#like if I were to drop to 20% body fat but keep all my lean mass I would still be classified as overweight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zodiakuroo · 3 years

Text

Cupid’s Bullet

Dabi comes home with a very special Valentine’s Day surprise for you.

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Contains: dubcon/noncon, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship, gun play, fear play, forced orgasms, squirting, mindbreak, angst (if you squint?), quirk usage, one slap but it’s a hard one :3, overstimulation, creampie

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: pls this title is so cringe but it's like bullet instead of arrow cause... ya know but anyways happy valentine’s day from scumbag boyfie!dabi

Dating a villain meant that your relationship was unconventional to say the least. For one, public dates were out of the question, unless you wanted it to end in destruction of public property and some scorched heroes. You also always had to have some kind of flimsy excuse for your family and friends when they asked to meet your elusive boyfriend. In addition, you had to accept the fact that he would have to disappear sometimes for weeks on end to do his boss’ bidding.

There was also the small matter of arson, murder and theft and a multitude of other crimes that you’d prefer not to know about. And while you weren’t necessarily okay with a lot of what Dabi did, you loved him. You loved him so much that turning a blind eye was so easy it made you question your own morality. He didn’t scare you either. Not in the slightest, because you knew in his own special way, he loved you too.

In fact it ran much deeper than that. On his worst days, Dabi could set the world ablaze until nothing was left because in the end he didn’t care about anyone or anything, not even himself. Until he met you, he says. He tells you that in you, he’s found something to tether him to this existence.

Ok so maybe he didn’t use those words exactly, but he doesn’t have to. You know that’s what he means when he spoils you with expensive, stolen clothes and jewellery, when he offers to burn alive any person who makes you even the tiniest bit upset and when he comes home to you bloodied and beaten, trusting you to take care of him.

In summary, your relationship forced you to give up on having any “normal couple” experiences. That included, celebrating anniversaries and silly holidays like Valentine’s Day so you never bothered to keep track of them. It could hardly be considered a sacrifice when you compared those things to what you actually got from your relationship.

Dabi had been gone for close to a month now and you didn’t expect him back anytime soon, not knowing where he was or what he was doing. In fact the very last thing you expected was for him to creep into your bedroom in the middle of night and rouse you from your peaceful sleep with a soft kiss on your temple.

You don’t jump out of bed in a panic, like any sane person would. Instead you let out a satisfied hum, surrounded by the scent of burnt flesh, ash and menthol, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. It should be unpleasant but its Dabi’s scent and you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. You pick your phone up from your night stand, squinting your eyes at the bright light that makes them sting.

Sunday 14 February, 2:43am

“Welcome home.” You mumble groggily, trying your best to fight off your tired body urging you to go back to sleep.

Instead of replying, he greets you by pressing his mouth to yours. You let out a quiet gasp, startled by the sudden display of affection. His lips are chapped but that doesn’t matter, your tongue darts out to moisten them before your lips lock into a gentle kiss.

You reach up, weaving your hands through his dark hair in an attempt to draw him closer but he retreats, opting instead to turn on the bedside lamp but keeping his other hand behind his back. “Sit up doll. Got a surprise for ya.”

Any thoughts of sleep were long forgotten as soon as his lips met yours but now he’s really piqued your interest. You push yourself up against the headboard and sit cross-legged. You look up at Dabi expectantly. Your boyfriend is smiling wide, skin pulled so taut you think one of his staples might give out. He reveals to you what he has hidden behind his back. A square black box, wrapped in a cobalt satin ribbon.

It’s so cliché you can’t help but let out a small snort. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You know… for Valentine’s Day?” He says as though it should be obvious to you.

Your heart swells at the gesture. It really was a surprise. Not in a bad way, you just knew he wasn’t your average boyfriend and that was okay. You didn’t want him to be.

“Well now I feel awful. I didn’t get you anything.” You pout as he props the box onto your lap.

“’S like a toy… so it’s technically for you but kinda for both of us.” It’s unusual to see Dabi this excited. The way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes filled with mirth makes you all the more curious.

“Like a sex toy?” A giggle escapes you as you undo the bow.

“Are we playing fuckin’ 20 questions? Just open it.” He presses you.

You huff at his impatience but you don’t comment, not wanting to wait any longer either. You remove the lid of the box only to find something wildly unexpected.

A revolver?

You look up at your boyfriend with confusion etched on your face but his gleeful grin doesn’t falter. You’ve never seen a sex toy like this so you pick up the article to test its weight. It’s definitely the real deal.

“Dabi, this isn’t a toy.” You state matter-of-factly.

He merely rolls his eyes and says “Doll, when you can incinerate someone with a flick of your wrist, that little thing is definitely considered a toy?”

“O-okay? What do you want to do with it?” You ask, placing offending object onto your nightstand, not really wanting to hold on to it anymore, the metallic smell making you feel queasy.

“Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” Dabi, picks up the abandoned item, looking down at it with pride.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows as nervousness starts to creep into your system and you instinctively move to back away from him but Dabi is quick to pull you back.

“It’s real easy doll. No need to look so scared.” He crawls on top of you, caging you in with his limbs. “6 chambers. 1 bullet. All you have to do is be a good girl for me. If not, I pull the trigger and we see what happens.”

The look on his face is positively demented. Azure eyes wide and bright, patchwork face contorted into a a sinister smile, white teeth and silver staples gleaming in the dim light.

“Baby,” you hope the pet name will placate him. It usually does. “I don’t know about thi-“

CLICK

You let out a shriek as your body jolts in fear but you’re unable to move with his weight pressing on top of you.

“You see now doll?” He clicks his tongue behind his teeth. “You’ve gone and wasted a shot.”

Dabi climbs off of you and you’re left lying there with your heart hammering violently in your chest, body trembling, still reeling from the shock of what just happened. Reeling from the shock of what is happening

“You gonna listen now? Gonna be good?” Dabi prompts, rolling the gun around in his hand.

All you can do is nod as your eyes being to water. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse as your mind races with the possible things Dabi has in store for you.

“Good. Now strip.” He command and like a good girl, you obey.

Your arms feel like they’re made of lead, moving rigidly to take off your shirt (one of Dabi’s old ones). You can’t stop the tears from falling as you pull down your panties, fat droplets roll down your cheeks, desperately trying to swallow the sounds of your sobbing.

This can’t be happening. It’s Dabi. He wouldn’t hurt you. He promised you that.

“Oh cut the fuckin’ waterworks.” He snaps. “As long as you listen, you’ll be fine.”

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths, not wanting to irritate him any further.

When you turn to face him, he’s leaning back on his haunches, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily gripping the revolver. “Fair warning, I’m more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. But you know that already.” He thumbs the cylinder, making it spin. “Now, touch yourself for me.”

Breathing is difficult. No matter how much you try, it’s like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Thinking only of gun in your boyfriend’s hand, you still you bring your own hand between your legs, but you can’t concentrate, what with the dread taking over your body making it tough to have any control of your body. Your movements are stiff and apparently not up to Dabi’s standards.

He only scoffs before-

CLICK

You scream again, body nearly flying off the bed before you curl yourself up into a ball. The fright is enough to stop your heart. For a second you believe it has.

“Doll,” Dabi’s gruff voice brings you back to earth, reminding you that you’re very much alive and whether or not you stay that way is entirely up to him. “You’re ruining my surprise. Got it ‘specially for you and now you’re being a brat.” He quirks an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.

“So-sorry.-“ your voice breaks. “I’ll be good.”

You’re still struggling to comprehend how any of this is real. You thought you knew him. You thought he loved you. And here he is, treating your life like it’s a game. You can’t help but think that this is your own fault. You thought you were above everyone else, the exception to your boyfriend’s villain behaviour.

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then show me.” He challenges you. Dabi slips off his t-shirt and moves between your legs to get a better view, pressing on your knees to split them apart.

Self-preservation kicks in. There is one way out of this alive and that’s doing what he says. You spread yourself even wider, showing him all of you. Your hands, glide over your smooth thighs, kneading the pudgy flesh as you get closer and closer your sex, teasing yourself the way he would. Your fingers find your clit and just a little pressure makes your eyes melt shut. Probably for best anyway. It makes it easier to imagine anything but this. You drag those fingers through your delicate folds, letting out breathy sighs as heat begins to bloom between your thighs.

You pretend, its Dabi’s touch. In your mind’s eye you see the two of you, limbs tangled with Dabi on top, resting his forehead against yours. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go slow. So slow that the sensation of his cock dragging in and out of is you bordering on torturous. It’s one of those nights where he wants to lay his head on your chest, mouthing at your breasts, laving your nipples with his wet tongue while you tell him, in that sensual voice that you love him, that he’s perfect, that he’s yours. Because it’s one of those nights, where everything feels like too much for him and the only person that he really has on his side is you.

It’s not long before you’re leaking. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice chastising you for being so easy for him… even now. There’s almost no resistance as two of your fingers, press into your entrance. Your fingers are no match for Dabi’s, they never hit all those deep, hidden spots that make you see stars but still, you start to move them slowly, brushing your thumb over your clit every so often.

“Look at me.” You feel his breath waft over your pussy.

Eyelids fluttering open and you meet his gaze. It stuns you a little and your hands come to a standstill. He is handsome, breathtakingly so, even though he thinks you’re lying whenever you when you tell him that. The way he stares at you, with love and adoration in his eyes, it’s almost like the fantasy you were just imagining. Almost like the fantasy you’ve been living in this whole time. It’s enough to make you forget the situation you’re in. Then the muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, snapping you back to reality fast enough to give you whiplash.

“Fucking slut.” He growls and smacks your hand away from your pussy.

You jerk as he starts to move it the gun circles over your sensitive nub and then dipping down to your tight slit to gather up your juices.

“All those fuckin’ tears but look how wet you are.” He says more to himself than you as he admires the way your slick leaves a sheen on the barrel. With his eyes trained directly on yours, his perfectly pink tongue pokes out to lick it clean, groaning at the taste.

The next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your legs, guiding them over his broad shoulders. He kisses you on your mons before his tongue begins greedily lapping at your hole. “Tastes so good doll.” He mutters with his nose pressed against your clit. He slips the wet muscle inside of you making you whine. You reflexively grab onto his black hair, tugging on the stands and he lets out a groan of approval. He moves up to your clit, circling it with his tongue before suckling on it. While he brushes just the tip of a finger over your cunt, making it clench around nothing while you desperately buck your hips, in an attempt to have it inside you.

The way he’s eating you out is almost romantic?

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the metal digging into your flesh.

“Doll,” He places a sloppy kiss on your clit, lighting dragging his teeth over the hood. “Want you to squirt for me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened. You’re not sure of the odds that you’d be able to right now and it’s not a gamble you’re willing to take. “Dabi, I don’t think I can….”

CLICK

You thrash, screaming so loud it makes your throat burn.

Dabi still holds you open, keeping you in place. “I wasn’t asking.” He makes sure to maintain eye contact as he drops a fat glob of spit right on to your clit before diving face first into your cunt once again.

He pushes 2 of his long, lithe fingers into your tight entrance. It’s unexpected and you wince. He drags his right hand (the one holding the gun) up your torso, resting the muzzle underneath your breast, right over your racing heart. A reminder of what’s at stake. He envelopes your sensitive clit with his lips, moving his fingers in tandem with the suction. You’re consumed by desire as Dabi brings you so close to the edge.

“Dee-Deeper please.” Your pant out.

He smiles against your mound before complying with your request. “Right here?” His fingers press against that squishy patch deep inside you and your eyes roll back.

“Nnnggg yeah.” You’re barely able to mewl out. You dig your heels into his back and grind against his face, chasing your high. Dabi keeps hitting that spot with astonishing precision but you hold off for as long as you can, letting the pleasurable sensation build until the pressure in your core becomes unbearable. When it finally snaps because you can’t hold it anymore, your eyes squeeze shut, hands flying to his biceps and you dig your nails into the sinewy muscle. You gush around his fingers and all over his face. Dabi doesn’t move though, flicking your clit with his tongue repeatedly until you’re trembling and whimpering, pushing him away from your pussy. He finally relents, a pop echoing around the room as he lets go of you.

