’re back in my life.” He blushes as he looks down at her. “Never thought we’d talk about again, let alone see each other. I know we’re not together, but we’re parents…always wanted you to be the mother of my kids, I meant it every time I said it.”

“Harry.” She presses her head back into his chest so he can hold her close again. “Thank you for saying all that.” She smiles up at him and then lets go of him. She looks at the time on the clock. “I better get going, it’s getting late.”

“Alright.” He sighs. “I’ll drop her off at your mum’s?”

“Mhm.”

“By the way…my mum and sister might plan a trip here soon.”

“Oh?”

“I told them about Emily, obviously. They were thinking of planning something around when her first birthday is. Like, we could have a big party here if you wanted.”

“That’s seven months from now, they wanna wait that long?”

“Well, they’d come stay for a month.”

“Well, I think a nice big party would be nice. You’ve obviously got the room for it.”

“Great…when’s her exact birthday?”

“July 10th.”

“Poor thing.” He cups one of her cheeks, causing her heart to skip a beat. “So pregnant during those hot months.” He pouts.

“I survived.”

“Wish I could have been there for you, could have given you lots of foot and back rubs.”

“Thought you weren’t going to make me feel guilty.” She leans into his touch for a second before backing away. “I really need to go.”

“Alright…have a good night.”

“You too, thanks again for dinner.”

Harry sighs heavily after she leaves. They were doing the right thing by putting Emily first, but he couldn’t help but feel traditional. He wanted to make things work with Y/N. He wanted to give Emily a stable house hold. Not to mention he fucking loved Y/N with his whole heart, but he’d work up to dealing with that later.

Things went on like that. Wednesday nights Y/N and Harry had dinner together at his place, and every other weekend they would take turns having Emily. It was a good system. Harry was able to take Emily to appointments when she needed to see the doctor. Y/N didn’t realize how much help she actually needed, and was grateful Harry was around for so many things. Sometimes when he’d drop Emily off on Sunday evenings, Y/N would make him dinner as a thank you. Sometimes when she dropped Emily off on Friday evenings she’d stay to watch a movie. Things went on for months like this. Y/N would find herself almost missing Harry, especially when she’d drive all the way back to her apartment. Meg would often stay at her boyfriend’s place, so she was alone. Maybe living in Harry’s guest house wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Harry, could we talk?” She says to him when she takes Emily from him Sunday evening. “I’ve made dinner.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiles. Once she gets Emily settled, she sits down with Harry. “What’s up?”

“Is your offer still good?”

“Which one?” He smirks. Harry may or may not have cheekily offered sex up to Y/N a couple of the times they had too much wine.

“The offer to live in your guest house, smart ass.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” He perks up immediately.

“Yeah…Meg’s getting serious with her boyfriend, and I feel lonely sometimes. I thought maybe if you’re a little closer by I’d feel less lonely when you take Emily.”

“Yes, a million times yes! I could get it fixed up in a couple of weeks. We could move her furniture from here right away. You could just stay in the house until everything’s to your liking, and-“

“Harry! You always jump so far ahead.” She chuckles. “I should give Meg a month’s notice.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’m just really excited. Like, we could have dinner every night if we wanted.”

“We could.” She agrees.

“I’m so fucking excited.”

Y/N moved into Harry’s guest house a month or so later. It was so nice being able to just hand Emily over a few steps away instead of having to drive home afterwards. Harry and Y/N not only had dinner together, but they would try to do the morning feedings together at the same time.

Y/N was sleeping peacefully one night when her phone went off. She sees it’s Harry.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry to bother you, but something’s up with Emily, and I-“

“I’ll be right there!”

Y/N races out of bed, only in a large t-shirt, not even bothering to grab a robe or put other clothes on. She rushes across the pool area and in through the back door. Emily was crying loudly while Harry was rocking her.

“She just started crying like crazy, I tried feeding her, changing her, she won’t stop, I have no idea what’s wrong.”

“Let me see her.”

Harry hands Emily over to Y/N. She caresses her and rocks her. She furrows her brows and gasps.

“She’s teething!” Y/N walks over to kitchen and looks for something to stick in her mouth. She opts to just run a pacifier under some really cold water and stick it in her mouth. She calms down after a few months. “Poor thing.” She rocks her. “Must be in pain from the teeth coming through.”

“Christ, I could have figured that out. I’m sorry to get you out of bed.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you called, here, I’ll make us some tea.” She hands Emily over to Harry.

Harry sits down at the kitchen table and watches Y/N. He just now notices the shirt she’s wearing.

“You still have that?”

“Hm, oh…yeah, it’s my favorite bed shirt.” She blushes and reaches for two mugs, revealing the underside of her ass. “Is that weird?” She asks as he turns around. Harry’s face was beat red.

“Not at all.”

She plugs in the kettle and gets some tea bags out from where she knew he kept them.

“How’s the house been?” He asks her.

“Great, actually. I’m grateful, really. Most people wouldn’t be so lucky.” She pours the now boiled water into the mugs with the tea bags and puts them both on the table.

“Thank you. I think she’s out.”

“I can bring her back upstairs.” She carefully takes Emily from Harry. He follows her up with his tea. He can’t help but take peeks of her underside.

“Y/N.” He says, just as she’s getting Emily into the crib.

“Hold on.” She whispers and shuffles him out of the room. “Sorry, I didn’t want to risk her waking up again.”

He grabs her wrist and yanks him into his bedroom, setting his tea down on his dresser.

“What are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?!”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not wearing any knickers!”

Y/N’s eyes grow wide. She was so concerned about Emily she had completely forgotten.

“I’m so sorry! I…I rushed out, and, and, I, oh my god, so you saw my ass?”

“And a bit of your other…bits.”

“Oh my god.” Her hands slide down her face. “So embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“Embarrassing?!” He laughs. “Please, I appreciate it. Anytime you wanna walk around her half naked, feel free.” He smirks.

“Harry…I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You’re comfortable around me to rush out the door like that?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Haven’t seen it in a really long time.”

“No.”

“What are you-“

“You’re not getting what you want, I won’t fall for you again.” She brushes by him and leaves his room. He follows her quickly down the stairs. She takes a sip of her tea before dumping the rest down the drain.

“So…you’re suppressing feelings for me because you’re scared, is that it?” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not suppressing anything. I just don’t believe in the breaking up and getting back together thing. We know this doesn’t work, and we shouldn’t try to force it just because a baby is involved.”

“I’m very different now, and so are you.”

“Exactly.”

“I like who you’ve become…a lot. I think I’ve gotten to know you fairly well again. Couldn’t you say the same for me?”

“I guess.”

“And you like what you’ve gotten to know?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, so what the fuck is your problem? Oh wait, you know what hasn’t changed? You’re still the most stubborn fucking person I’ve ever met. You did the same thing the last time. I asked you to move in, and you said you weren’t ready. Then a month later, when it was on your terms, you asked if you could move in. Everything has to be on your terms! Great, so I’ll just continue waiting for the night that you decide to come over and crawl into my bed. Does that work for you?”

“I’m confused! I was done with you, I thought I was better off without you, and then you came back into my life, and it was like…you were never even gone from it. I feel safe when I’m with you, but I’m fucking terrified of falling for you again. There were so many things that went wrong, and-“

“But some many things could go right!”

“We have a baby involved! What if it doesn’t work again, and she gets a little older? She’ll see and hear us fighting. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that either. You of all people should know that. If I wasn’t certain about us…”

“So, what…we’re supposed to just jump back in?”

“No, I’d like to take you out on a proper date. Something nice and formal, maybe a night away from the baby, or fuck it, let’s bring her along, I don’t care. I want you, I want you back. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I let you slip away. I’ll never forgive myself. That day…I shouldn’t have let you leave after. I should have made you stay in my bed and cuddle and just talk everything through one more time.”

Y/N was crying now and so was Harry. She hated him, and she loved him all at the same time. She was stubborn.

“God damn it!”

She wraps her arms around his neck and crashes her mouth to his. He doesn’t waste a second to deepen the kiss. He hoists her up on the counter to stand between her legs, licking into her mouth. They both groan into each other.

“Is, is this smart?” She pants. “We have so much to talk about, and I don’t know if-“ She gasps when he lifts her shirt overhead. His eyes gaze at her body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you.”

“My boobs are saggy and I have stretch marks all over the place, how could you-“

“Shut the fuck up! For once in your life, just shut up, and take a compliment. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking, and it pisses me off to no end I never got fuck you while you were pregnant, alright?” He spreads her legs apart as she tugs at his shirt. He takes it off and she runs her hands over his chest.

“Even when I was sweating and as big as a house?” She pouts, knowing it’s only going to rile him up more.

“Especially then.” He pecks at her lips again.

“I want you too.” She breathes. “But you have to pull out this time. We’re noting bringing another baby into this world until we figure things out fully.”

“Excellent compromise.”

He drops his pants and runs his fingers over her center. She gasps at the feeling, especially when he pushes his fingers inside her.

“Oh fuck.” Her head rolls back.

“You’re so wet, why?”

“You just…you make me so…fucking crazy!”

Her lips slot over his again as he pumps in and out of her.

“Is this comfortable? You want me to fuck you here, or-“

“Put it in.”

He takes his dick out and pushes inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“We’re so fucking stupid.” She grunts as he thrusts in and out of her.

“Idiots.” He sucks on her neck. “But I can’t help it, you drive me just as crazy. Always have.”

She tugs at his hair while he rubs on her clit.

“Harry, will you eat me out? You feel amazing, but I just…your tongue…it’s so fucking-“

He pulls out of her and she leans back on her elbows while his mouth attaches to her other lips. He sucks and licks, and does everything he remembers she likes. He rubs on her clit still while he fucks her with his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! Fuck, Harry!” She pushes his head further against herself. He was nose deep and loving it. He groans against her, and she moans out loudly. “Don’t stop, please!”

One of his hands squeezes her thigh, pressing bruises into her. She comes on his tongue and he laps it all up. He plunges his dick back into her without warning. She was sensitive now, but she knew he needed to come too.

“You take it so well.” He grunts as he grips her hips. She tightens around him, loving the way his voice sounds in her ear. “How’d it feel, baby?”

“So good, thank you.”

“Anytime you want it, you have it, always.”

“Fuck.”

She was going to come again, and he gets her there. Just as he’s about to get there he pulls out and comes on her stomach. He rests his head against her shoulder as he catches his breath. He looks at her and kisses her before grabbing a rag to clean her up with. Neither of them say anything. He simply scoops her up, and carries her upstairs to his room. He lays her down, and spoons her.

“This just feels right, doesn’t it?” He says to her.

“It does.” She sighs and adjusts against him.

“I wanna be a real family with you.”

“I think I want that too. We just need to take baby steps.”

“I’d wait forever, Y/N. Just don’t walk out on me again.”

“I won’t.” She turns over to face him. “I may have walked out, but you left emotionally before I did. We hadn’t even had sex and-“

“I know, I’m not saying it was just you. It was me too, but never again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just wanna makeup for all the lost time.”

“We can.”

Harry hold her close as they both slowly drift off. Even though they had jumped in physically, it would take some time to mend things altogether. Neither of them minded because this time around they each were more willing to put the work in.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #dad!harry

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Note

if you ever get in the mood to write anything take it back part two would be lovely😉 only if you’re okay with it of course

Y’all the sheer amount of requests I’ve gotten for this..🤯 Idk what exactly you want because it felt pretty complete to me but you win lol here it is.

take it back: pt. 2

***

He’s always an early riser. You love that about him. Productive and motivated almost to a fault, Grayson Dolan can always be counted on to answer his phone at the ripe time of 7:45 AM.

So when your 8:13 AM call goes to voicemail, your stomach drops.

Granted, it did ring all the way through; he could be sleeping, or working out, or...busy.

But he always manages to answer for you. Even if he’s huffing for breath in-between sets, or barely cognizant of where he is or what time it is after an afternoon nap, you can usually count on his deep voice to be on the other line of that phone.

You feel incredibly vulnerable and somehow more exposed than ever as you lie naked under your covers, just as you were when he left a few hours ago. A gaping part of you left in the open with his potential rejection. Just as you had probably done to him in the early hours of the morning.

Your heart joins your stomach, and you can’t stop yourself from typing out a text to cover yourself.

Did you make it home ok?

You toss your phone with a frustrated sigh to the side of the bed and draw your covers up to your nose. The empty space is vast and cold and makes your throat tighten.

Your phone buzzes, and you snatch it up. A snap from your best friend.

Instagram notifications.

A ‘good morning, have a good day’ text from your mom.

Another Snapchat. A work email. More texts from people who don’t have a little strong arm emoji next to their name.

You’re about to try and pull some sort of reverse psychology bullshit on yourself and go take a shower and pretend like you’re not going to expect a reply from him by the time you get out. But then, just as you’ve tossed your blankets and sheets aside, your phone buzzes fatefully.

[Gray💪🏼] Yeah, thanks

Ironically enough, it’s the worst reply you could have hoped for even though it’s the most logical one.

You bite your lip, chewing it worriedly as you continue your trip to the bathroom. Despite the fact that he responded completely appropriately, you don’t think you’re imagining the dryness in his two words. As stupid and ridiculous as it seems, you know Grayson well enough to detect that.

Good.

Are you busy today?

That’s safe enough. Your surge of bravery has dissipated since he clearly chose to ignore your call in favor of texting. You don’t want to scare him with anything as heavy and loaded as “can we talk?”

You lean against the counter and watch the bubbles pop up on the screen.