He gives you a predatory look, scared face and chest wet with the remnants of your orgasm. “You made such a mess baby but I’m glad you’re finally having fun.” He’s just as out of breath as you are but far more composed.

Your head is still fuzzy and limbs are still twitching but your boyfriend doesn’t let you recover. “C’mon, doll. My turn.” He begins to undo his belt, silver buckle clinking as he rushes to drag it through the loops of his jeans

You pull yourself on to all fours, now eye level with his crotch. He pulls down his pants and boxers in one go, his erection almost hitting you in the face.

“You’ve been lucky so far.” He taps the bulbous head of his cock on your lips, smearing your lips with the pre that dribbles out of it. “But I wouldn’t test it if I were you. Open.”

Your mouth is already watering at the sight of him. So long, thick and veiny. It’s disgusting actually, this Pavlovian response. He fucks you deeper, stretches you wider and makes you feel better than anyone ever had. You wonder briefly, if anyone ever could fuck you as good as Dabi.

You stick out your tongue and he slides himself between your lips, groaning as he pushes into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch. He fills your mouth completely and you shut your eyes, savouring the salty taste of him but you feel the muzzle press against your temple and making them shoot open. “Atta girl. Lemme see those pretty eyes.” He grunts as he plunges into your throat. You bob your head up and down his shaft, the hand at the back of your head setting a brutal pace. The room is filled with the sounds of you gagging and his hefty sac smacking against your chin.

“So good to me baby.” He tilts his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him while your saliva leaks out, dripping down his balls. Dabi is big and heavy, stretching you so wide and making you jaw ache from the weight of him. You’re already lightheaded from the lack of air, no matter how much you try breathing through your nose. You don’t dare to complain though.

He pulls out of your mouth slowly, stretching a string of saliva from the head of his dick to your tongue that’s hanging out of your mouth. You pant like a bitch attempting to catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time before he’s in your throat again, back to fucking your face.

“I love you so much. You love me?” He sounds so sweet, totally blissed out.

He stops thrusting and tilts your head up to look at him, blinking tear-clumped lashes. You try utter a ‘Yes, I love you.’ but with his shaft gagging you, it comes out all garbled. The muscles in your throat convulse around the deep intrusion. “You’d do anything for me right?” He asks, jabbing the muzzle even harder into your temple, finger resting lightly on the trigger. You nod, watching Dabi lose his composure bit by bit. “Yeah. That’s why you’re my girl.” He pushes himself even deeper inside you, making you finally take all of him, until your nose meets his pubic hair and holding you there. “Fuck.”

CLICK

“Hmmhhhhngggh” You squeal around him but you can’t pull off because of the grip he has on your scalp. When he lets you go you’re choking and coughing up a lewd mixture of spit and pre-cum.

“Wh- Why” You blubber, voice hoarse. You don’t understand. You were doing exactly what he asked. You were being good.

“Sorry baby. Felt so good, my finger slipped.” He doesn’t even try to hide his mischievous smirk. The fucker is definitely not sorry.

You want to beg him to stop this ridiculous game because you see now there’s no way you can win because Dabi doesn’t play fair.

He doesn’t give you the chance though, already shuffling off his bottoms all the way and propping himself up against the headboard. “C’mon pretty baby.” He tugs on your ankle. Wanna see you bounce on my dick.”

You clumsily position yourself atop his lap quickly, before you can even think about it. You know he doesn’t need a reason to pull that trigger but still, you don’t want to give him one.

He grinds his tip along your heat, piercings dragging across your clit over and over again. It’s something he does whenever you have sex, to rile you up. And just like all those other times, it’s working. Circumstances be damned. “Needa feel this hot little pussy. Give it to me doll.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You nod as you lift yourself off of him to hover your dripping wet hole over his hard dick. You slowly squat down on onto him, the fat head stretching you out, burning with every inch you take. You mewl, making futile attempts to blink away tears. You get halfway before you have to stop, resting your hands on his shoulders trying to gain leverage. You’re outright crying now, wet droplets landing on Dabi’s chest.

“’S matter doll.”

I’m terrified. You yell in your head but stay silent, choosing to focus on relaxing your ever-tightening hole in order to take more of him.

“Oh, I know.” He coos, voice dripping with condescension. “’S too big for your tiny cunny.” He leans forward to kiss away the salty tears. “But you can take it. I know you can.” He cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with a calloused thumb. “You can do it for me”

You start to move slowly up and down, using gravity to force more of his monstrous cock inside you with shallow movements. You really are trying your best but that’s apparently not good enough for Dabi and he lets you know that by pressing the barrel of the gun into your stomach. You freeze, horrified, more tears start falling from your eyes. You open your mouth to beg him to just give you a little time. You’re trying.

“Quit being a baby and just take it.” He says before you even get the chance.

“I’m trying Dabi, please just-“

CLICK

He cuts off your plea. He’s not interested in your excuses.

The rotation of the cylinder sends vibrations through your abdomen. Amidst the shock, you release your grip on his shoulders and impale yourself on his shaft by mistake. The combination of the searing stretch and the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix is so overwhelming that you collapse forward, head falling on to your boyfriend’s chest. You feel the rumbles of his chuckles while he’s quite literally splitting you open.

“See? Knew you could. Just needed a little scare. Isn’t that right.” He rubs your back as if to comfort you. He lets out a low whistle. “But looks like you’re all out of chances doll. Now bounce.” He gives you a spank with an inhumanly warm hand, making you squeal and leaving your cheek tender.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders again. Dabi’s sapphire eyes are practically glowing, daring you to be stupid enough to defy him one more time.

You pull off almost entirely, keeping just his tip inside of you, before spearing his shaft into you again.

“Good girl.” When he praises you with that raspy voice makes you keen and desperate for more of it.

His hand snakes its way up your torso to cup one of your breasts. Your back arches, pushing into his scorching hot touch, forgetting momentarily about his other hand and what he’s holding in it. He gropes your chest, tweaks and twists at your nipples, leaving red, inflamed hand prints in his wake. You’re practically delirious with pleasure, babbling out incoherent streams of his name along with “yes” and “more”. All the while, he murmurs praises about how good you are and how much he loves you. It’s confusing and you can’t process any of it.

“Who owns this perfect pussy?”

“Dabi. Fuck. Dabi.” Your tongue lolls out of your mouth in the most obscene way, drooling down your chin. Your plush walls pulse around him as he hits that sensitive spot every time you sink down on him.

“That’s right it’s all fuckin mine. My pretty baby.” Dabi’s eyes are focus on where your two bodies are connected watching the translucent ring of your cream appear and disappear as you ride him.

“Preeeettyyy.” You slur and he laughs at how fucked out you are, brain completely jumbled between the fear, the pain and the bliss all combined into ecstasy.

“Doll.” He groans. “I feel ya squeezin’ me. You gonna cum?”

He’s right. You nod as you feel that coil tightening again, threatening to snap at any second. The man finally starts putting in work, pounding into you every time you pull off of him. Dabi abandons the gun in favour of playing with your clit, rubbing quick sloppy circles. “Yeah? Gonna cream and gush around me? Want you to baby.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking, biting and licking while he assaults your sopping wet pussy. “C’mon doll, please.”

With that you orgasm. He grabs your hips pulling you flush against his thighs, fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips up into you until your high finally subsides.

He doesn’t let you catch your breath before he’s got the revolver pressed hard underneath your chin. “Now make me cum.” You almost collapse but the harsh grip he has on your hair suspends you upright.

Your mind is so foggy and Dabi gives you a small smile, appreciating the perplexed look in your droopy eyes. But he’s not done with you yet.

“Hey.” You’re ripped from your daze, when he slaps you across the face, sending your head swinging to the side. “Don’t pass out on me now.”

“So-sorry! ‘M sorry!” You grovel as you slam your tired body down on his dick once again, trying to ignore the throbbing on your cheek, the ringing in your ears, and the ache in your battered cunt. You’re so sensitive from your last orgasm but you don’t have a choice and you don’t dare deny him anything. Your thighs are quaking and burning with every movement but your boyfriend is unimpressed.

“You can do better than that doll.” He lets out a bitter laugh, enjoying every second of tormenting you. “It’s like you want your brains splattered on the ceiling.”

You start crying again, shaking your head frantically. In the time that you’ve been with Dabi, you’ve learned certain tricks, you know he likes it, but in this panic/lust induced frenzy, you can’t remember any of them. Instead, you bounce, mindlessly on him while your gummy walls clench tighter around him every time he nudges at your a-spot. Your legs are going numb from all the effort and you plop down, limp onto his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Dabi tsks at you, reminding you that you can’t rest just yet. You swivel your hips, grinding your pelvis against his while he’s buried deep in your wet heat. You pray to whatever deity is listening that he’s getting close, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“If I don’t bust in the next 5 seconds.” His hand finds your clit again, you grind across his fingers has you rock against him. “Bang!” He emphasises the word by bringing a heated palm down on your ass.

A choked sob bubbles at the back of your throat, making him snicker

Hands pressed to his chest, you ride him like a woman possessed, the last bits of adrenaline kicking in. Your sloppy cunt squelches every time you drive yourself down on his cock just motivating you to fuck him harder.

“Five.” He grits out.

“Dabi, please!” But you’re met with icy, apathetic eyes staring back at you, feeling the terror that the rest of the city does when they so much as hear his name.

“Four.” He rubs your already raw clit, faster and you can feel another orgasm building, much quicker than your last two.

Your body feels so heavy but you can’t stop moving, not unless you want him to- “Please cum!” You beg. “Need your cum.”

“Three.”

He starts to fuck up into you again with unforgiving force.

“Wh-Why?!” is all you can manage as your mind starts to fog up again, the need to come becoming all the more urgent.

“Two.” He ignores your question, transfixed on your tits bounce in his face. You’re getting close to your third orgasm of the night and it seems Dabi is determined to get you there.

You still can’t believe this is real. You never thought that Dabi would treat you like this. You were supposed to be special.

Or at least that’s what he told you.

Moreover, you can’t believe how your own body is betraying you. You can’t believe you’re actually going to cum. Again.

“One.”

You cry out his name one last time, unsure if it’s out of fear or pleasure. You dig your nails into his arms again, in a feeble attempt to ground yourself as you cum around him. The orgasm that rips through you makes it difficult for you to be sure of anything.

What you are sure of is the fact that there was no bang or bullet.

Just one last CLICK (practically drowned out by your screaming) and the sensation of Dabi’s hot cum flooding your womb. He has a bruising grip on your hips, gun now discarded, and he ruts up into to making sure to stuff your cunt absolutely full of him. He begins to laugh as he softens inside you.

Your head is still spinning but once you’re able to push yourself off of him, you can finally make sense of what just happened.

He was fucking with you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yell, using weak and quivering arms to throw pillows at him while you cry so hard it makes you dry heave.

Your asshole of a boyfriend starts cackling, clutching his abdomen as if he just pulled the world’s funniest prank while your heart is beating so hard and fast you think it might break through your ribcage.

“You should have seen your face. You were so fuckin’ scared.”

You become nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat as you come to a sickening realisation.

This is not your Dabi. This is the Dabi that the rest of the world gets to see.

Evil, sadistic, merciless. This is the real Dabi.

You attempt to scramble off of the bed to get away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the humiliation. But Dabi grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. A gesture you used to treasure but now it just made your skin crawl. “C’mon Doll you didn’t think I was being serious did you?”

You writhe in his hold, hitting against his hard, toned chest with pathetic fists. “Don’t be such a crybaby. It was just a joke.” He strokes your hair oh so tenderly. But you won’t fall for that again. Dabi is a villain through and through. You know that now.

It’s no use fighting him off though, all the fight in you is used up. You don’t know what else to do. So you do the easy thing: nuzzle your head into his chest, tremors rocking your body as you hiccup, while he holds you. That way you can pretend that you feel safe with him, just like you used to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll. I love you.”