[Gray💪🏼] Nah not really. I’m tired tho

Fuck. The rejection before the offer hurts. Your eyes prickle stubbornly.

But then you look in the mirror, and your focus is drawn to a couple of distinct purple marks on your collarbone. You finger them delicately, and rather than the annoyance you might have felt with anyone else, your heart warms.

He’s broken yet another rule. And now, so are you — excited and pleased by the evidence of himself he’s left on your skin.

And you remember the thought that prompted this whole thing to begin with. You’re scared, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Your fingers fly. Can I come over? Please?

He takes long enough to reply that your phone screen goes black, and another minute passes before you realize how idiotic you must look standing naked in your bathroom staring at a blank screen. This is the shit about relationships that you don’t like: the fear, the games, the unknowns. It’s almost too much already.

You distract yourself by turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature right where you want it. And when you turn back around, blood pounds in your ears when you see the lit screen through the reflection of the mirror.

[Gray💪🏼] Okay

***

If you’ve ever taken a quicker shower, you don’t remember when. You rinsed the night off for good, barely detangling any knots from your hair before instinctively reaching for one of his sweatshirts to pair with your jean shorts without even realizing it. It hits you as you throw on some eyebrow gel and mascara where your top came from, and you debate taking it off in case he’s upset with you.

You wouldn’t blame him if he were. The mixed signals you had thrown at him last night were inconsiderate to say the least. Blowing him off only to run right back into his arms, but with more clarity to be fair to yourself just a little bit.

You toss your lip gloss on the counter before you can do what you do best and overthink every aspect of this man, and head straight out the door.

When he lets you into his house half an hour later, he looks hesitant and drawn, but not unkind. Flushed fresh from a workout. Muscles glistening familiarly. Hair flopping into his face. It’s all incredibly distracting, but you push those thoughts aside as you smile at him sheepishly and pass through the open door.

“What’s up?” he asks once he’s led you into the kitchen.

You sit on a barstool and chew a piece of skin around your thumbnail as he watches you out of the corner of his eye while he chugs from his hydroflask. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and you look away for a moment to gather your nerve.

“I wanted to...talk,” you manage to spit out. You take your thumb out of your mouth in favor of playing with a leaf that had fallen from the flower vase in front of you. You can’t meet his eyes right now.

There’s a silence long enough that it makes you finally look up at him. He’s staring at you, brow cocked slightly, arms crossed across his broad chest.

“Okay. About what?”

You stare back. His handsome face gives you the confidence and courage to keep going.

“I’m bad at this,” you admit. The leaf crumples in your fingertips. “Talking. Relationships. All of it.”

“I know. So am I.”

You smile, small but grateful. He returns it.

“I told you to take it back. That kiss you gave me, before you left.”

Grayson’s cheeks, having returned to a normal hue in the AC, then pink again. He glances off to the side and clears his throat, a hand running through his messy hair. “Uh, yeah. I remember.”

Your heart disintegrates as much as the leaf in your grasp at the visible proof that you had, indeed, hurt him on some level. But you’re here to make it right. For both of you. In whatever ass-backwards way you can think of to make that happen, because you definitely haven’t thought the words out at all.

“Well... I want — I take it back,” you admit quietly.

The fear and frustration are all worth it when you see the utter look of surprise cross his features. His eyes are grey this morning, one of their many colors and your personal favorite, and they widen almost comically. His pretty pink lips part slightly, his fist clenching on the counter for a brief moment.

But then he has a few seconds to process your confession, and your heart skips a beat when you see the corner of his mouth turn up enough to expose a dimple. “You take back your ‘take it back?’”

You bite your lip through your own smile as his grows wider, and you nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

You hadn’t expected that. But shockingly, it’s the easiest part of this whole ordeal.

You reach your hand out and wrap your slim fingers around his thick, calloused ones, gripping them tightly. “Because. You’re you. And I’m happiest when you’re around, no matter what activity we may or may not be doing.”

He laughs, and you tug on his hand to indicate you want him to join you without a slab of marble separating the two of you.

“And because you’re the only person I could ever imagine breaking all of my rules for. And if you can forgive me for being such a hardheaded idiot, I’d really like to prove that to you.”

Now directly in front of you, Grayson towers above you. He grins and lets go of your hand to wrap your arms around his waist, then cups your cheeks in both hands. You close your eyes and you sigh at the feel of those giant palms holding you so tenderly, and the urge to run doesn’t affect you even the tiniest bit.

He leans down, until you feel him stop just centimeters from meeting your lips with his. Your lashes flutter open confusedly, only to see those eyes looking at you with an affectionate expression you’ve never let yourself consider too deeply until now.

“If you really want to take back your take it back,” he whispers, his breath fanning against your sensitive lips and making you shiver, “then come and get it.”

Your whole body heats at his words, and you giggle before throwing yourself completely into his arms and crushing your lips together. He chuckles too against your mouth, and shifts his hands under your ass so you can wrap your legs around his waist, your kiss heated and sincere but also playful.

“Can I take all of you back?” you ask him once you’ve pulled away for a moment, playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

You’re so caught up in his face that you’re unaware that he’s moving the two of you down the hall until his bedroom door shuts quickly behind him with his swift kick.

“All of me, baby. All of me.”

#like i said hope this satisfies whatever need yall had for this pt 2 lol #dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb

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taegyuun · 3 years

Text

finally, the wings took off | pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

genre: angst, fluff

pairing: sunghoon x reader

warnings: mentions of depression probs swearing

word count: 1.8k

“ok this is a great start already! you woke up... 5 minutes before you usually do....” sunghoons voice gradually faded out from being happy to disappointed after checking the time.

a week has passed since you met the said angel and the whole time he’s been trying to “fix” you, his words, not yours. and sure, you’ve made some improvements like waking up at different times and... well that’s about it. sunghoon thought that after a few days or so, you’d gradually grasp the concept of normal life or something in your brain would click and you would’ve had some grand epiphany that the way you’ve been living for the last few years of your life aren’t normal - but contrary to his beliefs, you were nothing of the sort.

you were also very difficult to work with; and incredibly stubborn. you’ve gotten more accustomed to living with the boy but listening to him tell you what to do was not exactly very entertaining on your behalf. sunghoon personally thought that ordering you would be the best way to go about your little situation, considering your life is based on routines and authoritative figures that came from school - but perhaps his idea wasn’t so great.

“sunghoon, i already told you. i don’t need some ‘guardian angel’ or whatever, i’m fine with the way that i live my life even if it isn’t whatever you would call an avergae teens life. i know that. you’re just wasting your time being here.” you sigh dejectedly. you were secretly hoping that somehow you would mange to get out of this hopeless routine. it was often a pain, reliving the same day every single second. but you yourself couldn’t do it. you had to have some sort of help; sunghoon just wasn’t great at it.

“well no matter what you believe, i have to stay here up until you live a normal life. and before you say anything, even if i go up to the upper angels and try to talk to them, theyll just instantly send me back down, because believe me... i’ve tried it many, many times.” his face wasn’t the usual soft almost nonchalant look that he typically wore, instead he seemed more aggravated.

“ok then. what if i just live my life “normally” for a week and then you can move onto another person because i’m “fine” and then i can go back to living my life the way i want to?” you ask after sitting up from bed, getting ready to do your usual stretch before heading to the bathroom. but before you could even reach your arms out, sunghoon was already pushing them down back to your sides before speaking himself,

“y/n you moron, the upper angels aren’t stupid. they literally see everything.” he stares blankly at you as you roll your eyes at his actions before looking around your room and mulling over the idea of actually contributing to his work and trying to change your life.

“fine i guess. i’ll try harder this time.” the sound of his cheering almost made your lips form a smile.

“so what now, huh?”

“well... maybe let’s go shopping? yeah i think that’s a good start. personally, i’m not very huge on shopping but that’s because i’m indecisive but you need to go food shopping and then we can go buy more clothes. y/n you need to start eating more various foods, alright?” sunghoon talks to you almost as if you’re a child, it gets irritating but you understand his reasonings behind it. you like to follow routines, and your routines have to be simple therefore he speaks to you simply.

“alright then, what food should i be eating?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“honestly anything but a balanced diet is the best,” and then sunghoon goes on about all the carbs you need to eat and what sort of proteins there are and all the other things that you already knew except didn’t own, or eat. as he talks to you, you’re already putting your shoes on and taking one of your jackets down from the hooks before quickly grabbing your car keys.

even though you didn’t seem like it, you felt excited for this new change. you were a complicated person. even though you had to have routines, you got bored of them quickly and sunghoon has somehow managed to spark some excitement into your life.

as you both walk down the block to get to your car, you get a few stares from the passerby’s. ok, maybe it wasn’t you who got the stares and it was perhaps the model that was beside you, but that’s just a minuscule detail that you could easily miss.

“sunghoon?” you hear a hum in reply.

“you do realise you’re really pretty? like, incredibly good looking.” instead of a normal reply, you hear a choke and then a fit of coughs. “don’t tell me you’re about to die from choking because someone complimented you? you’re an angel right? you’re meant to be pretty or something.”

“i dont usually get compliments from people alright? i’m not used to it, the most i get is whines from the higher ups or some old pervs trying to hit on me when i get some weird cases,”

“do you wanna talk about it?”

“there isn’t much to talk about, it’s not like they can actually touch me considering i’m an angel so theres nothing to ever worry about.” neither of you realised that you were already in the car, driving and almost at the supermarket. he looks over and sees your brows in a furrow, an obvious sign of confusion. before he gets to ask anything, you beat him to it.

“wait so... i cant touch you? like not even high five or anything? that’s so cool! you’re like... i don’t know, the things in movies- you’re like a ghost!” sunghoon was going to tell that you can actually touch him, only when granted permission, but your expression and the contrast in your voice from usual monotone and bored, stopped him as he instead hummed in agreement and softly smiled, grabbing a shopping cart and heading inside the store.

you huffed as you set down the last bags full of food that you had either never tried or forgotten the taste of down onto your kitchen counter. you then started taking the products out of the bags and placing them in their correct cupboards or shelves in the fridge and some in the freezer.

after you were finally finished with the tedious job, you look over at sunghoon who was leaning against the door frame to your kitchen, as you beamed proudly at him. he lets out a soft laugh as he walks closer to you and looks at what you did to your kitchen.

“you see, look how many choices you have! all the cupboards are full and the possibilities you have with all these ingredients!” you’re surprised at how excited he seemed for you and your now discovered love for placing things away. “whenever you get hungry, tell me so i can teach you new recipes, alright?” you quickly nod at him as he walks off, letting his large wings appear out of his back. he rolls his shoulders and releases a loud sigh and groan, softly propping down onto your couch.

“yeah, why do you even do that? y’know... keep your wings in. isn’t it painful?” you ask as you walk closer to him, before sitting down onto the seat next to the angel.

“i wouldn’t say it necessarily hurts but it’s more like when you sit in one position too long and then you stand up and stretch. i have to do it so i don’t make myself invisible and make you look like you’re a fool speaking to yourself.”

“then... whenever we don’t go out, just have them out! whenever we’re here alone just leave them how they are, let your back rest.”

“i think that’s a good idea,” he then softly smiles at you as his arms extend across the back of the couch, before letting his head roll back and fall onto the the soft cushioning below

more weeks pass, and it has finally reached the mark of sunghoon being your gurdian angel for almost 4 months. you’ve changed an indescribable amount - it occurred to you after a deep talk with sunghoon that routines bored you, but you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself and how to live your life.

you were honestly glad to meet the guardian angel.

you now went out at random times simply for your own will, and you cooked different recipes almost everyday - trying new food constantly. you changed your style and did a whole 180. but sunghoon didn’t want you to completely change, he only wanted you to live like a teen. so, he obviously let you keep certain things the way you liked it; the days you did your laundry or which days you went shopping.

it was nice having him around.

but, the dreaded question had to be asked.

“sunghoon... are you going to leave soon?” you quietly asked, as you went out to latch onto his sweatshirt - another thing you learnt which you could do, only with his consent.

“i’m not sure, y/n. but why ask?” he stopped stirring his coffee with the tea spoon and instead looked down at you with a confused expression.

“it’s just... aren't guardian angels meant to only stay till their case is better? i mean, you’ve figured out why my chart was empty and now i live how i should've lived all along. is there anything you can even do now?”

and then it was silent. it didn’t even occur to the boy that he had completed his task. he had nothing else to do in the human world that was correlated to you. he plainly had no reason to stay, even if he wanted to.

“... do... do you want me to leave?” you almost tug at his arm in anger at the stupid question.

“are you insane? of course i don’t want you to leave! you’re the one who made me finally feel happy, there- there must be a way you could stay... right? or do you want to go?” now it was sunghoons turn to latch onto your arm in disbelief.

“why would i want to leave? i love it here, y/n. being here with you completely changed my life. i’m not chained to some random criminal and i don’t have a crap ton of responsibilities that i couldn’t care less about, it’s literally heaven down here for me... ironic i know, but it is! if i could stay, i promise you, i would.” during his words, his hands moved up from holding onto your arm to cupping your face in his warm and gentle hands. you leant into his touch, with a coil of unfortune building up in your stomach; as if your body knew this might have been the last times you’d feel his soft touch.

“sunghoon please... don’t leave me.”

“i’ll stay for as long as possible, even if it means my wings are taken off.”

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mermaidsneedwater · 3 years

Text

christmas with you | chapter ten

series page

tag list: @yup-indecisive-girl-cece

All I Want For Christmas Is You

As you sat in the car with your ex fiancé, you turned around in your seat with your hand pressed against the glass window to see Mark.