#dabi is just the worst huh #sorry about the angst i honestly don’t know how that happened #dark content #dark fic #mha smut #tw dubcon #bnha imagines #bnha smut #dabi imagine #dabi smut #dabi x reader #mha x reader #tw slapping #tw noncon #tw unhealthy relationship #tw gunplay #tw death mention

863 notes · View notes

jawllines · 4 years

Text

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

It was dark.

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it?

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was.

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.)

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two.

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles.

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment.

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity.

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy.

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be.

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out.

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her.

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?”

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.”

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder.

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow, “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater.

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking.

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?”

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?”

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.”

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?”

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.”

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?”

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words.

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.”

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.”

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.”

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.”

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke.

Her response is blunt, “No.”

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!”

. . .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry.

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers.

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold.

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain.

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!”

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

“You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --”

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.”

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.”

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid.

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it.

He was just absolutely rotten.

. . .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten.

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends.

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie.

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good.

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus.

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often.

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior.

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self.

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon!

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep.

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out.

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now.

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited.

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead.

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly).

God, she was so rotten!

. . .

“Have you felt weird lately?”

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others).

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.”

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way.

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here.

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue.

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour.

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad).

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy.

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.”

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?”

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.”

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.”

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?”

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side.

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio).

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him.

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.”

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.”

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.”

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.”

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.”

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.”

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.”

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.”

After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door.

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that.

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.”

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.”

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?”

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?”

“No --”

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?”

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --”

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence.

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.”

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?”

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?”

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?”

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.”

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.”

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use.

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown.

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere.

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it.

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.”

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it, “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.”

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.”

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.”

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.”

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!”

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --”

“Harry --”

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.”

. . .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits.

She’s only curious.

. . .

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall.

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner.

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor. Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind.

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out.

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow.

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed.

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank.

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals.

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them).

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice.

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning.

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears.

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done.

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous.

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely).

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who -- before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs).

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?”

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.”

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?”

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code.

And there’s nothing.

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected.

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.”

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?”

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own. It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting.

“I oughta call you Bambi then.”

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake -- “Harry, shouldn’t we --”

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest.

“We shouldn’t just --”

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut.

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space.

But nothing happens.

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time.

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it.

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?”

. . .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often.

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer.

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in. If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall.

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over.

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!”

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?”

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.”

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.”

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly.

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.”

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails.

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands, “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.”

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.”

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.”

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?”

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.”

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?”

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.”

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though.

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout?

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?”

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen.

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...”

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?”

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?”

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on.

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --”

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.”

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers, “But --”

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out.

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep.

Harry just fell right to sleep.

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed.

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest.

Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch.

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything.

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for.

Y/N rolls her eyes.

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.”

. . .

It had been a while since Harry had worked.

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong. He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from.

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior.

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it.

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead.

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things.

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure.

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep.

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens.

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.”

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.”

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.”

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work.

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?”

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.”

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?”

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.”

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?”

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.”

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him.

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.”

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store.

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?”

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.”

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

“Where are you?”

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.”

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.”

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?”

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills.

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?”

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?”

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red) “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?”

“He loved them, mate, he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.”

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.”

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.”

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.”

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.”

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --”

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?”

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to.

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all.

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.”

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.”

“What a coincidence -- so did I.”

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit.

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?”

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.”

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon.

“I was doing some research while I was at work --”

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods.

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.”

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.”

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful.

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.”

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding.

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.”

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought.

#WRITING #WOOOOOOOOO #SPOOKY #YAHTZEE #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT BECAUSE I LOVE IT LOADDS #AND I LOVE YOU LOADS #HAPPY READING :D #HARRY STYLES

2K notes · View notes

mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

A Different Kind of Urgent {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooooo! my penpal friend, a fellow adam driver rat, sent me a print of a charlie picture (that I’d seen a gajillion times before, mind you) and for some reason, I thirsted hard. so, naturally, I wrote a fic inspired by the picture. the reader in this story is a college professor, but it doesn’t really contribute to any ‘essential’ parts of the story (aka the smutty parts). it’s just her job lol

warnings: smut. some fluff. masturbation. semi-public smut. the sending of nudes (well, lingerie pics, to be specific). charlie’s dad outfits™️. cigarette smoking during sex. uhh tennis shoe kink??

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex. semi-public masturbation. tobacco use (as is canon for Charlie’s character). implied age gap (everyone’s over 21, no more than 10 years).

You’re in the middle of class when Charlie texts you. Your phone buzzes and buzzes on your desk so much so that you have to stop your lecture for a few seconds, worried that something urgent has happened.

Well, something did happen, and it was pretty urgent, but not exactly in the way you’d expected.

-Charlie: I know you’re teaching class right now kid.- -Charlie: But I need you.- -Charlie: Right now.-

A shiver runs down your spine as you read his words on the screen.

-Y/N: I’ve got like 45 more minutes of lecture, baby, I can’t.-

He growls under his breath, cock straining in his tan khakis.

-Charlie: Fuck.- -Charlie: Can you send me a picture? Just need to see your pretty body, kid.-

-Y/N: Say please, Charlie.-

Charlie groans in sexual frustration, hips bucking up in his desk chair.

-Charlie: Jesus fucking christ, fucking brat. PLEASE! PLEASE send me a picture!-

You smirk, picking out one of the lingerie photos you’d taken when you were home alone one night. You’ve been waiting for the right time to whip them out and...well, this seems like the right time.

-Y/N: Attachment 1 image- -Y/N: Knock yourself out. Take a picture when you’re done, and I’ll be over as soon as class is finished.-

His shaky hands scramble to type in his phone passcode and click on your message, a strangled moan leaving his lips at the picture you chose. He’d never seen this one before, never seen this set of lingerie before. He unbuckles his belt and almost tears the button clean off his khakis as he pulls his cock out, tip already red and drooling with precum.

Before he starts anything, he quickly runs over to his office door, locking it to keep anyone from walking in.

His navy cardigan suddenly feels almost suffocating and he sheds it without hesitation, unbuttoning his dress shirt and parting it, revealing his undershirt.

Wait...you want a picture. Fuck.

An idea comes to him and he whimpers, equal parts aroused and nervous about giving it a try. God he hasn’t touched himself since the divorce proceedings, just needing to blow off some fucking steam, but you’ve reignited his sexual passion, overwhelmingly so, and seemingly even more than before. Maybe even more than ever, if he’s honest with himself.

He feels like a teenager again, both completely smitten with you while at the same time incredibly horny for you.

Charlie stands up on shaky legs and shoves all the paperwork off his desk, clearing a roomy spot right in the center. He bites his lip as he props his phone up on his desktop computer with the picture of you pulled up. Jerking off with just his hand wouldn’t be enough this time around, a small part of him just knew it. He needs to fuck you, fuck something.

He positions his hands around the edge of his desk, leaving his thumbs right at the top, putting them in a wonky sort of ‘o’ shape. He adjusts so that the sharp edge is pressing against his palm before experimentally thrusting his length forward into the hole he’s created with his thumbs, immediately groaning in pleasure.

“O-Oh, kid.”

He whispers, picking up a slow thrusting rhythm, eyes squeezed shut as he imagines your pussy.

“Such a good little pussy, my good f-fucking girl.” A line of sweat has already begun forming on his forehead as he moves a bit quicker, growling wildly with each thrust. He’s embarrassingly close already. “God, j-jesus fucking christ, gonna make me cum so f-fast, kid. I’m already s-so close, damnit.”

His hips grow desperate, bucking erratically into his grip. The drag of his cock against the faux wood surface feels absolutely incredible, and he barely even hears the desk begin to groan and shift against the floor of his office, too consumed with his impending orgasm.

“Yeah, you ready? Y-You fuckin’ ready for my big fat--fuck!--load in this pretty little--shit!--k-kitty?”

Just hearing him say the word aloud, his nickname for your cunt, has him cumming within moments. His vision blacks out for a second as his hips rut forward, a seemingly continuous stream of warm white cum painting his desktop.

“Ahhhhh, fuuuuuuuck.”

He has to bury his mouth into his shirt arm to hide the cries that come from him, eyebrows knitted at the center of his forehead. His breathing is heavy as he begins coming down from his high, eyes flitting open and looking down at the mess he’d made.

His load had gone across the entire width of his desk, and his eyes widened for a moment as his brain somehow comprehended to grab his phone and take a picture of the spread.

-Charlie: Attachment 1 image- -Charlie: Come straight to my office when you get to the theater.-

You take a quick peek at the message from Charlie as your students pull out their workbooks, jaw dropping when you open the picture full-screen. Holy shit, he really did need it.

-Y/N: You sure you still have enough to fill me up with when I get there?-

-Charlie: I always have enough for you, kid. Gonna have it leaking out of you when you leave.-

You chew your lip, thinking of a quick yet clever response.

-Y/N: Is that a promise?-

He groans under his breath, chuckling lightly with a small smile.

-Charlie: Absolutely. Can’t wait to see you, kid.-

-Y/N: I’m excited too. I’ll be there in 20.-

The twenty minutes it takes for you to finish class and walk over to Exit Ghost feels like some of the longest in Charlie’s life, knee bouncing impatiently and eyes glued to the door. He twirls the Marlboro package in his hand, the clock behind his desk tick-tick-ticking the seconds away.

Finally, a soft knock comes and, just in case it isn’t you, he stuffs the carton into his pocket. “Come in.”

Your head pokes through the door and you smile at him as you walk in, shutting and locking the door behind you. You immediately notice his outfit, specifically his shoes, which are propped up on his desk.

He knows that you like how he dresses, especially when he dresses very dad-like. And those sneakers he has, the white ones with the blue lines on them...god, they drive you absolutely crazy and you have no idea why.

Your bags are quickly shoved off your shoulder by the impatient director, pulling you into his body as his lips attack yours fiercely. He notices the way you’re eyeing his outfit, and it’s then that he realizes what shoes he has on, the pair that you like so much. Oh, he could use that.

His grip on the meat of your hips tightens increasingly as the kiss heats up, lips eventually moving down to your neck.

“Well, hello to you too.”

You say, laughing softly.

“Mmmm,” He hums onto your skin, lips littering kisses and small nibbles everywhere they can reach. “I missed you, kiddo, feels like forever since we’ve had time for something like this.”

Charlie’s large body presses you up against the door, hands eager to rid you of your pants. He quickly yanks them down to your ankles, fingers finding your clothed folds.

“I’ve got a staff meeting at two, baby. We h-have to be kind of quick...sorry.” You breathe, hand wrapping in his hair, tugging at the silky raven locks.

A small and slightly disappointed sigh leaves his lips, but nothing more is said on the matter. His movements do become a bit more rushed, though, digits dipping beneath the fabric to shove up into your entrance.

Your legs spread instinctively, knees shaking as he finger-fucks you, thick digits scissoring inside you to prepare for his girth. Meanwhile, you try to focus on getting his belt and pants undone, but it’s awfully hard when his fingers feel so damn good.

He pulls away suddenly, sucking the juices off his fingers as his hungry eyes roam your figure. The carton of cigarettes presses against his thigh and he smirks, pulling his digits out with a lewd pop.

Charlie suddenly pulls you off the door, putting himself in your spot instead. He smirks, fingers running under your chin, keeping your head tilted up at him.

“Will you go open the window for me please, beautiful?”

You nod, rushing over to push it open, then come back over to stand in front of him.

“Good girl. Thank you.”

His pointer finger twirls and points to the floor while the other hand grabs the pack and lighter from his pants pocket.

“Now, turn around and bend over right here, hold your ankles or feet, or whatever.”

As you position yourself accordingly, he leans back against the door, legs spread and sneaker-clad feet planted on either side of you, right within your line of vision. He’s almost fully hard again already as he moves to free his cock from its khaki confines, undoing his pants just enough to have it out.