“Y/N I’m glad you decided to come. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Your fiancé started. “I can’t wait to go back, we’ll start over. We should go on a trip, maybe somewhere tropical. We just need some time away from everything.”

“This is all wrong.”

“Y/N, Are you listening to me? Did you say something?” Your fiancé asked, turning to look at you.

“I said, this is all wrong.” You said a little louder. “Stop the car.”

“What? I’m on the middle of the road, I can’t just stop.”

“I said stop the car!” You yelled.

“Okay! Okay! I’m doing it.” He said.

Complying with your order, your fiancé kept driving until he stopped at the side of a street by a convenience store.

“Look, I appreciate you coming all this way for me. I do.” You started, “but I just… We can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“But why not? I thought you were willing to give us another try.” He frowned.

“No, Mark wanted that.” You muttered quietly.

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out.”

+++

The next few days after Christmas, everyone could see Mark was miserable, though he thought he was being discreet.

He slunk around the house, moping around with a long face. Becoming more quiet and withdrawn from his family.

“Okay, that’s it.” Raymond set his paper down as he watched his son pick at his food.

“What?”

“Son, ever since Christmas, your mother and I have been watching you mope around the house because Y/N left.”

“Wha- that’s not true!” Mark denied.

“Isn’t it? What really happened? Because I don’t really buy the whole ‘family emergency’ excuse.”

“I’m telling you, that is what happened.” Mark insisted, playing with a ring on his finger.

Mark had convinced his family that night that you had found out there was a family emergency at home, and so you had to leave quite promptly. Though his family was sad that you’d just left, they didn’t want to keep you from your family. For Mark, The rest of the evening wasn’t the same without you.

“No, Y/N wouldn;t have just left like that. She’s a nice girl.” Raymond shook his head. “Tell me son, did the two of you have an argument?”

“No Dad. We didn’t argue.” He shook his head.

“Then what was it? I’m trying to help you.” Raymond asked again, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Your Dad is right.”

Mark looked up to see Dorine taking a seat at the table.

“Tell us.”

And so Mark told them the truth. He explained from the beginning, telling his parents about his dilemma and your fiancé. How you’d agreed to help him out and he had found himself falling in love with you for real. However, when he’d finally worked up the nerve to tell you his true feelings, your fiance had sauntered back into your life.

Raymond and Dorine sat at the dining table, listening intently. Mark watched as his father’s face had been permanently glued with his eyebrows raised. His mother on the other hand, had a small smile across her lips.

“So the entire time, you guys were just pretending?!” Raymond asked.

“Yes… I’m sorry that I was so dishonest.” Mark looked down, ashamed of his actions. He looked up to see his Mother reach out for his hand.

“What you did was wrong, Mark.” She said. “But, fake or not, the only thing I know is that Y/N’s feelings are just as real as yours.”

“I let her go mom.” He shook his head. “She wants to be with him.”

“Mark, that shit only happens in the movies.” Dorine rolled her eyes.

Taken aback by his mother’s cursing, Mark’s eyes widened. “Mom!”

“I’m serious. You let her go because you felt that was easier than actually owning up to your feelings and telling her.” Dorine shook her head. “Do you want to be with her?”

Biting his lip, Mark finally came to face his feelings. “Yes.”

“Then get up and bring her back home. Go get your girl!”

+++

Mark was hoping that when he saw you again, you wouldn’t call him a creep for finding your hotel room. Using some guesswork and pure luck, Mark had figured that you and your fiance would be staying at the nicest hotel in his town. He then walked up to the front desk pretending to be a friend in order to find your room number.

With his heart in his hand, he took a breath and knocked on the door.

“Yes?- oh, it’s you.” Your fiancé frowned.

“Is Y/N here?” Mark anxiously. “I have to talk to her.”

“Y/N? That little bitch didn’t come running back into your arms?” Your fiancé laughed dryly.

Mark’s blood boiled as he heard your fiancé. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

“She made me drop her off in the middle of some street the night she left you. Pretty sure Y/N’s at the airport now.” He informed Mark. “She’s fucking psychotic that one, I’m so glad I dodged that bullet.”

That sentence was the last straw for Mark. Unaware of his movements, Mark was shocked to see his own fist collide with the rude man’s jaw.

“What the hell?!”

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that.” He spat out. “God, I can’t believe I told her to give you a second chance. I thought you’d changed but I was wrong. You were a piece of shit then and it’s what you always will be.”

Mark watched as the man struggled to get the door close, but he couldn’t care less. Turning on his heels, he raced out of the hotel and to his car. He had to get to the airport before you left.

+++

You sat at a bench on the airport, glancing up at the flight schedule every now and then. Your flight had been delayed by an hour, then two hours, and now you were waiting for the third hour for the plane to reach the runway.

Sighing, you rummaged through the small carry on bag you had. After leaving Mark’s you had realized soon after that all your stuff had been left at the Tuan house. It was obvious enough that Mark did not like you the way you liked him, so in order to spare yourself the heartbreak of seeing him again, you’d purchased a small duffle bag with a fresh change of clothes.

Your hands found a sweatshirt at the bottom of the bag, it was the one you’d been wearing the night you’d left. Pulling it out of the duffle bag, you pulled it out of the bag only to realize… it was Mark’s.

Looking at the piece of clothing, you contemplated what to do with it. Should you throw it in the trash now or burn it when you reached home?

As you attempted to shove it back into the bottom of the bag, you were intrigued by the crinkling sound of paper from the sweatshirt. What was that?

When you took the sweatshirt out again for the second time, your hand went straight to the front pocket, unbuttoning it and pulling out the crinkled piece of paper.

Dear Santa,

It’s Mark. We haven’t talked in a while, and I’m sorry about that. This year, I’d say that I’ve mostly been nice and that means you get to grant me my Christmas wishes. This year is a bit different though, I don’t really have any wishes for me, but for Y/N. She’s been through so much, she deserves the best Christmas. I want to see her dance again. I want to see her sister try and mend their relationship. She doesn’t say it, but I can see how much she is hurting and how badly she wants her family back. But most of all I want Y/N to be happy. Her laugh is the most infectious sound, and the way her eyes light up at one of my lame jokes is breathtaking. She’s a walking masterpiece and the saddest thing is, Y/N doesn’t even know it. Seeing her happy would be the greatest Christmas gift of all for me. I love her. And if after all of that, you still have time for another wish, then maybe you could bring me a PlayStation 5. That would be sick.

Thanks man,

Mark Tuan

You read the letter exactly three more times in order to make sure you were seeing correctly. All he’d ever wanted was for you to be happy. He’d out your happiness before his every step of the way this Christmas. Feeling overwhelmed, you were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard someone call your name.

“Y/N! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?!” the voice bellowed.

Holding your letter in one hand, and the duffel bag in the other, you raced from the terminal seat to the front of the small airport.

“MARK?!” You called out, unsure of where the voice was coming from.

“Y/N! I’M HERE!”

You turned to see Mark fighting against the security guards to reach you.

“Stop! Stop he’s here for me!” You called out to the big men dragging Mark out of the airport.

“You know this man?” The man holding Mark’s right arm asked.

“Yes! I do, please let him go.” You said, out of breath.

“If neither of you are flying out, then you both need to leave.”

“Are you leaving?” Mark asked, his arms still being held.

“What you wrote about... is it true?” You asked, holding up his letter.

Mark’s eyes widened “How did you?-“

“Is it true?”

“Y/N, I-“

“Mark.” You said firmly.

“Yes. Every word.”

You stepped towards him and held his face in your hands, kissing him softly. As the security guards, let Mark go and his hands came to your face.

“I want you, for real this time.” Mark whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Me too.” You smiled.

“God, Christmas without you sucked.” He groaned.

You laughed. The two of you stood in each other’s embrace, vowing that you’d never let the other one go again.

This was the last chapter of ‘Christmas with you’ I hope you enjoyed this series and had a wonderful holiday season! I will definitely be going back to edit this series so be on the lookout for that. Thank you so much to everyone who read this story and supported me through this fic, I LOVE YOU ALL VERY MUCH!

#got7 #mark got7 #got7 mark tuan #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 fics #got7 christmas #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 drabbles #got7 fluff #got7 masterlist #mnw works

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the-and-sign-anon · 3 years

Text

Another Terrible Plan

Guardian Angel: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Teen Wolf x Stilinski! Reader

Word count: 2,059

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You and Allie went for a drive in the morning while Stiles and the others went to take the PSAT. Your dad wanted you to take a little time to process getting your memories back without being distracted by everything else, so you agreed to turn your phone off for a few hours. You took Allie to Trinidad, a tiny coastal town where your parents had taken you and Stiles a handful of times before your mom got sick. It was a home to fond memories and it helped you clear your head.

“So, how does it feel?”

“Like I’m finally in the driver’s seat for good. When I would lose control before, it was like being shoved into the passenger’s seat when you’re in the middle of driving a car. It was kind of terrifying.”

You held your shoes and socks in one hand as you wandered along the beach. The crashing waves provided a soothing sound and your feet tingled each time a wave reached you. Allie had shoved her own shoes into the pocket of her sweatshirt so she could collect shells and small rocks worn smooth by the ocean.

“Well, you’re driving solo now. That must feel pretty good.”

“It does. I don’t have to wonder when I’m gonna turn into a glowing-eyed, sword-wielding maniac looking for a fight.”

“Ah, we both know that’s my job.”

You playfully pushed Allie and she pushed you back.

“I’m serious. When I was just Claramond, all I really did was pick fights. Granted, it was for the purpose of protecting my charges, but still. It’s not exactly a wonder why the others didn’t get along with me. Coming to earth is probably one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”

“It’s mellowed you out for sure.”

“It could do the same for you, if you let it.”

“Nope. One of us has to be violent and out of control; I’d rather it be me.”

“Because you think being a rational person is overrated?”

“Well, yeah. But also because you’re terrifying enough when you’re thinking clearly. Do I need to remind you what you said to me when we saw that Officer Pears is on the deadpool?”

You groaned and threw your head back. It certainly wasn’t your finest moment, but you wanted to keep Parrish safe. He’d become rather important to you by now.

“It’s not like you’ve never threatened arson! And worse!”

“But I’m the unhinged one. You’re just that ride or die for all of your loved ones.”

“I call it doing my job.”

“I call it crazy. But just the right amount of crazy.”

You stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brows. For a few brief seconds, you had the awful feeling that someone was in danger at home, but it quickly passed. Allie tilted her head at you.

“Everything okay?”

“I think so… I just had a feeling for a second.”

“Do you want to call and check on home?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. How bad can things really get if I’m gone for one day?”

You looked at each other for a second and Allie grabbed her own phone from her back pocket.

“I’m calling.”

“Stilinski.”

“Dad, is everything okay there? I just got a feeling.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, sweetheart. You and Allie are being safe?”

“Yep. No assassins here.”

“That’s good. Drive safe and we’ll see you when you get back.”

Allie put her phone away and looked back at you.

“He’s lying, isn’t he?”

“Definitely. But if it was really bad, he’d tell me. Whatever it is, the pack can handle it.”

You and Allie returned home late that night and immediately crashed into your beds. For divine beings who shouldn’t need much sleep, you were both pretty fond of it. When you caught up with the others and asked how the test went, everyone got fidgety and wouldn’t look you in the eye.

“Stiles, how’d it go?”

“Uh… it was fine.”

You looked over at Scott next.

“What about you? You took deep breaths, thought of all the studying you did, and got through it?”

“Sort of.”

You knew Kira was the easiest to pressure for answers, so you moved to stand in front of her. She was trying her best to focus on fiddling with Scott’s hand in hers.

“Kira? How did the test go?”

“... we got quarantined and almost died.”

“Kira!” Stiles looked personally offended, knowing he’d be in the most trouble for lying to you.

“I’m sorry! She’s intimidating!”

“How did that even happen?”

“Another assassin.” Scott took one for the team and explained. “This guy called the Chemist infected us. Malia, Kira, and I hid in the Hale vault from everyone else.”

“Is that all?”

“He almost shot Stiles in the face, but my dad got to him first.”

Allie gave Stiles a look that told him to run. He did exactly that, leaping over the back of the couch to escape the living room. Your dad grabbed your arm as you moved to chase him, only letting go when you all heard the frantic slamming of your brother’s bedroom door.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Allie watched you run after him and your dad looked at the floor.

“Don’t break the door, Y/N!”

“You’re not gonna warn her not to kill Stiles?”

“She’s an angel; I’m sure she can miracle him back to life if she does.”

Allie figured it wasn’t worth pointing out that neither of you were capable of that. You would never actually hurt Stiles, but he was in for a serious lecture.

“Fair point. Now, what else happened?”

“Not much. Lydia’s still working on the last part of the deadpool and we’ll just have to take the test again another day.”

“And moving forward? How are we doing on figuring out who the Benefactor is?”

Scott looked a little sheepish as he answered.

“We kind of have a plan.”

“Is it a good one?”

“Is it ever?”

“True. I don’t know why I asked.”

Scott explained his idea to Allie, who in turn explained it to you once she dragged you out of Stiles’s room nearly an hour later. Stiles had been glad for the break. You had started by yelling at him for not telling you what happened and trying to lie about it. Then you started crying, which made him start crying too. He promised he’d tell you next time he was in danger, which led to a small bit of discussion before Allie came in.

It was agreed that you and Allie would split up for the plan. You would stay with Stiles and the others to watch the security cameras while Allie went with Melissa and Noshiko to look for anyone who might be the Benefactor. It was slow going. You weren’t particularly close with Liam, considering he was the newest to the supernatural, but he tried to strike up a conversation.

“So… Stiles says you’re an angel.”

“Yep.”

“How does that work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you grew up with him, right? So how are you an angel too?”

“I ripped out my grace, fell to earth, got adopted as an infant by the Stilinskis.”

“Oh.”

Stiles was fighting a smile at your blunt answer. You usually made a point of putting others at ease whenever possible, but this kid wasn’t a close friend of yours and you were already trying not to freak out about Scott, so you didn’t have much energy to devote to decorum.

“Sty, is that supposed to look like that?”

You pointed to one of the cameras, where the view of the roof had been replaced by static.

“No. No, it’s not.”

He tried to get the picture back, but nothing happened.

“Where is that?”

“The roof. Someone will have to go check it out.”

“I’ll go.” Kira jumped at the chance to focus on something else.

“Woah, woah. This might not just be a malfunction.”

“That’s why I’m bringing this.” She held up her sword and Stiles nodded in acceptance.

“I’m coming with you.” Liam ran to follow her and you and Stiles shook your heads.

“Kids.”

It didn’t take long for power to go out in the whole hospital. With all the cameras down, you and Stiles went to look for the others. You found Argent first, who had a gun drawn. You both gave him matching looks of offended frustration and watched him put it away again.

“Power’s out in the whole building. We lost all the cameras.”

“Stay with Scott. If you see or hear anything, text me.”

You both went to the morgue and waited. You had a nagging feeling that this plan was going wrong in every possible way and you didn’t like it. When Argent came flying through the doors and crashing to the floor, you were more convinced of it than ever.

“I was right. Stiles, Y/N, get out of here!”

Kate Argent came through the doors next, looking very alive and deserving of a severe beating.

“Get out of the way, Stiles. I’m taking the body.”

You grabbed Argent’s hand and yanked him to his feet, letting him stand beside your brother while you tried not to lunge at Kate.

“Why? Visual confirmation?”

She smirked and shook her head slightly.

“Don’t worry handsome- I’m not the Benefactor.”

“Then what do you want with the body?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

Kate clearly had no interest in telling you anything. When she took another step toward Stiles and the door behind which Scott was laying, you moved. In the blink of an eye, you had her by the throat.

“Someone’s got more guts than the last time we met.”

“Don’t test me.”

“Kate, listen. We have a plan.”

Her eyes drifted to her brother.

“If killing Scott was part of it, you’re worse than me.”

“Pretty sure none of us come close to you, psycho.”

You could see Kate was itching to attack you. She didn’t have a clue what you were, so she had no way of knowing what a bad idea that would be. Stiles decided to jump in again to prevent anyone from actually dying tonight.

“He’s telling the truth. We’re trying to get to the Benefactor.”

“If you didn’t notice, you’re on that list too. And you’re worth more than most.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Then back off. Let us do what we planned.”

Kate looked down to your watch, the timer for Scott down to three minutes.

“Take the berserkers and go.” Argent tried to plead with his sister. “Kate, please. We have a plan.”

You slowly let her go and she turned to leave. Just before she got through the doors, she glanced back at you.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you on the list. I can’t imagine what you might be to earn that high of a bounty.”

“Pray you never find out.”

Kira came running into the morgue as fast as she could. Argent opened the door and pulled out the slab with Scott’s body. She put a hand on his chest and brought him back. Scott jolted up with a short scream, but Kira quickly got his attention.

“What happened? Did it work?”

Liam came in a moment later and told Kira her mom was hurt. While you went with her, Stiles hung back to help Argent fill Scott in on what had happened. Allie looked a bit distraught when you caught up with her. She’d fought as best she could when the berserkers came back, but she hadn’t actually been planning on fighting them again. When you were driving home after Noshiko was put on a helicopter to another hospital, you got her attention.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

“I’m not a guardian, but I am a warrior. I shouldn’t be getting others hurt when I can handle a fight myself.”

“Berserkers aren’t ordinary enemies. You know that. Noshiko chose to fight to help buy us more time. Her getting hurt is not your fault.”

Allie nodded, but you knew she didn’t entirely believe you. Guilt was a difficult thing and you really hated how important it was. You had rarely felt guilt before, when you didn’t understand the human existence. Now you felt it all too often, but it kept you more human than almost anything else.

Next Chapter

#teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x reader series #teen wolf x Stilinski! reader #reader insert #female reader #my writing #guardian angel #guardian angel chapter twenty-eight #haven writes

14 notes · View notes

twomoonstwosuns · 4 years

Text

comfort.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: angst, swearing, age gap (reader is over 18)

word count: 3.0k

a/n: this one hurts a little bit, but don’t worry we’ll get back to fluffy and smutty real quick. feedback very welcome and very much appreciated.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your thumb hovered over the little blue arrow on your phone. It was late, but you wanted to see him…needed to see him.

You knew Poe would be able to take your mind off of the day you had and, though you were very aware that it was a temporary fix, you hoped he could tire you out enough where you could come back to your apartment and just crash. He, unlike your roommates, didn’t know anything about the situation, so you knew he wouldn’t try to make you talk about it and be concerned when you didn’t want to.

Fuck it, you thought as you hit send, asking him if he was awake. As you waited for a response, you tried to come up with a back-up plan in case he wasn’t available. Perhaps your own touch to the memory of that day in the hotel room could tire you out. It wasn’t going to be as good as Poe, hadn’t been since you started seeing each other, but it was better than nothing. And it would make you sleepy.

Your phone vibrated where it lay on your stomach, and you felt some of the weight evaporate when you saw it was Poe and that he was very much awake. You texted back and asked if you could come over. The text screamed desperation, but he was truly the only thing you wanted at that particular moment. You almost started crying again when he texted you back a ‘yes’. You rushed to put your shoes on and grabbed your keys, tiptoeing through the apartment to not wake your roommates.

“Let me guess, late night booty call?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Karé sat at the kitchen table, working on something on her laptop. You felt like a teenager again, getting caught sneaking out of the house.

“I know it’s not the greatest coping mechanism, but…you and Jess asked me earlier if I needed anything and, well, this is it.”

“I’m not judging you.” Karé said, and you knew she was being genuine. “I just want you to feel like you can talk about it.”

“I know I can. And I probably will tomorrow once I’ve slept. But my mind is reeling right now and I know I won’t be able to sleep unless I get my mind off of it. And this is a good way to do it.”

“Just be safe.”

“I always am.”

You were so appreciative of your friends. They hadn’t judged you when you started your friends with benefits relationship with Poe. Granted, they didn’t know it was your professor you were sleeping with, but they never judged you for starting a strictly sexual relationship. You still had no idea if you would ever tell them it was Poe.

Freezing rain was coming down heavy and it wasn’t until you were halfway to Poe’s apartment that you realized you had forgotten a coat, the only barrier between you and the cold being a lightweight sweatshirt. Your sweatshirt was soaking wet and you shivered in the doorway, thankful Poe didn’t make you wait too long before buzzing you in.

The minute Poe opened his door, you launched yourself at him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you kissed him sloppily with everything you had. He was taken aback, but matched your ferocity when his brain caught up with his actions.

“You ok?” He muttered against your lips, having to take a second to breathe as you nearly knocked the breath out of him. You nodded as you took a step back, whipping your shirt over your head.

“Bad day,” you said breathlessly. “Need a distraction.”

Poe caught you when you came at him again, your skin ice cold beneath his hands. He guided you back towards the couch, taking control of the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth. The way his fingers brushed against your skin as he caressed your bare back and the way he was devouring you was the best feeling you had felt all day. The sudden excitement of knowing he was going to make you feel so good brought all of your emotions back up to the surface. Tears gathered in your eyes and you forced yourself to stop relishing in the feeling of bubbling emotion, instead distracting yourself by unbuttoning Poe’s shirt.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Poe pulled away suddenly when he felt wetness on his cheeks and looked at you with a frown. He placed his hands on your arms, pushing you back enough to see that tears had started streaming down your face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine.” You leaned in to kiss him again, but he stopped you.

“You’re crying.”

It was then you acknowledged the wetness on your cheeks. You sighed in annoyance and wiped the trail of water the tears left behind.

“I had a bad day that I just want to forget. I need you to distract me.”

Your hands grabbed onto Poe’s shoulders as you kissed him again, but once again he pulled away. He gently grabbed your wrists and lifted them from his shoulders.

“Not like this.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. You were embarrassed. Poe hadn’t rejected you before and it hurt more than you realized it could. Your next breath shuddered and you hoped that Poe missed it, but the way his eyes studied you told you he didn’t.

“Fine.” You pulled your wrists out of his grasp and stepped around him. “Forget it.”

“Y/N…”

From your anger and sadness to rejection by the person you sought out, everything was beginning to feel like too much. You picked you shirt and keys up off the floor when Poe grabbed your wrist again.

“Y/N, wait—“

“It’s fine, Poe.”

“No, it’s not.” There was finality in his tone, like he wasn’t going to back off until you heard what he said. “I’m not having sex with you when you’re this upset.”

You looked anywhere but at him, stupidity now joining your flurry of emotions.

“But I can’t let you leave like this,” he said as he took your keys from you. “Something’s clearly going on, you’re not in the right state of mind, and you’re going to freeze.”

As if on cue, a shiver ran up your spine and you became aware you were still half naked.

“Stay for a little bit. I’ll get you a warm shirt and throw yours in the dryer.” Poe let go of your wrist. “You don’t have to talk about whatever’s wrong if you don’t want to. You can just hang out here until you feel better.”

Feel better, not calm down. He wasn’t telling you to just get over it and get out. He was sincerely concerned and would let you stay until you could get home safely.

“Ok.”

Poe took your sweatshirt disappeared for a moment. He brought you a black hoodie that reached your mid-thigh when you slipped it on. It smelled like him and it eased you. He nudged you towards the couch, ordering you to sit while he got you something to drink.

You heard soft clicks rush across the hardwood floor and then Beebs was on your lap, attacking your face with kisses. You managed a small smile and a weak laugh as he licked everywhere he could reach. You made yourself comfortable, propping your feet up on the coffee table and allowing yourself to melt into the comfort of the couch. Your attention was on Beebs as you focused your breathing.

Beebs curled up next to you and rested his head on top of your thigh, his eyes closing in content as you scratched the top of his head. Poe appeared in front of you, holding a glass of water and a bottle of whiskey. You grabbed the glass of water, and he set the bottle down on the table as he sat down.

“Are you okay?”

You shrugged absentmindedly, yes and no. You heard Poe suck in a quiet breath, hesitant whether let it out with a string of words or not. He wanted to ask you what happened. Instead, he reached for the remote, thinking a bit of white noise would help get rid of the tense silence. You tensed. This was foreign territory for the two of you. You fucked and you chatted, but not about anything deep or personal. You didn’t even cuddle in the afterglow. Lingering touches or your legs draped across his was the closest you ever got to adding intimacy to your hookups.

“Six months ago, my dad walked out,” you spoke slowly, bringing Poe’s attention back to you. The story was familiar as it left your lips, yet it felt foreign to you as you carefully weeded through every detail. You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on running Beeb’s soft hair through your fingers. “He just up and left without a word. No call, no text, no letter…nothing.”

You expected Poe to start asking questions, but he was silent, allowing you to carry on at your own pace. And you felt comfortable doing so. You turned your body to face him as he did the same, opening up a safe space for this conversation.

“Twenty-eight years of marriage and he just left. Turns out he was sleeping with his secretary.” You let out a dry laugh. “How cliché, right? My sister Tallie and I blamed ourselves for weeks. It seems silly, but we wondered if we were such terrible kids that we did something that set him off and he just got fed up with us.”

Poe shifted uncomfortably. He was holding back words of anger on the tip of his tongue.

“And my mom…” you continued, running your free hand through your hair as if mustering up the courage to go on. “She stayed strong for us, but I can still vividly remember how hard she cried when she was alone in their room. I can’t imagine the kind of pain she went through.”

You wiped a stray tear and sniffled. That was enough to catch Beeb’s attention and he moved from his spot between you and Poe to the middle of your lap, his head resting in the crook of your arm. Poe’s arm stretched across the back of the couch, and he resisted like hell to reach his fingers out and touch your hair.

“We did eventually hear from him,” you continued. “A couple of days later he had his brother come and tell us that he ‘needed some time’. Two weeks later, he stopped by the house and told my mom he wanted a divorce. Tallie was working and I was at a friend’s cabin that week, so we didn’t actually get to talk to him. The divorce was finalized just before Thanksgiving.”

This was the most vulnerable you’d felt in a long time. But you felt safe, like even if you broke down and cried as hard as you had earlier that everything would be ok. Poe did that for you. You don’t know when it happened, but his presence, without any of the emotional stuff attached, had become a source of comfort for you.

“You know we actually thought he was dead?” Your voice cracked as you met Poe’s eyes for the first time since you sat down on his couch. His heart broke for you. He knew the feeling of having a deceased parent and wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone. “That’s how long it was before anyone heard anything from him. My sister actually suggested filing a missing persons report with the police.”

Poe listened intently, but the internal battle in his head was growing louder the more you spoke. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his embrace, whisper everything was going to be ok as he ran his fingers through your hair. The only time he got to hold you like that was while he was inside you and lately he felt like it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more of that, more of you, and it scared him a little bit how attached he was getting.

“Is that who you were talking to today?”

He spoke so softly you barely heard him. The look in his eye wasn’t pity like you half expected. It was sadness that matched your own mixed with disbelief, like he couldn’t believe this story you were telling was true. You nodded.