Again, his cardigan feels suffocatingly hot, so he quickly pulls it off and tosses it away. He rolls the sleeves up on his button-up, a sight that makes your insides clench.

He jams a cigarette between his teeth, jaw clenching when he looks up and realizes that you’re bent over for him, in just the way he asked. Your glistening pussy’s on full display as you wiggle your ass a bit, his cock bobbing and twitching with excitement.

“Oh kid, you’re dripping.” Charlie whispers, almost to himself, hand kneading one of the globes of your ass.

You chuckle softly. “Hey, baby? As much as I love hearing and feeling you, my legs are getting kinda tired.”

Laughing, Charlie says a quick ‘sorry’ before holding and pulling your hips back, lining himself up with your soaked entrance. He pulls you back some more, impaling you on his cock, head falling back against the door as he does so.

His hands shakily ignited the small flame on his lighter, bringing it up until the tip of the cigarette turned orange before flipping the cap back on and shoving it back in his pocket. He takes a long drag, groaning on the exhale.

He keeps one hand on your hip while the other spreads out on your lower back, guiding you back and forth over his shaft slowly, gently.

“Thaaat’s it, just like this, kid.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the impossibly deep angle created with this new position has it feeling like he’s reaching into your guts. Plus, with the natural up-curve of his cock, he’s brushing all the right spots inside you.

“C-Charlie…”

The familiar and comforting scent of Charlie’s cigarettes fills your nostrils, a haze of smoke surrounds your joined bodies. He continues to move you up and down on his length, buttocks clenching as his hips naturally rock forward, burying himself to the hilt each time you sink down.

“God...jesus christ...love this little pussy of yours, kid.” He breathes through his gritted teeth. “Taking me so nicely, always wrapped around me so goddamn tight.”

You quickly begin moving yourself up and down his stiff rod, bouncing as fast as you can manage. The sweet burn in your thighs only grows more prominent with each passing second, but you don’t care, too consumed in pleasure.

“Mmmmmyyyeah, baby, all for you.”

His hand comes down on your ass, giving it a firm smack before taking another quick drag, exhaling through his nose.

“That’s f-fucking right, all mine. You love being a little slut for this cock, huh? I know you do, you love when I bring you in my office and fuck your pretty cunt in the middle of the goddamn work day, can’t even wait until I get home, this f-filthy slut cunt needs to be split open and stuffed nice and full. Can’t go one fucking day without my cum fucked in you, always needs to be filled up and leaking, hm?”

Charlie was never able to do stuff like this or talk to Nicole like this. She was pretty vanilla when it came to sex, just like to be fucked quietly in bed. He called her a ‘slut’ once and she almost cried, lecturing him for half an hour afterwards on how disrespectful it was.

But now, he gets to explore everything he hasn’t gotten the chance to with you. You love it all, love the way he talks filth in your ear, calls you naughty names. You love getting fucked in all sorts of places, which at first made him a little nervous, cheeks and the tips of his ears bright red when you asked him to fuck you in your classroom or finger you under your dress on the subway. But, after almost a year and a half together, you can safely say that he’s a full-on exhibitionist deviant.

Your walls clamp down around him, eyes still squeezed shut as you feel his hips begin to thrust forward. Soon, he holds you almost completely still, moving his hips as fast as he can. His cigarette is almost ashes at this point, and he kicks himself for not thinking of a good disposal plan beforehand.

“Oh baby, oh baby...f-fuck!” You whine, hips squirming and gyrating as your impending orgasm grows closer. “Y-Yeah, I love it, love everything you do to me. Wanna take every s-single fucking drop of your cum, Charlie, want it inside me, want it dripping down my thighs.”

He almost loses his mind over your comments, drilling into you at an impossibly hard and fast rate, the lewd slapping squelching sound of your hips colliding overwhelmingly prominent in the space around you.

“You’ll go back to work with so much cum shoved into you, make you sit through your stupid fucking meeting with my cum dripping out of you. B-Better hope no one notices, huh? Better hope your boss doesn’t find out what a good little cockslut you are, how much you love having a pussy-full of your boyfriends f-fucking cum.”

A few muted cries leave your lips as he pounds you harder, his own words spurring him on. He can feel your walls pulsing around him, a sure-fire sign that you’re about to cum.

“C-Charlie! Charlie, I...I’m close.”

“K-Know you are, kid, I know you are. You’re doing so f-fucking well for me, Y/N, squeezing my big cock like a fuckin champ.” Charlie growls, quickly tossing his spent cigarette in a coffee mug on a nearby table. “And now you’re gonna rub your little clit and cum for me like I know you want to. C’mon, kid, wanna feel you come undone around me.”

You quickly begin rubbing your clit and, despite the odd angle, it brings you right up to the edge. You just need something, just a little something, to push you over the edge. Your eyes flutter open to look up at him, but then, you’re met with the sight of his sneakers.

“Goddamnit!” You’re cumming almost instantly, flooding his shaft with your release. “Yes! Oh god, yeah, c-cumming for you baby!”

His hips keep pumping, taking you right through your climax before abruptly coming to a halt when they’re buried as deep inside you as they can possibly be. His eyes go wide before squeezing shut, a guttural groan ripping through his chest as he pumps and shoves his thick creamy load into you.

“T-Take it, f-filthy whore!” He groans, rutting his hips the whole way through, making sure every drop is put inside you.

Once he’s finished, having ridden out his high to its fullest, he tucks himself back into his pants before helping you stand back up. He holds you close, looking down at you with a bright, genuine smile.

“You’re amazing, incredible...just so perfect.” He kisses all over your face before landing on your lips.

Your cheeks heat up at his compliments, hands weaving through his hair as the kiss deepens.

Suddenly, someone knocks on your office door, jiggling the doorknob.

“Charlie?”

His eyes fly open and he pulls away. Shit.

“Yeah, I’m h-here, just give me a minute!”

You quickly pull your pants up and jump under his desk to hide just as he opens the door, running a hand through his hair.

He talks to the person on the other side of the door in a rushed voice, answering their multitude of questions before quickly shutting the door, sighing as you crawl out from under the desk.

“At least we both got to cum, unlike last time.” You walk up and put your hands on his pecs, rubbing them over the fabric. “I gotta get going though, baby. I wanna grab lunch from the deli before my staff meeting.”

Charlie nods, dipping his head down to kiss you one last time, nuzzling his large nose against yours.

“Come over tonight, though? Nicole’s in town and she’s got Henry, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. I feel like we haven’t spent any quality time together lately.”

Nodding, you smile. “I would love to come over. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Great.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you later, kid. Have a good meeting.”

You laugh as you grab your bag and head out, turning back to wave and flash him a soft smile.

“See you tonight.”

187 notes · View notes

invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Drinking Buddies

Masterlist

--- If Jason ends up going home with someone, call me and I’ll come pick you up.

Y/N read the text from her boyfriend with a smirk. He’d sent it 20 minutes ago, but she was just now seeing it.

It was the only message Dick had sent her all night, always trying to give her the independence and space she needed.

Dick was always amused by Y/N and Jason’s little “club.” It even became an ongoing joke within the family. But Dick also knew that there was something sincere underneath it, as well.

Dick realized early in their relationship that there were some things in Y/N’s past he could never fully understand or help her with. Yes, he had his own trauma. But it didn’t involve abuse. His parents had died, but there wasn’t a day before that when Dick felt unloved by them.

Jason and Y/N had parallel childhoods: abusive parents, fighting to survive on the streets of Gotham, robbed of a happy and sheltered adolescence. Unfortunately, they were both victims of the darkness that Gotham held. The same darkness that drove both of them to risk their lives to stop it from continuing.

Outsiders probably thought it was weird for a man to let his girlfriend go out with his younger brother alone. Especially when said brother was as tall and handsome and broody as Jason Todd. But Dick felt more comfortable doing that than when Y/N had girls’ nights. At least with Jason, Dick knew that Y/N would be safe.

But Dick also knew Jason needed a friend just as much as Y/N did.

--- I doubt that will happen. But I promise I’ll call you if it does.

Y/N typed back.

--- You’re a freakishly good wing woman. Don’t underestimate yourself.

Dick texted back instantly.

--- Have fun. Be safe. I love you.

He double texted.

--- I love you, too.

Y/N answered before slipping her phone back into her small purse.

“He’s so obsessed with you,” Jason commented without needing to ask who had her smiling down at her phone.

But Y/N wasn’t taking the bait that easily. “Good thing I’m obsessed with him, too.”

“He’s probably sitting at home and crying because he misses you so much.”

Y/N punched Jason in the arm. And it felt like punching a wall rather than a human being with skin, muscle, and fat. “Stop being mean. I didn’t come out with you to listen to Dick get ripped on.”

Jason gave her a crooked smirk. “You’re right. I wanted a drinking buddy.”

“Yes,” she agreed. But then she narrowed her eyes. “But you always wanted to talk to me about a woman.”

“I never said that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I have female intuition.” But her amusement and teasing faded. “Is it Artemis?”

Jason’s body tensed and gulped down the rest of his whiskey.

“That obvious, huh?” He asked slowly, his embarrassment was easily caught.

“No, it’s not, actually. I’ve just been paying attention.”

“I told you I hated her and that she drives me to insanity,” Jason scoffed.

“Yeah, and I knew that was your sexual tension speaking,” Y/N teased with a tilt of her head and a smirk before taking a sip of her drink.

Jason chuckled at that. “You’re not wrong…”

“So,” Y/N leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms with interest. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s an Amazon. And a badass. She’s tall – taller than me, actually. Red hair. Doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Loves to pick a fight. Loves to get her way even more.” Jason sighed. “And…she’s beautiful,” he finished with. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

“OK. Now that you’ve basically given me her dating app bio,” Y/N ridiculed. “Get to the good shit.”

Jason glared at her.

But he took in a deep breath. “We’ve been…” he didn’t know how to put it politely.

“Fucking?” Y/N offered.

“Fine! Yes, alright?” He growled. “It was just casual at first. Friends with benefits – or whatever.”

Y/N couldn’t stop her laugh from escaping.

“Jason, even though you try really hard to pretend to be a heartless hard-ass, you and I both know that you’re actually a hopeless romantic. So why you thought you were capable of having a fuck buddy, without falling in love with them, is beyond me.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration. “I know. I fucking know, OK?”

Y/N finally decided to have some sympathy and gripped his shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, bud.”

“Am I? I hate this. I feel like such an idiot. I don’t want to mess this up. But I also don’t want to keep pretending like I’m not in love with her.”

It was moments like these where Y/N truly forgot that Jason was also the Red Hood, one of Gotham’s most feared vigilantes. He was also a murderer, if she was being transparent. But right now, he just seemed like a lost young man, terrified of his own feelings.

“Why don’t you get us another round and I’ll put some music on the jukebox? And then we’ll figure out your shit,” she offered.

Jason smiled. “Deal.”

There were at one of the roughest dive bars in Gotham.

Jason was a regular – as was almost everyone else that was there.

He already made his reputation known.

And even though on the outside he looked like a helpless pretty boy, the bar patrons learned rather quickly not to pick a fight with Jason Todd. Not that most of them wanted to, he was a perfectly polite guy and tipped far too nicely for the shit service he got there.

Y/N made her way to the vintage jukebox and started scrolling through her options.

“What are you picking? Justin Bieber?” A froggish voice said to her right.

Y/N paused to give him a glare. “Is that because I’m a woman?”

This was negging. And Y/N hated this pick up tactic more than any cheesy line.

The man shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you put on something good.”

“Oh, I will,” Y/N snapped before turning her attention back to the songs.

“How about I help you DJ and then you let me buy you a drink?” He muttered far too closely to her ear.

It made a chill go up her spine and she suddenly felt ill.

“No thanks.”

“Come on. One drink,” he grabbed her wrist.

Y/N whipped her attention back to him and tried to tug her wrist away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she growled.

But his grip tightened.

“Get your hands off her,” Jason barked suddenly from behind her.

Jason had at least 5 inches on the guy and was probably twice his weight.

It was enough to make the man immediately drop Y/N’s wrist. “Maybe don’t leave your girl alone…”

“She’s not ‘my girl.’ She’s my brother’s girlfriend,” Jason corrected with a glare.

He wanted to say more, but he could tell by Y/N’s body language that she didn’t want to start a scene, hating all the eyes that were already on them.

The man had given up.

But not before both of them heard him mutter, “Fuckin’ whore.”

Without missing a beat, Jason punched him in the face.

The hit knocked the guy off his feet and possibly knocked out a few teeth.

So much for not causing a scene…

“Say another word about her and I won’t use my hands next time,” Jason practically spit down to him.

Then he slyly opened up his jacket to show that he had a gun on him.

The guy didn’t need to hear anything else. He jumped to his feet and tried not to run out of the place.

A beat passed before Y/N erupted into laughter.

“Oh, Jason! Oh, my knight in shining armor! You saved me!” Y/N put the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically as she mocked him.

“I should’ve let him grope you,” Jason mumbled as he led them back to their seats.

They both knew he didn’t mean it.

“Dick’s been showing me some self defense, you know.” Y/N beamed proudly as she took a sip of her new drink.

The bartender came over and silently offered them a free round of shots, proving that he’d seen the exchange. And this was his way of apologizing for their troubles.

Jason nodded his head in thanks before handing one of them to Y/N.

“Yeah?” He played dumb.

She nodded excitedly.

They clinked their shot glasses together before throwing them back.

“You know Dick would have my ass if I hadn’t intervened, right?” He asked her.

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. He’s overprotective like that.”

“I’d be the same way,” Jason agreed.

“Even if it was with an Amazon, who was bigger and stronger and had lived for hundreds of years?” Y/N teased, reminding him that she wasn’t done talking about his love life.

“Even then,” he smirked.

The night went on as normal.

Y/N asked Jason a million questions about Artemis.

And together, they came up with a game plan.

————————————

Dick was working on his computer.

Gray sweatpants on. No shirt. A couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee table where his feet were propped up.

He wanted to lie to himself and believe he was waiting up for Y/N to make sure she got home safe. But he knew Jason would die before he left anything happen to her – especially on his watch.

No, Dick didn’t bother trying to go to sleep because he basically couldn’t when Y/N was gone.

Even if he was in bed and she was still up working or walking around the apartment, it was like Dick could feel her presence and that was enough. He needed her to sleep, even if she wasn’t right next to him.

Dick smiled when he heard the loud clattering of keys failing to match with the slot of the lock.

Finally the apartment door opened.

“Special delivery for Richard John Grayson!” Y/N screamed in a slur before he even could see her.

“Shh!” Jason hushed quickly. “He’s probably sleeping.”

But when they rounded the corner, Jason relaxed at the sight of Dick being wide awake.

Y/N was piggybacking Jason with a drunk smile.

“Looks like you two had fun,” Dick commented with a laugh.

“So much fun,” Y/N agreed.

But then she was squirming and Jason realized she wanted off. He released his protective grip on the back of her thighs and carefully dropped her to her feet.

Y/N sprinted to her boyfriend and tackled him into a hug on the couch.

Thankfully Dick saw this coming and had quickly moved the laptop off his lap before she crushed it.

“Well hello to you too,” Dick chuckled as she wrapped her body on top of his like a koala bear.

He kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I’m very tired. And Jason wouldn’t get me Taco Bell,” she whined.

Jason looked offended and held his hands up in surrender. “I did try to get you Taco Bell, but it was closed.”

“He’s lying,” Y/N whispered.

“OK,” Dick managed to suppress his laughter. “How about we get you into bed and maybe chug some water?” Dick asked her softly.

She just nodded into his neck.

“Alright. Here we go,” Dick warned her before he managed to lift both of them off of the couch and carry her to their bedroom.

He helped her out of her clothes and then got her into one of his big t-shirts, not bothering with shorts or pants. He managed to convince her to take out her contacts before he handed her a makeup removal wipe. Then he very nicely asked her to drink some water for him.

“I’m gonna go say bye to Jason and then I’ll be right back,” he whispered as he tucked her into bed.

Y/N sleepily nodded. “Jason punched a creepy dude for me. So be extra nice to him, K?”

Dick sighed.

Of course Jason did.

When Dick walked out of the bedroom, his younger brother was chugging a glass of water in their kitchen.

“You punched a dude?” Dick asked as he crossed his arms and gave him a suspicious look.

Jason shrugged. “Just another asshole who didn’t know the word no.”

“Thanks. For always looking out for her, I mean.”

Jason nodded.

“You spending the night?” Dick asked.

They purposely rented a place that had a guest bedroom. It was rather common for someone from his family to crash. A lot of the time it was someone hiding from Bruce out of spite and needed some space from the manor.

“Nah. I just wanted to make sure she got home. I’m walking back to my place.”

Dick nodded, expecting that to be his response.

But Jason seemed to be lingering for some reason.

“You OK?” Dick asked him after a few moments.

“Yeah! Yeah, I just…Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you make sure you don’t fuck it up?”

Jason didn’t need to clarify that ‘it’ was Dick’s relationship with Y/N.

Dick scratched the back of his head. This wasn’t a usual subject for him and Jason. They almost never talked about women with each other.

“I guess I just…” he thought about it for a moment. “I’m honest with her. So she never questions where we’re at. She always knows how I feel. And then it’s never scary for her.”

Jason nodded his head, clearly deep in thought as he mulled over Dick’s answer.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he finally said his goodbyes.

“Get home safe, yeah?”

Jason scoffed. “Always do.”

Dick locked the door behind his brother.

When he made his way back to the bedroom, Y/N appeared to be passed out.

But when Dick crawled into the other side, she instantly moved to him and placed a kiss on his bare chest.

“Hi,” she sighed sleepily.

“Hi,” he kissed the top of her head as he wrapped his arms around her. “What’s up with Jason?”

She smiled with her eyes closed. “Can’t tell you. It’s club business.”

Dick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

He tickled her sides.

“Noooo,” Y/N whined as she buried her face into his chest.

Dick only stopped because her reaction was so adorable.

“I’m kidding,” she breathed her surrender. “Your brother…is in love.”

“In love, huh?” Dick said in awe, processing the idea.

“And what advice did you give him?” He asked.

But when he looked down, he realized Y/N was now actually asleep.

Dick kissed her cheek and mentally reminded himself to run to the store early tomorrow so he could make them a greasy breakfast. He could only assume Y/N was going to need it with the inevitable hangover from a night drinking with Jason Todd.

------------------

Guess I wasn’t finished with them yet 😏

Let me know what you think. And I’ll see if I want to keep doing these.

ALL BONUS CONTENT CAN BE FOUND: HERE

#all men have limits #AMHL bonus content #jason todd x platonic!reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson reader insert #nightwing x reader #nightwing reader insert #dick grayson fic #dick grayson #batboys #batfam

285 notes · View notes

pascalscenarios · 3 years

Text

CLUMSY (Frankie Morales x Reader)

CLUMSY

Inspired by the song “Clumsy” by Fergie

Scenario Series

Frankie Morales X Reader

Summary: You’re a waitress at a bar. Frankie is clumsy and completely flustered around you.

Words: 1600

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, accidental touching

Author's Note: No because clumsy Frankie sounds cute af - K

It was packed at Aces, the bar you waitressed at. Tonight was game night, meaning a big sporting event was airing live on TV. Everyone flooded to the bar to watch the game on the multiple flatscreens, drink a shit ton of beer and eat greasy, yet delicious food.

“Alright Mac, here’s your usual, a pint of beer and nachos” You take the beer off the tray first, then set the nachos down on to the small circular table.

“Thanks darlin” He smiles at you. He picks up the beer, taking a swig and turning his attention back to the game.

“Of course, let me know if you need anything else!” you say over the loud noise.

“Thanks!”

With that you hold your empty tray in your hand, weaving past tables and bodies and make your way over to the bar to pick up orders.

You set your tray on the bartop, picking up plates of foods and beers, placing them on your tray.

Your coworker Johnny rushes up to you “Could you cover the table in the back?” He says as he quickly piles up his tray with orders.“Sorry! I’m really falling behind with all these orders and they requested for you”

Johnny was a new hire, only been on the job for a couple weeks. This was his first night working with the bar packed like this. It could get overwhelming.

You look over to the back, four guys sitting at the table. It was The Miller brothers, Will and Benny, and their friends Santiago, and Frankie. The four guys were regulars at the bar, coming in every so often.

Frankie Morales was looking at you, but quickly averted his gaze away when you noticed him staring at you. A smile crept onto your face. Frankie was cute, and boy did you have a fat crush on him.

Frankie is always nervous around you. You’ve heard him talk to the guys or anyone else like it was nothing, but when it was you, he’d shut up real quick. He was selective with his words, sometimes even stuttering when he spoke.

Something always went wrong when he tried to talk to you. Countless of times he has tripped, slipped, stumbled and fumbled in your presence. He is an absolute clutz around you.

“Yeah, of course! Don’t worry, I got you!”

“Thank you! I owe one!” Johnny quickly takes his tray and rushes off into the room.

You quickly maneuver around the floor, dropping off beers and food to various tables before heading over to the table towards the back corner of the bar.

“Hey, boys!” you greeted him.

Benny shouts your name “...Our favorite Waitress!”

“How are you doing?” Will asks, leaning on his arms that were on the table.

“Good! It’s a busy night! I haven’t seen you guys around for a while” you hold the tray in your arms.

“We’ve been busy at work. Thought we should have a few beers, eat and watch the game” Santi says motioning to the TV.

“And besides, Frankie here wanted to see you” Benny tossing his arm around him. Frankies eyes widen.

You cock your eyebrow up. “Is that so?” The guys begin to snicker or try to hold in their laughs.

“What?- No, that’s not why we came here- I mean not that I don’t wanna see you- it’s good to see you-I” he begins to babble

You begin to giggle “It’s good to see you, Frankie”

Frankie wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He was turning red, embarrassed, and angry staring at Benny.

“I already know what you guys want, I’ll be back in a minute” you say before walking away.

Once you were a far distance away, the guys busted out laughing.

“God, Frankie what was that?!” Benny was hunched over from laughing.

Frankie rolled his eyes annoyed at his friends.

“The person you become when they’re around...it's unreal” Santi chimes in.

“You should ask them out already Frankie. You’ve been crushing on them for a while” Will encourages him.

“They probably think I’m fucking idiot” Frankie mumbles.

“You’re not an idiot. You’re just nervous, that's all. It’s normal to be nervous around someone you like. You’re too much in your head. Don’t try to control the situation, just let things happen. Let it play out” Will expresses his advice to Frankie.

“Alright, 20 bucks something is gonna go wrong tonight...I say pretty soon” Benny says.

“Frankie’s gonna be okay” Will glares at Benny and Santi. They weren’t even drunk yet, yet here they are being assholes.

“Something always happens though, but I think later on in the night” Santi gives them a knowing look, “You got yourself a bet” He leans across the table shaking hands with Benny. Will shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight” Frankie gets up from his chair. “I’m going home”

“Frankie, Come on man” Benny drags out.

“No, I’m out of here” Frankie whips around, accidentally bumps into the tray in your hands. One of the pints tip over on the tray spilling all over your body.

“Oh my god” You gasp, clutching the tray close to you, making sure the rest of the pints don’t spill on the ground. You quickly set the beer soaked tray on to their table. You look down at yourself. Your v neck shirt was drenched in beer, and dripping onto your jeans.

“I’m so sorry- here let me help you” Frankie picks up the napkins from the dispenser on the table.

Your eyes widen as he begins to dap your exposed chest with the napkin. You know he means well. You don’t even think he realised what he was doing. You were just caught off guard.

“Frankie!” Will shouts.

“What-OH! Shit” it clicks in his head where his hands were, and clearly they shouldn’t be here.