“Today was the first time I’ve spoken with him since he left. He wanted to explain what happened, why he left. I turned him down. Months and months of nothing from him, having to hear everything through my mother or his siblings…I just didn’t want to hear it.” You sniffled. “Everything I had worked sohard to compartmentalize just came out all at once.”

Your head fell back against the cushion with a quiet thump. Poe reached out and stroked your hair before he could stop himself, and you leaned into his touch.

“Can I do anything?” He asked. You were secretly happy you hadn’t heard an ‘I’m sorry’ from him. The phrase had lost all meaning at this point, having heard it from so many friends and family members. You shook your head.

“No,” you whispered. “This is just fine.”

Silence engulfed the space, but it was much more comfortable than before. Poe continued to stroke your hair with the tips of his fingers, not trusting himself to move any closer. You cherished the moment, your own hand stilling against the sleeping dog on your lap. You didn’t know how long you sat there, the ticking of the clock a cadence in the silence. The beep from the dryer broke through, but neither of you moved.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

He wanted you to say yes and he wanted you to say no. You gave him a soft smile of appreciation and shook your head.

“I should get back home.” Poe hid the disappointment he felt in his chest from showing on his face, though he knew it was the smarter decision. “But thank you for letting me come over so late. I’m sorry if I kept you up.”

“You didn’t. And it’s ok. I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better.”

You both moved at the same time, both hesitating to do so but deciding it was the best idea. Beebs hopped off your lap, stretching his legs before pattering off to Poe’s bedroom to sleep some more. Poe brought you your sweatshirt, still warm from the dryer. You slipped his sweatshirt off and put yours on, wishing it was three times bigger like the one you just had. Poe handed you your keys and walked you to the door.

You paused, unsure of what to do. Usually when you left he would leave you breathless with a fiery kiss, a promise of next time. This was different. How do you part with your fuck buddy after having a deeply personal conversation?

Poe answered your question for you, placing his hand on your cheek and pressing a long, gentle kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savored it, craving the feeling again when he pulled away. You were speechless at the tenderness of the moment.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Night,” you whispered as you walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind you. You walked a little down the hallway before stopping and leaning against the wall in the hallway.

Your heart was still fluttering, the ghost of his kiss still on your forehead. You nearly turned back to his apartment, wondering if it was too late to change your mind and stay the night. But you didn’t, because that’s not what people casually sleeping with each other did. Your forced yourself out of his building and into your car, the streets as quiet as the night as you drove back to your apartment.

You finally felt the exhaustion creeping up on you as you found your apartment door. You wondered if you should skip your class in the morning and allow yourself to sleep as long as your body would let you, but ultimately decided against it. You wouldn’t allow the emotional turmoil your father put you through dictate your life. Light filtered from the kitchen when you stepped inside and you found Karéin the kitchen making tea.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Karésaid. “Plus, I wanted to wait for you. How’re you feeling?”

“Better…” The end of your statement came out almost like a question, making Karé give you a curious look.

“What? Not good?”

“We didn’t actually have sex,” you said, leaning against the cool door of the refrigerator. “He wouldn’t when he saw how upset I was.”

“What a gentleman.” You chuckled, nodding your head as you wholeheartedly agreed with her. “So, what’s the problem?”

You looked at your hands, twisting them nervously. Everything about the night had confirmed your own suspicions, ones you had had since you saw him over winter break. The next part was being able to finally admit it out loud.

“I think I have feelings for him.”

tag list [open] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies

#poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron reader insert #poe dameron #poe dameron angst #poe dameron modern au #poe dameron fanfiction

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jjyusmile · 4 years

Text

picnics and lavender | kevin moon

pairing: kevin x {gender-neutral} reader!

word count: 2,022

warnings: none! just fluffy keb

requested?: yes!

notes: soooo apparently I got a little carried away, but thank you @dinosvvrs for requesting this! eeeee kevin is a smol soft boy and I loved writing this so much hehehe enjoyyy

_____________________________________________________________________

he told you to meet him here. the slight breeze grazed over the dimly lit lavender fields that surrounded you as you lay on the plaid blanket you had brought, under strict orders from kevin.

your project took up most of your time. with your deadline coming in just a month, you locked yourself away in your studio for numerous nights on end. you had even become friendly with the out of hours security that roamed the halls of your department building. they often found you huddled over your work space with your face smushed against an abundance of utensils and papers.

it was some day in may, you knew that much. your phone ran out of battery a few days ago and you hadn’t had much human contact in a while. but your instruction to be where you are right now was left on a small folded note left on your desk this morning when you were out at the convenience store buying snacks for the day ahead.

meet me in the lavender field behind school at 11pm. bring yourself and your favourite blanket. i promise I won’t keep you too long. - mk

and so here you were.

11:10pm. and no sign of human life whatsoever in your near surroundings.

the overgrown trees on the outskirts the field were occupied by groups of students who hung out after hours. the dull chatter made the late hour feel less daunting.

your eyes wandered the field until approaching footsteps became louder from the direction behind you.

“it’s 11:11 – you gotta make a wish.”

a brightly lit kevin stood behind you with a huge smile covering his face. wrapped across his shoulder down to his waist was a string of fairy lights that illuminated his features that lifted in joy upon seeing you. a wicker basket was overflowing with snacks that dangled from his arm lazily. in his hand, he balanced two glasses and a bottle of champagne lodge under his armpit.

his eyes glistened like he was seeing you for the first time. edging slowly toward the blanket, he knelt and placed the items in front of you carefully. the wicker basket sat out of sight beside him as he pulled out an array of your favourite snacks – numerous variations of maki rolls, sticky rice, kimchi and your all-time favourite, cauliflower wings in different flavours.

“so what did you wish for?”

you pondered for a second – you were too distracted by seeing him for the first time in what felt like months to wish for anything.

“I don’t need to wish for anything. everything will come as it needs to, it all happens for a reason. what about you? what did you wish for?”

he looked up at you with sparkling eyes once more.

“happiness.” he paused. “for both of us.”

a warmth spread over your chest like molten lava cruising up the walls of a volcano. he had a way of doing this. he could say the most mundane thing and it was like your world had been set on fire. although you had only been together for two years, your love for one another began when you were in school together. your parents were best friends which ultimately granted you both the same path.

while your attention was on his last words, kevin had placed all types of snacks in front of you. the radiant colours that were spread in front of you echoed the words he always told you – healthy food, healthy mind.

his thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze you. the way he paid attention to intricate details that made his small gestures more meaningful.

he had wrapped the fairy lights that once hugged his body around the blanket which lit up your surroundings and highlighted his face with a golden glow.

you were biting into your last spicy avocado roll when kevin turned to you with a serious look that overtook his features as he took a sip of the bubbling liquid from the champagne flute.

“I take it all this time staring at a screen and being productive has made you a little forgetful, huh?”

from the basket behind him, he pulled out two homemade cupcakes that were decorated in dark chocolate icing. one had pale yellow cursive that read ‘happy birthday’ while the other had a small heart delicately drawn beside a single candle that kevin lit just as you realised what he was doing.

“happy birthday, my love.”

his smile was radiating as the flame flickered in the light breeze. you had completely lost track of time while immersed wholly in your project. you felt guilty that your boyfriend had gone through this effort when you had barely seen him in weeks.

your eyes filled with overwhelming tears as he gently nudged the cakes towards you in encouragement to blow out of the flame. you took a closer look at him to memorise this moment – the bright smile that adorned his features, the way his hair peaked out from under his beanie, the way the silver chains layering over his black sweatshirt were flickering in the light.

you wrapped your hands around his wrists to pull yourself toward him to lean closer to the cakes. closing your eyes, you pondered what to wish for. you had just told him only an hour ago that you didn’t need to wish for anything. but this time you didn’t want to be selfish – kevin became your whole world when you were only kids, and you wanted to give back to him.

you squeezed your eyes tightly as you blew out a quick breath toward the flame as you wished for every happiness for the boy in front of you, you wished for his dream of becoming a singer to come true, you wished for his goal to move to south korea to become a reality. you wished for everything you ever wanted for this man to come true.

as you opened your eyes, the glow from kevin’s face had disappeared but his face had come much closer to your own than it was before. his closeness showed that the glimmer of emotion in his eyes was overpowering as his dusty brown irises glistened close to your own.

he held your gaze with a cheeky smile on your face. “soooo, what did you wish for?”

you looked at him for a moment. in the years of your friendship and the few that you were together as a couple, he was so selfless when it came to you. moments like this made you realise how much he has done for you; he always paid attention and gave you everything you needed. your wish would be kept a secret between you and whoever was going to grant it. if he found out that you used your birthday wish on him, he would make you take it back and make another wish, selflessly.

“oh- you know. of course, a distinction on my project.” your eyes flickered across his face to see if he knew you were lying. but you were surprised when he leaned forward and placed a small peck of his lips on your nose. he quickly retreated and reached into his pocket.

“you don’t need a wish for that, silly – it’s already coming true, I know it!”

you scooted closer toward him with a slight nudge to his shoulder. “you’re the only one who has ever had faith in me, kev. thank you for tonight, I really needed it.”

as he turned his attention toward you, he snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer and placed an envelope in your lap.

“what’s this?”

“it was the bucket list we made when we started college. I just wanted to give it to you today to remind you of all you’ve already done, and all you have left to come!”

you rolled your eyes at his mention of ‘we’ – it was your bucket list that kevin took upon himself to edit. his smile was back as you gazed at him, but this time it was shy. his thoughtfulness completely threw you every time, but it didn’t stop you reaching up to kiss him. kevin was caught off guard for a moment, but recovered quickly to return the quick kiss.

you pulled away and kept your eyes on him for a moment – he looked at you with an adoring look which you knew mirrored your own.

after a moment, you pulled away and reached for the envelope and opening it to see your future goals scribbled onto a scrap piece of paper.

my college bucket list! kevin moon’s love’s college bucket list!

☑ start college!

☐ get my driver’s license

☐ finish my final project with a distinction!

☑ go out to a club (update: I did not enjoy it because kevin wasn’t there)

☑ start journaling

☐ go for a picnic in a lavender field

☐ move to south korea – with the love of my life. with kevin ♥

the slight edits to it made you giggle at the memory of kevin hovering over you with a marker while you were writing this in your first year.

“go for a picnic in a lavender field … so that explains tonight.”

“well, I know you would have bene happy with a takeaway and a the office marathon, but I wanted to make you smile. and seeing you grinning right now means it worked…”

your hand shot up to cover your growing smile to tease him, but his own grin made you both crack completely losing control of your expressions. your cackles echoed through the field.

you lifted your glass toward kevin and awaited a clink from his glass. moments like this didn’t come very often – a moment where it was just the two of you with no distractions apart from the slight muffling of a hooting owl.

“thank you kevin. I’ve loved tonight.”

“and I love you.”

the flip in your heart proved that no matter how much time passed or how many times he said it, you would never get used to the fact that this man loved you.

the blush that grew across your cheeks were lightly brushed by the palm of kevin’s hand. you brought your own hand up to graze his and intertwined your fingers with his. the warmth of his hand made the bitter evening more bearable.

“let’s go home.”

as you walked back to kevin’s car hand in hand, you fiddled with the dimly lit lights that kevin had wrapped around your body to ensure that he ‘didn’t lose you on the way back’. he stopped just outside of the passenger door to open it for you. he placed the wicker basket in the back with the empty containers and blanket before untwining the fairy lights from your body.

“you know… once you’ve checked off ‘picnic date with the best boyfriend in the world’ off your list, you should think about which one you should check off next. you can’t keep scrounging off me.”

he closed the door behind you as you got into the passenger seat leaving you dumbfounded. opening the envelope again, you looked for the next logical thing on the list.

I’m in the middle of finishing my project… I can’t move to south korea just yet…

as the driver’s door opened and your boyfriend got into the car chuckling, your gaze fell on the next check on your list:

☐ get my driver’s license

you rolled your eyes and huffed as kevin’s muffled giggles surrounded the car while attempting to get out of your threatening grip.

“just drive, idiot.”

your tone was mockingly annoyed, accompanied by a loving smile directed at the man you loved most in the world. his hand reached for yours and he pulled it to his lips placing a kiss on your knuckles. your intertwined hands balanced on the gear stick as oneus’ kiseki started to echo through the car. the scent of lavender flowers that once overwhelmed your senses got fainter as kevin pulled out of the parking space and you headed home with all smiles.

#kevin moon #the boyz fluff #the boyz #the boyz au #the boyz scenario #requested scenario #kevin moon fluff #kevin moon au #kevin moon scenario #moon hyungseo #moon hyungseo fluff #the boyz kevin #the boyz kevin moon #kpop scenario #kpop au #deobiwritersnet

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universe-n-3276 · 4 years

Text

Carrying the Moon

Chapter 19

Robbe was pissed. Rationally, he knew, Sander couldn't take him aside to explain what he and Charlotte had talked about. It would have been rude, although it was also rude to break into someone else's house, without giving all the tenants an explanation. Robbe had disappeared earlier with Hero, leaving no room or time for Charlotte to explain herself, but that situation was making him feel uncomfortable, and he needed to get out. When he put Hero to bed, he went back to the living room, and the twins seemed to have cleared things up. They were both in a good mood, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened.

Sander would always forgive Charlotte right away, and Robbe couldn't stand it. He thought that the girl would always give for granted their relationship, because, sooner or later, despite everything, he would come back to her. Robbe had seen Sander struggle for two years. He had seen his thoughts keep him awake at night and make him sick to his stomach. He stayed awake with him and cuddled him, made him some herbal teas, kept him warm in his arms, but nothing had been as effective as those twenty minutes spent with Charlotte. Sander wasn't rational when it came to her, and Robbe knew it too well.

Robbe stared at the slice of pizza on his plate, he had barely eaten. His hunger had vanished as soon as he crossed the threshold and saw Charlotte, but he tried to eat something, while the twins chatted about this and that, without paying any attention to him.

“Lucas and Jens got engaged today!” “Really?” “Yes, we were helping them to move out and suddenly Jens got on his knee.” “Move out?”

Despite everything, Charlotte was much less dramatic than she was two years ago. Her reactions were more composed. It had been odd not to see her slam her hands on the table, as soon as she discovered that her best friend was engaged. She hadn't screamed or raised her voice. The girl simply smiled and resumed drinking her diet coke.

“They live in this building now.” “I'm gonna congratulate them.” “You should go with her, Sander.”

It was one of the few things Robbe had said during that evening, and it sounded more like an order than an invitation. Sander paid attention to the tone in his fiancee’s voice, and he frowned, trying to understand what was happening, but Robbe's flat expression prevented him from reading him as easily as usual. He could imagine it was about Charlotte, so he didn't investigate any further. Sander looked at his sister, while a thousand questions began to crowd his head.

“Yeah, alright. Let's go.”

Charlotte had called Alice to warn her that she was in town, and she had insisted that her daughter join her in her new home to spend the night there. The girl had gladly accepted, first of all, because despite breaking into their house, she didn't want to disturb Sander and Robbe, and then she wanted to give them some privacy. She knew they needed to talk and that they were both probably waiting to be left alone to do so. So, when the girl took her things and said goodbye to her brother, Sander closed the door and went immediately to his room. Ever since Robbe had told him to go with his sister to Jens and Lucas' house, he had felt anxious. He hated arguing with Robbe, but most of all, he hated not being able to fix things right away. He needed to know what was going through his fiancee’s mind. What was hurting him. Sander found the other already in bed, and when he sat down, Robbe didn’t even look up from the laptop he had on his legs. Sander sighed, placing his head on Robbe’s shoulder.

“Talk to me, please.”

The boy closed his laptop a little too hard, but he settled down to let Sander snuggle up, and he did it immediately, of course. He took the other's hand in his own, starting to draw small circles on the back of it with his thumb.

“You can't think straight because you missed her too much.” “Meaning?” “I'm not comfortable when she's around our baby. We don't know what she wants, and you just let her in once again, as nothing happened.”

Sander wrapped his arms around Robbe's waist and gave him a feather-light kiss on his neck in an attempt to relax him. All the feelings his fiancee was having were valid and justified. It was true, that he had let Charlotte come back into their lives too easily, but she was his sister and he couldn't help but trust her. Still, he was happy to have Robbe watching his back. He felt protected.

“I understand you’re still scared, but my sister promised, she won’t do anything to hurt us.” “We can't trust her. Charlotte had always been impulsive, and she had been away for two years. You don't know her anymore.” “What do you want me to do?”

Robbe closed his eyes, sighing in frustration, and brought his hands to his temples, starting to massage them. Within a week away from their marriage, they should both have been stupidly happy. They should be focusing on their relationship. Instead, they always found themselves thinking about the same thing.

“I just wanna sign that stupid adoption papers.” “I know, but we still need to wait for you to turn 25.” “Then you should do it first. You’ll be 25 in a month.” “Robbe...” “I can't risk it. I won’t lose my son because of this.” “It won’t happen, okay? But I'll do whatever makes you happy.”

Sander sat up and hugged Robbe, pulling him close. He knew the other was feeling vulnerable at that moment, and he needed to be comforted. He put his fingers in his hair and kissed his forehead, while Robbe slipped his hands under Sander’s sweatshirt to touch his bare skin. When Robbe was feeling fragile, he always sought physical contact and Sander was glad to please him.

“I’ve never thought about us as his uncles until I saw her tonight. The truth hit me so hard I wanted to cry.”

Hearing Robbe's pain come to life in the form of those words, hurt him, because he realized that there was something deeper, than the fear that Hero would be taken away from them. Robbe's pain was linked something real, that unfortunately, couldn’t be changed, even if they wanted to, and probably one day, they would have faced it with their child, but, he was sure, they would find a way to make it as painless as possible for everyone, loving Hero as if it had been genetically their son.

“We’re his papa and his dad. Jens and Lucas are his uncles. He’s our son, we’ll legally adopt him soon. He’ll grow up so happy with us, and at some point, he’s gonna get a brother or a sister, with your doe eyes, your dimples, and your curls.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on Robbe's lips, after hearing those words. He lifted his face and looked at Sander dreamily, imagining their future together. There was still time, and it would be years before all those dreams would come true, but they both couldn't wait to live them.

“Hero is always gonna be my favorite, and I’m gonna die if he’ll look like you at 16. I won’t ever be able to say him no.”

Sander shook his head, laughing, and pressed his lips to his fiancee’s. In his heart, he hoped that Hero would take Robbe's calm and responsible personality because otherwise, they would have had a hard time dealing with the most spoiled teenager in the world.

“We're naming the next one Bowie.” “Sander, no.”

Robbe loved Sander more than anything, and overall, he couldn’t resist his puppy eyes. So when his fiancee asked him to let Charlotte and Hero get to know each other, he had no choice but agree. In general, things hadn't gone badly. Robbe hadn't taken his eyes off the two for a second, expecting to see who knows what atavistic bond, but nothing strange had happened. Hero had behaved as usual. He was shy at first but then he offered the girl his toys. He wasn't as obsessed with her as he was with Jens and Lucas. Whenever the two had joined him and Charlotte, Hero had devoted most of his attention to them. Thus, Robbe should have been calmer. Instead, he was sitting there, pretending to read a book, while keeping an eye on the girl and the baby. He felt stupid to feel all that jealousy, but he just couldn't help it. When he saw the girl, take Hero in her arms and make him sit on her lap, he could no longer contain himself.

“Can you stop treating him like a doll? He doesn't know you. And you don't know if he's uncomfortable being held by you like that.” “I guess he would be crying if he was uncomfortable.” “You can't just assume things.”

Charlotte let go of Hero and looked Robbe straight in the eye. She had a surprised expression on her face, that became regretful after a while. The girl sighed, biting her lip, remaining silent for a few seconds, probably looking for the right words to use in that delicate moment.

“Robbe, look, I'm not trying to do anything here. I know he's your son. I'm just trying to get to know him. He's my twin brother's son too.” “Your twin brother is about to become my husband in three days.” “What does it mean now?”

The girl raised her eyebrows, completely blown away by Robbe's response, who by now, due to the anger and frustration accumulated in the previous days, had lost all restraints. At that moment, for him, it was about Hero as well as Sander.

“You always did that, Charlotte. You claim people as your proprieties. Sander and Lucas are not 17 anymore. They are men, and they can’t run to the rescue every time you want.”

Robbe immediately regretted his words. He had probably been too harsh, even though that was exactly what he had wanted to say for years. It was the truth. Things had always been that way. Whenever Charlotte behaved irresponsibly, there was always someone ready to get her out of trouble. The last time was when she left Hero and disappeared for two years.

“I don't need to be rescued.” She said it in a barely audible voice, lowering her gaze. She stayed still for a few moments, but when she suddenly regained control of herself, that flame of pride, that was typical of Charlotte, shone in her eyes again. "Why are you attacking me like this? Tell me what’s wrong, so we can talk like adults.”

Robbe had never been so happy that Hero didn't fully understand what they were talking about, but even though neither of them raised their voices, the child sensed that something was wrong, because he kept shifting his gaze from his dad to Charlotte.

“You came back with no explanation after two years! How am I supposed to trust you, if I don’t know your plan?” “I don't have a plan. I don't even know how am I adjusting to this situation. It's weird to me as much as it is to you.” “It is very weird to me. It's making me question my role in his life.”

That sentence had come out of his mouth almost like a confession, and realizing it, the boy sighed, burying his face in his hands. He didn't like feeling that way, insecure, nervous, and fragile. He had stopped feeling like that for some time now. Robbe had left that part of himself to his adolescence, to a dark period that he would have liked to forget, but instead, it always resurfaced somehow. Charlotte rose to her feet and went to sit on the sofa next to Robbe, placing her hand on his knee and squeezing it as encouragement.

“You are his dad. That’s not in question, Robbe. It will never change. I made a choice two years ago, and I'm not regretting it. I'm happy you and Sander are his fathers. I know he has a loving family, and he's going to be safe for the rest of his life.”

Charlotte smiled softly. She had watery eyes, like Robbe, who nodded, taking the girl's hand in his own. Maybe he shouldn't have been so childish with her because, after all, he would have been eternally grateful to Charlotte and her impulsiveness. Thanks to her he had the best gift that life had given him. Hero suddenly walked over to them and pointed to Robbe with his index finger, looking the girl in the eye.

“Dad.” “Yes, baby! He's your dad! Next time you're in doubt, Robbe, remember to ask this little bean here first. After all, his opinion is the only one that matters.”

Robbe had been waiting for that day for years, yet at that moment, alone, in his bed, he couldn’t help but be nervous. It was the night before the wedding, and he and Sander had decided by mutual agreement to spend apart the few hours that separated them from the big day. When they had said goodbye, and Sander had left the house to go to sleep upstairs, at Lucas and Jens’, Robbe had instantly regretted that decision. The house was strangely quiet. Hero was already sleeping in his room, and Robbe didn't know what to do. Everything was ready for the small ceremony: his black suit was ironed and hung in the closet, together with his tie and shirt. He had already showered, but he felt too restless to watch a movie or read anything. He decided to make himself a relaxing herbal tea and crawl into bed, hoping to get some sleep, but the truth was that sleeping without Sander's body pressed against his was not easy at all. He changed his position for the hundredth time and snorted, pondering whether he should move to the sofa to watch some boring television program, when the bedroom door opened, revealing Sander’s figure, smiling mischievously.

“What are you doing here? You were supposed to sleep upstairs!” “I'm not superstitious, and besides, I miss you.” “We saw each other two hours ago.”

Sander closed the door behind him, turned on the little lamp on the bedside table, and slipped under the covers, pulling Robbe closer, to hold him against his body. He kissed him softly and then, just before answering, he pouted adorably.

“I know, but I'm too happy about tomorrow and I needed to share my excitement with you.” “You're cute.”

Robbe cupped Sander’s face with both of his hands, to look him in the eye. In just a few hours, he would become a husband for that man in front of him, and he couldn’t believe his luck. That smart, caring, talented, sweet, loud, soft, handsome man. His best friend. The love of his life. The father of his son. His soulmate. They had grown up together, hand in hand, and in a few hours, they would have sworn eternal love in front of everyone.

“You okay, angel?”

Sander smiled slightly, pushing away the hair from the other’s forehead, holding his gaze, until Robbe nodded, pressing theirs together. He reached out to turn off the light on the nightstand and straddled Sander, pulling off his shirt. He left a trail of wet kisses on his chest, going up towards the neck, while the other sighed heavily, bending his head to leave Robbe room. Sander slipped both hands under the elastic of his fiancee's boxers and squeezed his butt, pushing his hips upwards at the same time, in search of some friction. Robbe let out a moan and pressed the last kiss on the soft spot behind Sander's ear.

“I want you.”

Robbe woke up shivering, feeling the cold air hit his bare skin. Still, with her eyes closed, he reached out for Sander's warm body, whimpering when he felt the other side bed empty. He slowly opened his eyes to find Sander sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on the sweatpants that had been hurriedly thrown on the floor the night before, along with the rest of their clothes.

“Where are you going?”

Sander turned his face and looked over his shoulder, giving Robbe a bright smile.

“Sorry I didn’t mention earlier, but I have to get married in a few hours.” “Too bad. I hope he's handsome.” “Yeah, he is. He has the prettiest doe eyes and the cutest dimples.”

Robbe smiled, slipping almost completely under the covers, too cold to try to be the least bit sexy. He let out from his warm shelter only his head, and his fiancee reached out to caress her hair.

“Tell me again why we decided to go there separately.” “I promise it's gonna be worth it, Robbe.” “Yeah, you told the same thing about sleeping apart the night before the wedding.”

Sander laughed and leaned towards his fiancee to kiss his lips one last time. He was thrilled at the thought that the next time he saw Robbe, he would become his husband. But leaving that bed was being a torture. He kissed Robbe’s lips again, then the tip of his nose, cheek, and forehead. He stood up and felt butterflies in his belly, looking at the beautiful man in front of him.

“Can't wait to see you there. I love you.” “I love you too.”

Jens watched his best friend get up from the couch for the tenth time in less than five minutes, fixing the knot of his tie, which was already perfect. He stood up too and walked over to Robbe, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down a bit. The dressing room was quiet and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“How are you?”

He asked looking at Robbe through the mirror. They had never been so stylish, both wearing tight black suits. Their hair was strangely in order, especially Robbe’s, who had been resisting for hours the urge to stick his fingers inside it, as he did whenever he was nervous. As soon as Sander was gone, he felt his anxiety building up. Luckily he'd had to take care of Hero, otherwise, he would surely have a panic attack. When Alice had come to take the child, Jens had immediately joined him.

“I’m on the verge of crying since I showered this morning. I’ve never been this emotional in my entire life.”

Jens smiled, trying to imagine how he would feel on his wedding day. Since he had proposed to Lucas a week ago, they had started talking about it all the time and he was tempted to drag his fiancee somewhere to get married in secret, but that morning, that thought had become terribly irresistible.