He quickly moves his hands away from your body, and stepping away from you “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean- I swear I wasn’t trying to- I” He was a stuttering mess.

“It’s fine” You chuckled awkwardly “Uh, I’m gonna go change and bring you new beers...I’ll have someone clean up the spill, excuse me” You pick up the tray and head back over to the bar.

“Fuck” Frankie sat back down covering his face in embarrassment. He felt terrible for not only spilling the drinks on you, but for touching you.

“Pay up, Garcia” Benny holds out his hand for twenty dollars. “Ouch!” Bennt helps out as his older brother slaps him upside the head.

…

The rest of the night Frankie remained silent, limiting himself to a few words, hardly making any eye contact when you came around by the table.

The bars closing time inched closer. People in the bar started to leave sporadically.

The night was coming down to an end. The guys paid for their food and left a good tip for you like they always do. The guys got up, waved goodbye to you, and started to make their way towards the exit.

Frankie didn’t want to leave without apologizing to you. I would have messed with his conscience, keeping him awake until the wee hours of the morning.

“I’ll catch up with you guys outside, I’ll be a minute.”

You were behind the bar, wiping up glasses that you just cleaned.

Frankie's heart was pounding. There was no need to be nervous. You were always so sweet to him. He took a deep breath in, signing quickly. “Hey” Frankie said as he approached the counter top.

“Hi” you smile softly at him as you set the cup down on the counter, picking up another to wipe.

“Are you staying a bit longer?”

“The guys are waiting for me outside..I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to apologize earlier-”

“Frankie” you sighed, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine”

“No, It wasn’t. I knocked a whole pint of beer on you, then proceeded to touch your chest, without consent-”

“Frankie, it was an accident. You were just trying to help me” you giggle. “Besides, I think it's cute when I make you all flustered”

Frankie started to blush. He scratches the back of his neck “You noticed that huh?”

“There’s no need to be nervous around me. I’m no one special”

“Well I mean you kinda are. I’ve had a crush on you for a while” Frankie cringed at what he said. “Wow I sound like such a fucking creep- I’m sorry. I’m really not good at these things and I-”

You quickly set down the glass and rag down on the counter. You leaned your body forward, grabbing a hold of Frankies shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. It was simple and sweet.

You pull away, biting your lip “Frankie you need to relax...I’ve had a crush on you for a while too.

“Really? After I made myself look like a clown in front of you countless of times?”

“Yes really. How about we go out on a date?” You asked him.

“O-okay. Yeah I’d like that…”

“I’m off Friday night. Is that day okay?”

“Yeah”

“Alright, here’s my number” You grab a pen from your apron, and write it down on a napkin. You hand him the napkin.

“Night Frankie”

“Goodnight”

Frankie heads out of the bar and finds the guys waiting around.

“What took you so long?” Benny complained

“Looks like a got a date friday night” he smiles holding up the napkin with your number

“ATTA BOY FRANKIE!!”

MT: @icanbeyourjedi @sara-alonso @greeneyedblondie44 @hb8301 1 @alberta-sunrise @spacenerdpascal @ryleyrooroo @reader-s-cantina @nikkixostan @mindidjarin

#triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #pedro #frankie morales #frankie

108 notes · View notes

machinegunbun · 3 years

Text

The house you eventually park in front of is much like yours, just a bit bigger, since Colson didn't live alone. The sound of sirens outside is carried almost melodically in the freezing wind. You soak it all in, wondering about who else in this city felt so far from home and yet right in the thick of it.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Colson quips, motioning to the steps, "but at least we got it to ourselves tonight," his grin could stretch a city mile.

Once inside, Colson immediately turns on a nearby heater and clears the couch, grabbing his RAW tray off the busted up coffee table, almost muscle memory, it seems, for both of you. You lay a fat sack down on the rolling tray as he sweeps the papers out of the way.

"Damn, do you really got glaucoma?" He snorts, untwisting the top. "No wonder I can smell it thru your backpack." He is all smiles while he breaks it down. "Have a seat, make yourself at home," he offers, pointing to the couch cushion free next to him.

You sit down on the very edge, causing Colson to stop in his tracks.

"Aw, come on, don't do me like that," he pouts, pulling a folded blanket from the chair to his left. "I got blankies," he teased, knowing how drafty all these houses are the heater won't cut it. "I said, make yourself at home," he playfully insists, and unexpectedly, he grabs your thigh to pull you so close, you can feel the heat emitting from his jeans.

He continues as if nothing had even happened, luxurious tongue peeking out to seal the blunt. So you wrap the blanket across your laps, and act nonchalant, too, trying to force the lump in your throat all the way down.

"A backwoods, that's classic," you offer as a change of subject, watching mesmerized as the ambient lighting and warm tones of the fake flames of the heater danced across his chiseled face. Godddd, why couldn't you control yourself?

Colson smirked before running a lighter across it. "Only the best for my guest."

The two of you sit cozy under the blanket for a short period of time, passively hitting the blunt and savoring before passing, while Colson rigged up a speaker. As the hip hop played softly, you felt your muscles relax a bit, most they had in 6 years.

Colson began probing you with his eyes again, like he was about to start 20 questions back up.

"So, you're not really from around here, are you?" He digs, pressing a thigh against yours to turn to face you better.

"Ah, no," you say, nodding

"From....?" He prompts, rolling his hand before passing the blunt.

"Down South," you're ashamed the more you divulge.

Colson pulls a face. "You don't have an accent, though," he contests.

"Got rid of it," you shrug. "People think you're stupid," you smile back.

Colson takes a hand and begins rubbing your thigh softly, as if to comfort you, although he can feel the tension increasing doing just the opposite. "I wouldn't think you're stupid, at all," he husks quietly, serious.

You don't want to make a sound for fear it will come out as a squeak.

"Look, I would ask what brings you all the way out here, but..." He trails off before hitting the blunt hard. "I'm a blunt motherfucker, so I'll just say it. I know about the..." He is swallowing the wrong words, struggling despite his frankness. "Well, the whole crew knows about the... The statutory situation," he whispers, like someone is listening. "You don't really talk to nobody, so.. They got curious. There's... There's lots of articles."

You almost disassociate, so he takes it as a sign to continue.

"I couldn't imagine. So, if I'm making you uncomfortable..." He begins to look worried, the desire to backpedal immediately written across his face.

You physically snap back, and force him to stop leaning away from you.

"You're blunt, huh?" You ask, now trying to comfort him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry," he relaxes into your touch, though.

"You don't have any chains or ropes here, so I'm not here by force," you smile, darkly, almost transported back to 15 again.

Colson winces, sympathetically, before shaking his head (to no doubt clear images) the articles he had read that paint an all too vivid picture out of his mind like an etch a sketch.

"Look, I ... I really wanted to get to know you, and... Everybody told me it was a bad idea, you know? Like I would fuck up your life. But I just really can't resist, you seem so cool, so sweet," Colson trails off, realizing in your vulnerable state he had began being too vulnerable as well.

"Thanks. I know that sounds stupid, but, most people... Well, most guys, avoid me like the plague."

Colson melts back into the couch, into your warmth surrounding you, before beginning to pull a cigarette out for each of you. He passes it to you, so intuitive to how on edge you're feeling. He knows you too well already.

"You don't have to be scared, you know," you remind him, "you can keep playing 20 questions." You're joking but serious. "I've possibly purposefully not made any friends here yet. I salute you breaking the ice AND addressing the elephant in the room," you admit. "I like cutting thru the bullshit."

Colson takes a thoughtful drag from his cigarette while formulating his next question.

" okay," he sounds more at ease, "do you have a boyfriend?" He risks, wincing at how insensitive it sounds, but he correctly got the impression it was forgiven and you wanted to move forward exactly as he intended originally.

"Oooh, no, actually," you giggle at the spicy question. "Other than, the, ya know... Situation, shall I say, never been with a man before." You're shocked at how honest you're being.

Colson can't help his jaw dropping. "How... How old are--you're still a virgin??" He is stumbling over his words.

"21, and, yeah," you choke out, sudden shyness taking over.

It was so refreshing he considered you a virgin still that you could die on the spot.

"Whoa. Just.... Damn," Colson stuttered, as the etch a sketch cleaned his slate once again. Hopefully be was clearing thoughts of how tight you must be still, not how damaged you are.

"Do, um," he clears his throat while putting out his cigarette, "what kind of tattoos and piercings do you have?"

"None, of either, actually," you admit, eyes hungrily scanning Colson's inked up neck.

It seems he can't believe his ears.

"Are you.. Holy shit, no way? Prove it," he challenges.

You shrug the blanket and flannel off to expose your belly, shoulders, and lift your crop top to show nothing on collar bones. Colson looks like he would spit if he had water he was drinking. He wasn't expecting you to show him anything for real.

He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek to brush your hair behind the ear, "wow, no ear piercings, either. You're magical," he says heavily. "You're younger than me, by, like, a lot, but anyone... like you, I never would have guessed..."

You realize now that his knuckles still lay resting on your cheek, stroking it softly, and he'll be able to feel them burning red hot with embarrassment and desire The shame, because you've never done this before, never been so close and intimate with someone, and the desire as well for the same reason.

"You're better than I ever even imagined," he admits before falling silent, soaking up your reaction fully,

Colson breaks the silence first. "I want to kiss you," he states, voice dripping with lust, and cracking slightly.

As you place a hand over his much larger on your cheek, he takes this as a sign to keep going. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Colson licks his lips and scans your face hungrily.

"Can I?" He prompts, impatient, pupils blown, and jaw tight with anticipation.

You feel like you barely nod, hand dropping off of his, before he grabs it tightly to put it around his neck.

"Like this, let me show you," he whispers, lips ghosting yours.

In one Swift motion he slides a hand under your lower back in order to lay you down gently on the couch, hovering above you, on the edge of deranged with desire, like a wolf standing over a downed deer. You figure Colson has never had to exhibit this much self control before.

"I wanna defile you, take your innocence," he rasps, thumb finding its way to your bottom lip, stroking gently, opening your mouth ever so slightly. "I want it to be mine, I've wanted this for so long," he smiles, his rock hard cock pressing with a ungodly heat against your pubic bone. He's not even hiding anything anymore, using your exposed tummy and clothed pussy to hump and grind softly in order take the edge off.

"Can I touch you?" He asks desperately, biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed. "I want to help you relax a little," Colson whispers, though you imagine it's just as much for him as it is you.

"Anything you want, Cols." You're almost choking.

He lets out a dark laugh at this, and in an instant his hands feel like they're all over you, exploring, finally coming to rest at your jugular, feeling the intense pounding underneath his fingertips.

"You're scared?" It's a question as much as it is a statement. "Or turned on?" Colson raises a brow, other hand massaging your thigh, slowly curling it around his waist, positioning and posing you like a ragdoll, your body defeated and limp to his touches. You are in a state of bliss and fear. "Maybe both," he concludes, smirking.

At this you close your eyes, expecting any second to wake up from this all too familiar dream, as you've pined for your coworker possibly even longer than he has.

Suddenly, Colson is at your ear, breath hot and desperate. "Don't be scared babydoll, you're in good hands," he reassures, nipping at your earlobe in such a way it sends a shiver all throughout your body. "I... Will go... Slowww," he teases out painstakingly, "slow as you need me to," he adds gently.

It was then you were startled into the reality of the situation by the sound of his belt coming undone, soft noises as it is expertly slipped out of his belt loops in one, fluid motion. Colson feels you panic underneath him, and he is quick to respond to this.

—-

Havent had a chance to read it yet but i wanted yall to have fhis lmfaoo. A gift from bigblakdix to me to you

#mgbrecommends #mgk #mgk smut #mgk fic #mgk blurb #colson baker concept #colson baker blurb #colson baker smut #submission

65 notes · View notes

colorseeingchick · 4 years

Text

Crushing On You (Kirishima, Tamaki, Toyomitsu (Fat Gum))

Ion know bout y’all, but I consistently act weird around my crushes. That being said, I also can NEVER tell when someone has a crush on me (although I’m told its obvious). So let’s commemorate that, shall we?