“I'm happy to be here by your side right now. I'm thinking about the first time we met, and now you're about to get married.” “Jens, you're not helping. At all.”

Robbe looked away from the mirror, looking for something to distract himself, but nothing seemed tempting enough. He wished he had a drink to calm himself down, but at the same time, he wanted to be completely sober and remember every second of that day. When there was a knock on the door, Robbe immediately turned himself to see his mother's face peeking out. He smiled warmly and walked over to hold her in a tight hug. He was happy to have her there. She had told him, she would never miss his wedding but they both knew her health conditions could change within hours.

“You look handsome, honey.” “Thanks, mama.” “I met Sander while I was coming here, he was over the moon.” “I can't wait to see him.”

The two released the embrace and then the woman greeted Jens in the same way. She seemed really calm and serene, and Robbe couldn’t help but feel a warm wave of joy in his chest. During the darkest times of his adolescence, he would never have imagined finding his soul mate, let alone getting married and being surrounded by people who would accept him and shower him with love, including his mother.

“I'm gonna see if Sander is ready to go.”

Jens left his best friend and his mother alone to talk in Robbe's quiet and peaceful room, to enter Sander's, where the situation was completely different. Sander, who was sitting dramatically in a chair, held his head in his hands as utter chaos surrounded around him. Charlotte and Lucas played with Hero, making him scream in amusement, while Alice and Theo, Sander's father, were discussing something, sipping champagne. Jens approached Lucas to kiss his cheek, and Sander, who had only noticed Jens' presence at that moment, raised his head.

“Lucas, can you stop checking your fiancee's butt?” “Sorry, can't help.” “Butt.”

Hearing Hero say that word, the room fell into dead silence and everyone began to look into each other's eyes, only to burst out laughing immediately afterward. Sander rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“Awesome. A nice new word! Perfect to scream today during the ceremony, right?” “Sander, calm down. Why are you freaking out all of a sudden?”

Charlotte frowned, alarmed by her brother's strange behavior. Everyone expected to see the boy full of energy and happiness, but at that moment he had a black cloud over his head.

“I just wanna see him. I need him to stay grounded, but I can't right now because I'm supposed to go out first and wait for him.” “Just stop with this. You guys should walk there together with your baby. That’s how you and Robbe always did everything. Together.”

Sander looked his sister in the eye and nodded. Suddenly it all made more sense. Being apart had always been a mistake for the two of them, and it had never led to anything good. It wasn’t the right time to start changing things. The boy took Hero in his arms and walked out the door, quickly crossing the hallway, entering Robbe's room without knocking. When he saw him, Sander gasped feeling his knees give in and his head spin, because everything clicked. In a few minutes, he was going to marry the love of his life. He put Hero on the floor, who immediately ran to hug his dad, and closed the door behind him, leaning against it, trying to save in his memory, the image of Robbe at that moment. He was just perfect.

“Sander? What are you doing here?” “Robbe, you look-” “Don't you dare. I'm holding my tears since this morning.”

Robbe pointed his index finger at the other for a few seconds, looking him in the eyes, until Sander made the gesture of closing his lips with an invisible zipper, then Robbe smiled at him, shaking his head. He took Hero up and went to his fiancee, cupping his cheek with his hand, smiling softly at him. Both of them were emotional and had watery eyes. They lost a few minutes, savoring each other with their gaze. It was one of the best moments of their life and they both wanted to enjoy it and acknowledge their own emotions. Sander tilted his head towards Robbe's hand and closed his eyes, feeling more relaxed. He was still amazed by how his body reacted to the other’s presence. As soon as Robbe entered his orbit, it was as if something inside him knew that everything would be fine.

“I was freaking out without you, and Charlotte suggested we should walk out together with Hero because that’s the only way we work.” “I'm happy your sister is smarter than us.” “Me too.” “You're stunning, by the way. Although, I can't wait to take your black suit off tonight.”

They smiled and Sander wrapped his arms around Robbe's waist, resting his head on his shoulder and looking Hero in the eye. The baby had calmed down too, as soon as his dad had picked him up. Perhaps there was really something in the Driesen's DNA that made them react that way in Robbe’s presence. Sander wished he had a button to fast-forward the whole ceremony and party. He wanted to be alone with the love of his life. A little drunk on wine, happiness, and tiredness, with loose ties, half-unbuttoned shirts, tight in each other's hug, dancing to an imaginary song, in their bedroom. What he wanted most from that day wasn't the celebration, but the way he knew he and Robbe would feel closer, like they belonged to each other a little more, for the rest of their lives.

That idyll in Sander's mind was interrupted by a knock on the door behind him, and Lucas's voice brought him back to reality.

“It's time!”

Robbe offered him the most breathtaking smile ever. He took his shaky hand and squeezed it in his own. Sander didn't know how he could get through the whole ceremony, given the way he was already feeling. He wanted to tell Robbe everything he had in his mind and heart. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, that he was happy, that he was the luckiest man on earth. That growing up with him had been the best thing that happened to him. He wanted to thank him for teaching him love. For becoming his family. For every gesture, and every word that had saved him from his darkest moments. For always keeping his heart safe, for forgiving him, and for always making him feel at home. For making him feel truly himself. He wanted to tell him all of that and a billion other things more, but he knew his voice would fail him as soon as he tried to say more than two words, so he said the one thing, that could sum up every day of their past, present and future life.

“Together?” “Together.”

[previous] / [epilogue]

#wtfock fic #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #robbe x sander #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapter 19 #carrying the moon

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pronouncingitwang · 4 years

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pre-canon Jon/Georgie | 4.3K words | for @the-magnace-archives

“Laundry detergent is practically a self-contained emulsion—not that it has to be a mixture of anything, but it has a hydrophilic and a hydrophobic end,” says Jonathan-Sims-but-I-usually-go-by-Jon-oh-and-it’s-nice-to-meet-you-too, and Georgie grins. She hadn’t expected much when she dragged herself out tonight, prompted more by the vague feeling that she really ought to make some friends this year (apparently, her tutees don’t count, thanks Mum) than any real desire to do so. Then, she’d looked across Balliol Bar to see the student who’d interrupted their Modern-ish Lit prof in lecture yesterday, holding a briefcase in his lap and scowling at his beer as if it too wasn’t planning to analyze Jane Austen through a post-colonialist lens this year. Georgie had headed over as a gesture of BAME Literature student solidarity, and now it’s been an hour and she’s still here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of eye contact, which gives Georgie plenty of opportunity to observe. None of his initial red flags—being dressed like a professor on TV, for one—have proven to be signs of a deeper rottenness yet. There’s something in Jon’s gestures—abrupt, abortive, like he’s holding himself back—that assures Georgie that he’s not just doing this as an ego boost. This is all to say that the last three hours of banter and infodumping have been wholly pleasant. Probabilistically, it can’t last.

“Do- do you want to go back to mine?” Jon asks, and god does Georgie hates being proven right sometimes. It’s not that Jon’s unattractive, per se—Alex would have called him “hot in a murder victim kind of way” (and the memory of her voice hurts, but less than it would’ve a year ago)—but Georgie had hoped for a little more class. Plus, even if Jon seems harmless and even if Georgie's not scared, she'd rather not run the risk of being called a bitch tonight. She starts scanning for nearest exits.

Something about her silence must’ve clued Jon in because he quickly exclaims, “Not like that! God, sorry, not like that.”

Georgie pauses in her room surveyal. “Oh?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant that- that I’d like to keep talking to you, but it’s really loud here and I can’t think of anywhere quieter that’s open right now. I promise. But in retrospect, I can... I can see how that might’ve sounded.”

He looks earnest enough, and a little flushed as well. Georgie wants to—does—believe him. But she takes a second to size Jon up anyway. Between the eyebags, height (or lack thereof), and twig limbs, he looks like someone she could defend herself against if needs be. Also, she kind of does want to learn more about emulsifiers, or just watch him as he talks about them.

“Well, as long as you mean it—” “I do.” “Then, let’s go.”

(Georgie wakes up seven hours later with a crick in her neck and an Oxford sweatshirt she doesn’t own draped over her shoulders. Her hair’s a mess—she hadn’t pineappled it last night, and the back of this chair(? yeah, it’s a chair) is definitely not silk—and the time is… shit. Oh, and there’s Jon, perched on his bed and looking at her.

“You, ah, fell asleep during the ghosts debate? I didn’t know whether or not to wake you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Georgie says, rolling her neck and wincing. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

“Tea?” Jon asks, holding out a mug Georgie’s almost certain was just in the godforsaken microwave. Not that she hasn’t done the same thing on many an occasion.

“Sorry,” Georgie says, “I should probably be going; I’m gonna be late for a lecture. But before I leave—do you want to do this again tomorrow?”)

Georgie spends some time deliberating over when to pop the question. It’s not fear holding her back; it’s practicality. There’s only a small window of feeling—after “certain she wants this” but before “starting to think losing Jon’s company would require her to take another gap year”—where taking the risk is worth it, and the second stage is coming up much faster than anticipated. (She’s never thought of herself as someone who falls for people fast—she hadn’t even realized her feelings for Alex until it was far too late—but now this. Maybe it’s another side effect of getting a philosophy lesson from a corpse. Or maybe it’s just a Jon thing.) All in all, it’s only been three weeks after their first meeting before she asks.

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“What?” Jon asks, eyes jolting from his book to scan his room for uninvited apparitions. They’d both been unusually absorbed in their readings for the past hour, only interrupting the silence with scoffs and huhs.

“No, like, are you seeing anyone else romantically?” Jon frowns, and a thread of doubt worms its way into Georgie’s throat. “That is what we’re doing, right?” Granted, lunch meet-ups in the dining hall that spill over into long and unproductive study sessions might not scream “date,” but there’d also been a fair amount of (well, okay, Georgie-initiated) arm-around-the-shoulder action a few times. Also, hand-holding, of the fingers-intertwined variety.

“Oh. Um, yes, we’re romantically involved, or I suppose I should say that I hoped we were and didn’t know how to ask for clarification”—note to self: communicate clearer in future, Georgie thinks—“and no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Georgie had thought as much, but the confirmation is nice. “Cool. Me neither. Want to keep doing that?”

“Seeing each other?”

“And not anyone else, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe even start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um.” Jon’s leg starts to bounce, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. Georgie waits.

“It’s not that-” Jon begins, then cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. I just—I have a… ground rule. That you may not be happy about.”

“Just one?”

“What?” Jon looks startled out of his worry for a second, which Georgie counts as a success.

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking about boundaries, I’ve got plenty. Routines that I’d need you to work around, stuff I don’t want to talk about, and if you’re ever even slightly sympathetic to the Tories…”

Jon doesn’t even laugh at the last one, and she knows he’s not a Cameron cocksucker. Something’s really bothering him.

“This one is… a pretty big deal.”

Georgie tries to keep her tone reassuring. “Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

“Okay,” Jon says, “okay, yeah,” then nods decisively. “I’m… not going to have sex with you.”

What?

Jon continues, hands fluttering nervously as he explains. “I mean, I can’t say for certain that I’ll never change my mind, but if we’re doing this, it should be under the assumption that I won’t. And it’s not—it’s not a you thing, I swear, it’s just the thought of doing that with—with anyone is just…” he shudders slightly, and Georgie gives him a sympathetic wince. “And I know that’s a dealbreaker with a lot of people. I think I’m—well, it’s called asexuality, there’s some books I found if you don’t believe me, here, I’ll write the titles down—” Jon reaches for his briefcase, presumably to find paper and pen, but Georgie grabs his hand before he can.

“Jonathan,” she says. He tightens a little at the sound, and damn if that doesn’t near break her heart. “Jon. I believe you. And”—she squeezes his palm—“I still want to be with you.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“Completely. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved?” Georgie says, realizing as she replies just how true the words are. “I’m not sure how I feel about sex yet either, really. I’d wondered, each time I’ve been over, if you’d try to… and then you never did, and I was always glad. I’m not like you, I don’t think—the thought doesn’t repulse me, it just… might not be something I’m ready for yet.”

“But you think you’ll want to later?”

Georgie shrugs. “Well, yes and no? People are hot, but even if I changed my mind about sex, I wouldn’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me, and I doubt I’d be so horny that we’d need to renegotiate our relationship. I’ve been doing just fine dealing with everything single-handedly. Or,” she amends, “sometimes double-handedly.”

And there it is: Jon laughs, a rusty exhale that makes Georgie smile more than anything.

“So…” she whispers, bumping her nose against Jon’s, “Unless my boyfriend has any more objections…”

“Just to—just to clarify. That’s me?”

Despite her best efforts, a giggle escapes Georgie’s throat. “Yes.”

“Well. In that case. He does not.” Jon says. “Oh. Except. Can I kiss you?” he asks, which conveniently answers one of Georgie’s unvoiced questions.

“Absolutely.”

Their lips meet despite Jon’s grin, but only because Georgie’s smiling just as wide as he is.

That conversation, it seems, marks the beginning of Jon-initiated physical affection. Georgie had assumed before that his lack of cuddliness was fully a result of touch sensitivity, but it's clear now that although the sensory stuff was a factor, Jon had also been holding himself back, trying to avoid any touch which could be seen as either too clingy or a prelude to sexual activity. Now, on some days, there’s a head leaning against Georgie's shoulder in the dining hall, a leg swung over her lap as they sit on his bed, an arm around her waist when they walk to Modern-ish Lit together. It’s not all effortless—Jon still moves like he half-expects Georgie to bat his hand away, and sometimes Georgie forgets to ask before she touches Jon—but they’re getting there.