A/N: This one is dedicated to the lovely @kirislut. She passively told me to write this and I was like yeah! And then proceeded to take 2 months to do it *sigh*. But yeah stan her or face my wrath >.<

Warnings: None! It’s fluffy. Y/N is written to match the age of the character (so a first year for Kiri, third year for Amajiki, late 20s for Fat).

Kirishima Eijirou (xBruh!Y/N)

Kiri would be crushing on you for a long time before he even realizes he’s crushing on you.

You would be a part of the Bakusquad, and you also made an effort to stand up for yourself against Bakugou, and something about that really got to Kiri.

You were somehow so *manly* while also so hot AND cute? Damn, how do you do it?

Not that he understood that he saw you in such a light.

Because Kiri doesn’t realize he has a crush on you, he wouldn’t necessarily be super blushy or flustered at first.

When around you, he’s showering you in compliments.

When you aren’t around, he’s constantly bringing you up in conversation. Every conversation. With every single person.

He would also team up with you to tease Bakugou.

And you already know that if anyone had anything negative to say about you, then he would stand up for you in a heartbeat.

He really admired you, to say the least. He loved being around you. That was all (he thought).

That is, until the bros™ decided to give him a talk.

“So..Y/N?” Is all Sero would say.

And obviously Kiri smiled at your name, but didn’t know why they were bringing you up.

“Are you gonna ask them out anytime soon? If you wait any longer I might just do it myself,” Kaminari tries to playfully nudge Kirishima into understanding.

“Ask them out???” Kiri is now in shock! Because where did this come from!

That being said, his face also got as red as his hair, and the thought of you hugging him or staring back at him felt like a really pleasant idea all of a sudden.

“Oi, shitty hair, don’t tell me you don’t recognize your own feelings. Are you really that much of an idiot?” Bakugou asks, his tone irritated and disinterested.

Although, he’s kinda invested in seeing you two get together at this point. The whole squad was.

And then it hit the man like a truck.

Shit! I have a crush on the coolest, strongest, most amazing person I know.

After this point, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to ask you out yet. But he definitely starts acting differently.

Usual shoulder leans and elbow nudges now make him feel like Kaminari was electrocuting him..

Any compliments you sent his way would cause Kiri.exe to stop working.

And your smile would make him feel starstruck.

It was a breaking point when a school sponsored dance came around and you showed up looking like a WHOLE SNACK in the most elegant dress/tux/(whatever badass clothes you wanna be rockin). .

Kiri straight up would not look at you. He fully refused to turn his head in your direction, which was hard because the Bakusquad decided to spend the whole time there together, which meant he wasn’t leaving your side.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugou was so confused (I mean same. Kiri THEY LOOK LIKE A SNACK why aren’t you basking in their glory jeez).

“SHHH Bakugou. It’s not manly to stare…”

Kiri was worried that he would ogle you into discomfort, jaw dropped and eyes wide because his heart would burst upon looking at you for too long.

In turning his head, he didn’t notice Kaminari and Sero approach you, whispering into your ear.

It was only when you came up and tapped him on his shoulder that he turned around and looked at you, you smiling at him.

“Hey Kiri, do you wanna dance with me?”

Hey would pause, because he was really flustered, but then he would flash his huge toothy grin and gladly take your hand, pulling you onto the dancefloor to dance with him into the night.

BONUS: While dancing with you, Kiri would only look at your face and refused to look at your feet, causing him to stumble a couple of times.

And naturally, you would ask him about it.

He would blush but explain, “I didn’t want you to think that I was staring down at your body and making you uncomfortable…”

WANDERING EYES ARE NOT MANLY! change Kiri’s mind.

You would laugh and respond, “Hey, if you need to look at our feet to make sure we don’t trip, I don’t mind.”

But you would then pull close to him, wrapping one hand around his neck and speak quietly into his ear-

“And if you wanna look at the rest of me while you're at it, I wouldn’t mind that either.”

Kiri.exe has stopped working once again. Good job Y/N!

Amajiki Tamaki (xGentle!Y/N)

Tamaki would have a crush on you after being your friend for a little while.

Like at first he was super nervous around you because people are nerve inducing and scary (I feel ya buddy its ok).

Over time though, you guys became closer friends. He realized how gentle and sweet you were.

You would spend a lot of time together, studying, going to get food, and training together.

You also would spend late nights together, especially when one of you was stressed or having a panic attack. You kept each other safe.

It wasn’t a surprise to Tamaki when he found himself wanting to spend more time with you.

It didn’t shock him that he loved looking into your eyes.

He felt himself, and watched himself, fall in love with you.

But despite that, he wasn’t really as awkward about it as you would expect him to be.

Your entire relationship had been very wholesome and close from the start, and because he was aware of his feelings from the get go, there wasn’t any real shock.

Ultimately, you were his safe space, and he would rather not compromise that by bringing his emotions into it. He was content to love you from a bit of a distance.

In a non creepy way, he loved to watch you. He knows looking at people you love or feel safe with is a really good way to calm anxiety and ground yourself, and that’s what Tamaki does all the time with you.

Just watch you work or eat and laugh. It was enough to keep him together.

And the times you told him “I love you” made his heart soar, even if he knew it was platonic.

He also had a journal with writing in it, where he would write small notes or lines about his thoughts. Many were about you and how pretty you looked when you came to his room in PJs when you couldn’t sleep, or how happy you were when you down a bowl of ramen, or how-

You get the idea.

Though he was content with accepting his crush on you, nothing could have prepared him for how you found out.

You both had been working together in his room. He was working on some homework while you were studying for your *least* favorite subject, math.

So you ask if you can see his notes to help you understand better.

“Yeah. It’s the first one on my shelf. Its the most recent pages.”

What he forgot was that he had moved it into his backpack and the nondescript notebook that sat first on his shelf was his journal.

While he kept working, you opened to try and figure out how integrals worked, but instead were met with a cute doodle of your face with a heart next to it.

The line above it said, “On a cold day, y/n’s smile keeps me warm.”

It was oddly poetic, a lil sappy, insanely heart tingling but cOMPLETELY out of left field because- what? This was definitely NOT integrals.

“Tamaki, I don’t think this is the right book…”

He looks up and his face drops in horror as he sees you with his journal, your eyes dazed and unsure.

“O-oh! I’m s-s-so s-sorry I-”

He trips off his bed and runs right up to you, tugging the notebook out of your hand and pulling it to his chest. “This isn’t how I meant for you to f-f-find out I have a c-crush on you-u.” His eyes are glued to the floor.

“...Tamaki, you have a crush on me?” You ask, in a calm (but very shocked) tone.

His eyes shot up, wide, and he scrambled through the notebook to see what you read. It was just the doodle and one line, but if you had flipped a page back, you would have seen a long rambling explaining how much he liked you.

But, you didn’t flip a page back, and instead, Tamaki had 100% exposed himself.

“Y/N I’m s-so so sorry you probably think that I’m a creep now I swear that I really value our friendship and I don’t mean to ruin it so you can just forget about this and-”

He went on for a while, lost in his words and slowly falling apart while you were trying to process what you heard.

He had a crush on you too? What a relief. You wish you realized sooner! But better late than never right?

Now for how you were gonna calm him down.

On instinct, you wanted to jump on him and kiss him till he couldn’t breathe, but that would probably freak him out more than anything else.

So you just do what feels right.

“I really hope you don’t hate me or think I’m weird you just really make me feel complete and peaceful and I never meant to-”

You reach out and gently take hold of one of his hands, pulling it to your face, and softly kiss his knuckles.

He stops rambling and looks like a deer in headlights as his face ignites into a bright red.

“WHY DID YOU-”

“Shhh.. Tamaki… I like you too, okay? I like you a lot. So please calm down.”

What a roller coaster for this poor boy. “Y-you don’t think I’m obsessed with you?”

“I don’t! Well, if you’re obsessed with me, I’m just as obsessed with you, so its okay!”

You smile at him and he blushes, hiding his face into his shoulder, his hand still sweetly entangled with yours.

“I, I’m glad,” he manages to get the words out after a few seconds.

For the first time in the history of your relationship, Tamaki was a flustered blushy mess with you.

“Cmon Tamaki, we have more studying to do!!” You want him to mentally gather himself, so you take him back to his bed, hands still intertwined.

BONUS: After failing at studying, Tamaki laid down on his bed and stared at the wall, failing to nap, while you were sitting at the foot of the bed.

His mind was racing.

“We like each other, but we haven’t talked about it since that moment… What if things are going to be awkward? I don’t want it to be what should I-”

The bed dipped down behind him and an arm snaked up around his torso. His back was pulled against your chest.

“Is it okay if I take a nap with you, sweetheart?” You ask in a lazy and sleepy voice.

His heart fluttered at the nickname. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m glad. I love you, Tamaki.” And with that, you nuzzle into his back and fall asleep.

And with the feeling of your arms and your stable breathing, he realized you were still his safe space. And with that he was lulled to sleep.

Toyomitsu Taishiro (x Foodie!Y/N)

You’re assigned to represent your agency for the team-up with Fat Gum’s agency.

When you rolled in, Fat Gum didn’t take much note of you at first.

But when you intensely fawn over takoyaki during lunch break on the first day, he felt like his eyes were being reopened and he was seeing you for the first time.

Love at first meal!

Though he initially found you attractive because he shares his love of food with you, he slowly found himself loving everything about you.

You’re a lighthearted person, with a big heart and an even bigger appetite.

You brought a lot of joy, and that was energy Taishiro could never get enough of.

He knew he was a goner when one day were pranked by one of his Agency members, got caught off guard, and ended up jumping at him.

He caught you and held you (cuz hero instincts obviously), and in that moment you couldn’t help but hug him out of fear (and because he’s SO CUDDLY REEEEEE).

But that’s enough for him to realize he wants to hold you more. And often.

Yeah he’s whipped okay.

He definitely tries to keep it professional! And not *overtly* flirt with you.

But he brings you food literally 2 or 3 times a day.

That may sound like a lot, but given its Fat Gum, it came off pretty innocuous at first.

He’s also really observant, so he picks up on what type of foods you really like.

So he very often pulls up with your favorites, which always makes your day better.

He also tries to give you some of his favorite foods, and days you like his favorites were the best.

He was living his best life watching you be happy, even in a professional setting.

Fat Gum finally came forward about his feelings for you after a mission went awry.

It was supposed to be an information retrieval mission- simple get in get out.

You, Fat, and Sun Eater were going to be working together.

Fat would guard, Sun Eater would infiltrate and restrain, while you would obtain necessary documents.

That plan is sabotaged the moment you realized the League is also present- when they definitely were not supposed to be.

Before you can process this shocking information, a knife is being plunged into your stomach.

Toga smiles down at you- “pretty blood from a pretty person, I’m sorry I can’t help myself.”

She jumps back when Sun Eater sends an octopus arm at her.

He grabs you in the process and pulls you back, where Fat is now standing by his side, eyes wide in horror.

He takes you into his arms, and the last thing you feel is being held against his fluffiness before blacking out.

When you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed, Recovery Girl on one side of you, and Taishiro on the other, in his skinny form.

Evidently, he had beaten most of the villains to a pulp, but the League had dipped before he could do much more damage.

But after that, he had carried you to the ambulance and hasn’t left your side since. It’s been half a day.

“Fat Gum…”

“Hey do me a favor and call me Taishiro, okay?” He asks you very gently.

“Tai-shiro…” Oof his heart skipped a beat at hearing you say his name.

“Taishiro, the mission…”

“Shhh it’s okay. There’s an interrogation of the villains that we captured going on right now, and Fourth Kind’s agency is following up on our leads. We did our job for now.”

“Are you okay? Amajiki-kun, is he okay?”

“We’re both fine. Some scratches on him, a lil fat lost for me, but we’re okay.”