Currently, Georgie’s wheeling a shopping cart around Tesco with Jon draped over her back like a very determined lichen. It was Steve-from-down-the-hall’s birthday last night, so Jon and a few of Jon’s acquaintances-turning-friends from a budding local urban exploration group had come over to duck into the party and snag several bottles. Georgie’s more than a little hungover, and Jon is no better for wear—he doesn’t drink, but staying up all night has taken its toll.

Jon’s wearing a sleeveless top that, on second thought, may actually be an old skirt of Georgie’s. Either way, he looks great. Georgie’s in her pajamas, and also, for some reason, a top hat? Between the outfits and Jon’s posture, they’ve gotten a few looks, but being literally fearless does wonders for one’s ability to ignore that stuff. Plus, Georgie knows almost all the employees here. They’ll have her back if needs be. Georgie’s not bothered, not by the other shoppers and not by her barnacle boyfriend—Jon’s not heavy, and he matches her every step, only disentangling himself to add items to the cart. She’s just glad they’ve both stuck around long enough to see each other like this.

In fact, there are a plethora of behaviors Georgie can sort into pre-commitment and/or post-commitment Jon things. She’ll make a Venn diagram once she’s certain her observations are solid. Pre-commitment things that Jon has since dropped include making his bed in the morning and keeping his professorial garb on at home. Things that go into both categories are Jon’s love of debate, the posh accent (though sometimes, after Jon’s just finished up a stilted call to his grandmother, his “of”s sound more like “off”s), and the fact that every time Georgie comes over, he opens the door before she knocks, like he’s been listening for her the whole time. Post-commitment, there’s calling her “George” when he’s sleepy; launching into completely sincere dramatic readings of his assignments to help him think passages through; stimming without looking self-conscious about it; and luckily for Georgie, cooking.

“Pasta tonight?” she asks as Jon squints at two identical-looking tomatoes so hard Georgie thinks they might explode.

“Mm.”

“The one on the left is a bit bigger?”

Jon puts the other one down with a scowl. “Maybe.”

The kitchens in Jon’s building have a stovetop and just enough counter space for prep. Georgie insists on helping this time, so she chops vegetables as Jon gets the noodles going. As the water nears boiling, Jon begins to hum something that Georgie thinks is meant to keep time, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

“Whatcha singing?”

“Oh,” Jon says, foot no longer tapping. “I didn’t notice—that is—it’s just. Something my grandmother sings when she’s cleaning.”

Jon doesn’t talk about his grandmother much, but Georgie can fill in the blanks. Again, she's been in the room for some of their phone conversations, and though she doesn't understand Urdu, she does understand silence. So she doesn’t push, just says, “Well, it sounds nice” and keeps chopping. Jon doesn’t sing, or speak, for the rest of their time in the kitchen.

Georgie’s dad said something once about vulnerability being a mutual exchange, and it’s stuck with her ever since. (Seems even more relevant now, since the no-fear thing means vulnerability doesn’t cost her much anyway.) Five minutes into a very silent dinner, Georgie speaks.

“You know, during first term, on the weekends, I didn’t eat dinner at all. Or any meals, really.”

Jon doesn’t move, but she can tell he’s listening.

“It made sense to eat on weekdays, because I’d always come across a cafeteria on my way to class. But on weekends, it was way too much work to drag myself out of my room, sometimes even out of bed. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. And I always had some rolls on hand that I’d taken from the dining halls earlier that week, so it’s not like I was starving myself. But still. Wasn’t great.” Jon nods, which is enough encouragement for Georgie to finish. “So I guess what I mean is, thank you? For being a good enough reason.”

Georgie takes Jon’s hand, and he squeezes back.

(A few days later, when Georgie’s almost forgotten the incident, Jon pulls the blanket tighter around them and says, “I think I’m going to tell you about my grandmother now, if that’s okay,” and Georgie says, “okay.”)

Georgie hasn’t had a bad episode in a long time, but then her dad gets into a car wreck and he’s fine, he’ll be fine, but the bill’s gonna be hell to foot, and Georgie should be calling her English course freshers to see if they or their friends want any more tutoring hours, but instead she hasn’t brushed her teeth in four days and she’s missed her weekly scheduled room cleaning and she has that marked in her calendar for a reason, she has a routine for a reason, but every limb feels heavy and she’d rather stare at the ceiling and wait for it to collapse on her the way it one day will and therefore always has been. She misses Alex. She misses home. She misses being able to move without feeling like she’s dragging her body in a bag behind her.

Jon finds Georgie on what she thinks is a Saturday. He takes a second to scan the room before his eyes alight on the pile of blankets she’s under. “You haven’t been answering my messages,” he says.

The one time Jon had a meltdown in Georgie's presence, he shouted at her to leave, immediately. Georgie thinks she should extend Jon the same chance to escape, never mind that Jon's brain in crisis does better alone and Georgie's doesn't.

“Please go away.”

Jon does go away, but only to the other side of the room—where Georgie had accidentally knocked over her laundry hamper two(? three?) days ago and then stared at it until it felt like her insides had been hollowed out—and starts picking up each item of clothing on the ground, inspecting it, and shoving it back in the basket.

“Is this clean?” Jon asks, holding up a pair of knickers. Under most circumstances, the image would be funny, but as it is, it’s just surreal.

Georgie sighs. “I don’t think there’s a single clean thing in this room.”

“That’s good to know,” Jon says, and then, “Maybe you should get up.”

“Make me,” Georgie says. He does not.

As Jon continues to tidy up the floor, he asks her various bite-sized questions—trying to ground her, she assumes. Where did she get these jeans? What’s that poster on her wall of? Does she need the notes from Thursday? How is she doing? That last one, she elects not to answer.

When Jon’s done with the laundry pile, he asks for a hand to lift the hamper upright again. Georgie considers calling him out on the ruse, but finds that it’s easier to take Jon’s hand as he half-pulls her out of bed. Standing upright makes her a little dizzy, but he holds her still until her vision clears.

But then they go to lift the hamper, and Georgie drops it again and Jon doesn’t catch it fast enough and the clothes go spilling over the floor again, and she screams something at Jon that burns in her throat and Jon blinks and blinks and hardens and yells something back and Georgie wants to throw something or hide or fall asleep but instead she just tells Jon to get the fuck out out of her room.

“Fine,” Jon snaps, and wrenches the door open. He pauses before he takes his first step into the hall. “I’ll be back in an hour, if you want me here then.”

Georgie curls up on the ground and thinks about what Jon breaking up with her would look like and she isn’t scared, just sad, and then she counts prime numbers until she falls asleep again. And then Jon does come back, and Georgie is no less frustrated and Jon is no less hurt, but he’s holding a takeout bag. (Georgie tears through the wrap, and then, upon Jon’s prompting, all of his kebabs too, and he sits there until she’s finished. Once she’s full, she feels a little less heavy.)

Georgie practically runs up the stairs to Jon’s room, phone still clutched in hand. “URGENT,” the text had read, and Georgie had felt a sharp curiosity course through her.

When Jon opens the door, he’s practically vibrating. “I figured out a way to get into the Sheldonian after-hours,” he whispers.

“No fucking way,” Georgie whispers back. “Seriously, how? We have to tell the others right fucking now. But how?”

Georgie had recently dragged Jon into her latest obsession—Oxford history—though “dragged” implies that he hadn’t come extremely willingly. She’d wondered if the incident in the medical building would come up, but Jon had quickly turned to fixate on something else. For the last month, Oxford’s main theater has been the subject of most, if not all of their conversation. That's spilled over into their conversations with their urbex friends (read: all their friends), which has then spilled over into their collective ability to engage in academia. Each member of their friend group—going on different days to deflect suspicion—has been on a tour to scope out the surveillance cameras’ blind spots. Plus, they’ve pooled their money to buy a fancy lockpicking kit.

“Well,” Jon says, hands flapping wildly as he looks for his phone, “I was talking to one of the violinists who played there last year, and then there were some blueprints in the Balliol Library—here, I took pictures—and…”

There’s more planning to do, obviously, if the six of them want to achieve their ultimate goal of “don’t get caught, like, seriously.” They practice treading lightly, quiz each other on floor plans, and (at least try to) confine themselves to a strict sleep schedule to keep their reflexes sharp. It’s unbelievably overkill, but such is life.

Then, there’s scheduling, which is difficult because Marie has two big assignments coming up and Steph works night shifts five days a week, but eventually, the expedition is a go.

Two weeks later, Georgie finds herself standing on the wood floor of the Sheldonian Theater, looking up at the barely-moonlit ceiling.

“Wow,” Jon breathes over a chorus of April’s “holy shit!”s.

“Kind of stupid that Truth is white,” Georgie says, but her voice is tinged with as much awe as Jon’s is.

Jon lets out a huff of laughter. “Next time, we can break in and repaint.”

“By stacking like ten ladders on top of each other?”

“Obviously.”

Georgie’s seen the ceiling before on daytime tours, of course she has, but those times, it was always just a painting, no less shiny and solid than the rest of the theater. The fresco she sees now is smudged with shadow, but that only makes it look more real. It depicts a vortex of orange clouds surrounded by scholars and cherubim. The figures curl themselves around the perimeter, simultaneously drawn into and bracing themselves against the storm. In the center of the swirling mass, Truth raises itself up, holding out its glowing hand. Structural support beams run over the mural to hold the ceiling up, sectioning off various parts of the scene. Every figure is drawn in exquisite detail; the shadows of their robes, the strands of their hair. But from down where Georgie stands, the whole thing just looks like an ancient mouth straining against a golden net, ready to consume them both.

“It’s beautiful,” Georgie whispers, and then, because one time doesn’t seem enough, “It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells the ceiling, though his whisper doesn't carry very far.

“You’re beautiful!” Georgie whisper-shouts at Jon. (Georgie senses, more than hears, an exasperated groan from Nick behind her, but she pays him no mind. She’s earned the right to be this sappy, thank you very much.)

“So are you!” Jon whisper-shouts back.

“I am!”

Most of their friends begin wandering farther off, but Jon and Georgie stay put. The Sheldonian is a flat-floor building. There’s no raised platform that draws the line between stage and audience, just an area with chairs and one without. Whatever secrets the two of them whisper to Truth, it is both call and response.

“Sometimes, I feel so lonely I could scream!”—from Jon.

“I wish I remembered what fear felt like!”—from Georgie.

“I don’t understand poetry and I never will!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong because I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I wish I’d chosen a different course! I have no idea what to do after graduation!”

“When professors call me Georgina, I feel physically ill!”

“I hate having short hair!”

“I hate having long hair!”

“I wish I’d actually taken my Urdu lessons seriously when I was younger!”

“I don’t feel guilty about quitting all my clubs in first year but I feel like I should!”

“We should be a little quieter!”

“I agree!”

A pause.

“I’m going to fail all my exams!”

“Funny, I’m gonna fail all of mine!”

“I’ll always feel like a disappointment! And I love my girlfriend!” It’s not the first time Jon’s said it, but the words send a thrill through Georgie anyway.

“I stubbed my toe yesterday and it still hurts! And I love my boyfriend!” It is the first time she’s said it. It feels right.

“I’m going to try to get to the balcony without being seen!”

“Good idea!”

“I really do love you,” Jon says again, and begins to move towards the nearest staircase, where Steph and April appear to be arm-wrestling. As Georgie watches his back, she’s suddenly struck by another memory—someone else Georgie loves standing in a building she’s not supposed to be in, taking one of her very last steps away from her. The feeling that rises in Georgie isn’t fear, but it must be the closest thing to it.

“Wait,” she says. (Jon turns around. He really is beautiful.) “I’m coming with you.”

It’s third year, which means fast-approaching papers and goodbyes and post-graduation uncertainties, but it also means Georgie and Jon (and Nick and Marie, but they aren’t arriving until tomorrow) are moving in together.

“You’re gonna have to try to hold still,” Georgie says as she attempts to apply a second coat of purple to Jon’s pinky nail.

“I am,” Jon says. “Can’t you tape around it?”

“I don’t know which box the tape’s in,” Georgie says. “And since someone insisted on having his nails done before we began unpacking…”

“New place, new hands,” Jon says. “It just makes sense.”

“It really… doesn’t… but… there! That’s all of them! Now, just- don’t touch anything for the next ten minutes. I’m gonna do mine now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jon gives a mock salute, and of course, grazes his nails against his hair in the process. “Oh, shit.”

“You’re the worst. I’m stealing all the blankets tonight for revenge.”

“Which blankets did you pack?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“It definitely wasn’t…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…”

“What did you say the last time I asked you to check the packing list…?”

“Shut up!"

“No, I don’t think ‘shut up’ was it. I’m pretty sure it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not an idiot, Jon,’ but if you’re sure…”

“We can check if they’re still there after our nails dry, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes pass.

“I think we should get a cat,” Georgie says. “Do you want to get a cat?” and Jon breaks the holding-still rule again by shouting something incomprehensible and flinging his arms around her.

(Later, over takeout and scuffed nails:

“This year will be a good year,” Georgie tells Jon. “I can feel it. And if it’s not, I’ll make it good.”

“I’ll make it good, too,” Jon says, “Or I’ll try to, at least. I promise.”

And Georgie believes him, and Georgie is not afraid.)

#jongeorgie #the magnus archives #tma #georgie barker #jonathan sims #magnuspod #fic #not sure why it says anonymous i think it's bc i posted to a collection

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