“Taishiro...The agency, why are you here? You should be there running the ag-”

“I want to be here with you. That’s why I am here. I trust my assistants to cover for me right now.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I still don’t understand why…”

“Because I like you. I like you lots, Mx. L/N. I know our relationship has been professional, but seeing you injured was something I didn’t…. I care a lot and I couldn’t find it in myself to leave you here alone. I hope our relationship can stay professional and friendly though, I really enjoy spending time with you.”

Recovery Girl looks back and forth between you two, eyeing your shocked face and his determined, serious one.

“I’ll be back to check on you in an hour, Y/N. But I’ll leave you two alone for now ~~~”

You paused, silent. The longer you stayed silent the faster his heart began to race.

Suddenly, you sit up, placing weight on the heels of your palms.

“Y/N you’re still injured what are you-”

It's your turn to cut him off, grabbing his jacket and yanking him towards you with your left hand.

Your right hand going to wrap around the back of his neck,

and your body falls back,

Caught off guard, half standing, and balance lost, Fat’s upper body is now looming above yours, his hands planted on either side of you.

His eyes are wide, and your hands on the back of his neck are warm.

“I’m sorry, Taishiro… but I don’t want this relationship to stay just professional. So can I kiss you?”

His heart flutters, and his classic grin spreads across his face as he closes his eyes and let’s his face close the distance between you two.

BONUS: You and Fat Gum decided that you didn’t want to tell people that you had started dating- the news would take it and make it a public affair.

But you decided to leave it up in the air for your agency to figure out. They were your friends after all.

The first to catch on was Amajiki, but he stayed quiet.

But the new recruit Kirishima wasn’t as quiet about his suspicions.

When he walked in to see you hug Fat Gum, he didn’t know how to react.

You both seemed fine and acted as if hugging was a perfectly normal thing he shouldn’t be surprised by.

You say goodbye and pat Kiri’s head on the way out.

The last thing you heard was a loud scream, followed by a “Fat, you and Y/N are dating?”

Yeah! Cat’s out of the bag.

260 notes · View notes

crvluz · 3 years

Text

✰𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 ✰

𝟏𝟖+!! 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.. 𝐓𝐖: 𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Dating a criminal meant that your relationship was unconventional to say the least. For one, public dates were out of the question, unless you wanted it to end in destruction of public property and some dead cops. You also always had to have some kind of flimsy excuse for your family and friends when they asked to meet your elusive boyfriend. In addition, you had to accept the fact that he would have to disappear sometimes for weeks on end to do his boss' bidding.

There was also the small matter of arson, murder and theft and a multitude of other crimes that you'd prefer not to know about. And while you weren't necessarily okay with a lot of what Jean did, you loved him. You loved him so much that turning a blind eye was so easy it made you question your own morality. He didn't scare you either. Not in the slightest, because you knew in his own special way, he loved you too.

In fact it ran much deeper than that. On his worst days, Jean could set the world ablaze until nothing was left because in the end he didn't care about anyone or anything, not even himself. Until he met you, he says. He tells you that in you, he's found something to tether him to this existence.

Maybe he didn't use those words exactly, but he doesn't have to. You know that's what he means when he spoils you with expensive clothes and jewelry, when he offers to kill any person who makes you even the tiniest bit upset and when he comes home to you bloodied and beaten, trusting you to take care of him.

In summary, your relationship forced you to give up on having any "normal couple" experiences. That included, celebrating anniversaries and silly holidays like Valentine's Day so you never bothered to keep track of them. It could hardly be considered a sacrifice when you compared those things to what you actually got from your relationship.

Jean had been gone for close to a month now and you didn't expect him back anytime soon, not knowing where he was or what he was doing. In fact the very last thing you expected was for him to creep into your bedroom in the middle of night and rouse you from your peaceful sleep with a soft kiss on your temple.

You don't jump out of bed in a panic, like any sane person would. Instead you let out a satisfied hum, surrounded by the scent of the Creed Aventus cologne, gunpowder and menthol, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. It should be unpleasant but its Jean's scent and you've missed it. You've missed him. You pick your phone up from your night stand, squinting your eyes at the bright light that makes them sting.

Sunday 14 February, 2:43am

"Welcome home." You mumble groggily, trying your best to fight off your tired body urging you to go back to sleep.

Instead of replying, he greets you by pressing his mouth to yours. You let out a quiet gasp, startled by the sudden display of affection. His lips are chapped but that doesn't matter, your tongue darts out to moisten them before your lips lock into a gentle kiss.

You reach up, weaving your hands through his light hair in an attempt to draw him closer but he retreats, opting instead to turn on the bedside lamp but keeping his other hand behind his back. "Sit up, darling. I got a surprise for you."

Any thoughts of sleep were long forgotten as soon as his lips met yours but now he's really piqued your interest. You push yourself up against the headboard and sit cross-legged. You look up at Jean expectantly. He reveals to you what he has hidden behind his back. A square black box, wrapped in a cobalt satin ribbon.

It's so cliché you can't help but let out a small snort. "What is it?"

"It's a gift. You know... for Valentine's Day?" He says as though it should be obvious to you.

Your heart swells at the gesture. It really was a surprise. Not in a bad way, you just knew he wasn't your average boyfriend and that was okay. You didn't want him to be.

"Well now I feel awful. I didn't get you anything." You pout as he props the box onto your lap.

"It's like a toy... so it's technically for you, but kind of for both of us." It's unusual to see Jean this excited. Eyes filled with mirth makes you all the more curious.

"Like a sex toy?" A giggle escapes you as you undo the bow.

"Are we playing fucking 20 questions? Just open it." He presses you.

You huff at his impatience but you don't comment, not wanting to wait any longer either. You remove the lid of the box only to find something wildly unexpected.

A revolver?

You look up at your boyfriend with confusion etched on your face but his gleeful grin doesn't falter. You've never seen a sex toy like this so you pick up the article to test its weight. It's definitely the real deal.

"Jean, this isn't a toy." You state matter-of-factly.

He merely rolls his eyes and says "Princess, when you can incinerate someone with a flick of your wrist, that little thing is definitely considered a toy?"

"O-okay? What do you want to do with it?" You ask, placing the offending object onto your nightstand, not really wanting to hold on to it anymore, the metallic smell making you feel queasy.

"Ever heard of Russian Roulette?" Jean, picks up the abandoned item, looking down at it with pride.

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows as nervousness starts to creep into your system and you instinctively move to back away from him but Jean is quick to pull you back.

"It's really easy, darling. No need to look so scared." He crawls on top of you, caging you in with his limbs. "6 chambers. 1 bullet. All you have to do is be a good girl for me. If not, I pull the trigger and we see what happens."

The look on his face is positively demented. Sage eyes wide and bright, his face contorted into a sinister smile, white teeth and the silver tongue piercing gleaming in the dim light.

"Baby," you hope the pet name will placate him. It usually does. "I don't know about thi-"

CLICK

You let out a shriek as your body jolts in fear but you're unable to move with his weight pressing on top of you.

"You see now darling?" He clicks his tongue behind his teeth. "You've gone and wasted a shot."

Jean climbs off of you and you're left lying there with your heart hammering violently in your chest, body trembling, still reeling from the shock of what just happened. Reeling from the shock of what is happening

"You gonna listen now? Gonna be good?" Jean prompts, rolling the gun around in his hand.

All you can do is nod as your eyes begin to water. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse as your mind races with the possible things Jean has in store for you.

"Good. Now strip." He commanded and like a good girl, you obeyed.

Your arms feel like they're made of lead, moving rigidly to take off your shirt (one of Jean's old ones). You can't stop the tears from falling as you pull down your panties, fat droplets roll down your cheeks, desperately trying to swallow the sounds of your sobbing.

This can't be happening. It's Jean. He wouldn't hurt you. He promised you that.

"Oh cut the fucking waterworks." He snaps. "As long as you listen, you'll be fine."

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths, not wanting to irritate him any further.

When you turn to face him, he's leaning back on his haunches, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily gripping the revolver. "Fair warning, I'm more of a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of guy. But you know that already." He thumbs the cylinder, making it spin. "Now, touch yourself for me."

Breathing is difficult. No matter how much you try, it's like you can't get enough air into your lungs. Thinking only of the gun in your boyfriend's hand, you still bring your own hand between your legs, but you can't concentrate, what with the dread taking over your body making it tough to have any control of your body. Your movements are stiff and apparently not up to Jean's standards.

He only scoffs before-

CLICK

You gasp again, body nearly flying off the bed before you curl yourself up into a ball. The fright is enough to stop your heart. For a second you believe it has.

"Princess," Jean's gruff voice brings you back to earth, reminding you that you're very much alive and whether or not you stay that way is entirely up to him. "You're ruining my surprise. Got it 'specially for you and now you're being a brat." He querched an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.

"So-sorry.-" your voice breaks. "I'll be good."

You're still struggling to comprehend how any of this is real. You thought you knew him. You thought he loved you. And here he is, treating your life like it's a game. You can't help but think that this is your own fault. You thought you were above everyone else, the exception to your boyfriend's villain behavior.

"Yeah?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Then show me." He challenges you. Jean slips off his t-shirt and moves between your legs to get a better view, pressing on your knees to split them apart.

Self-preservation kicks in. There is one way out of this alive and that's doing what he says. You spread yourself even wider, showing him all of you. Your hands, glide over your smooth thighs, kneading the pudgy flesh as you get closer and closer your sex, teasing yourself the way he would. Your fingers find your clit and just a little pressure makes your eyes melt shut. Probably for the best anyway. It makes it easier to imagine anything but this. You drag those fingers through your delicate folds, letting out breathy sighs as heat begins to bloom between your thighs.

You pretend, it's Jean's touch. In your mind's eye you see the two of you, limbs tangled with Jean on top, resting his forehead against yours. It's one of those nights where he wants to go slow. So slow that the sensation of his cock dragging in and out of is you bordering on torturous. It's one of those nights where he wants to lay his head on your chest, mouthing at your breasts, leaving your nipples with his wet tongue while you tell him, in that sensual voice that you love him, that he's perfect, that he's yours. Because it's one of those nights, where everything feels like too much for him and the only person that he really has on his side is you.

It's not long before you're leaking. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, there's a voice chastising you for being so easy for him... even now. There's almost no resistance as two of your fingers, press into your entrance. Your fingers are no match for Jean's; they never hit all those deep, hidden spots that make you see stars but still, you start to move them slowly, brushing your thumb over your clit every so often.

"Look at me." You feel his breath waft over your pussy.

Eyelids fluttering open and you meet his gaze. It stuns you a little and your hands come to a standstill. He is handsome, breathtakingly so, even though he thinks you're lying whenever you when you tell him that. The way he stares at you, with love and adoration in his eyes, it's almost like the fantasy you were just imagining. Almost like the fantasy you've been living in this whole time. It's enough to make you forget the situation you're in. Then the muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, snapping you back to reality fast enough to give you whiplash.

"Fucking slut." He growls and smacks your hand away from your pussy.

You jerk as he starts to move it, the gun circles over your sensitive nub and then dipping down to your tight slit to gather up your juices.

"All those fucking tears but look how wet you are." He says more to himself than you as he admires the way your slick leaves a sheen on the barrel. With his eyes trained directly on yours, his perfectly pink tongue pokes out to lick it clean, groaning at the taste.

The next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your legs, guiding them over his broad shoulders. He kisses you on your mons before his tongue begins greedily lapping at your hole. "Tastes so good, princess." He mutters with his nose pressed against your clit. He slips the wet muscle inside of you making you whine. You reflexively grab onto his light ash-brown hair, tugging on the stands and he lets out a groan of approval. He moves up to your clit, circling it with his tongue piercing before suckling on it. While he brushes just the tip of a finger over your pussy, making it clench around nothing while you desperately buck your hips, in an attempt to have it inside you.

The way he's eating you out is almost romantic?

Or it would be, if it weren't for the metal digging into your flesh.

"Darling," He places a sloppy kiss on your clit, lighting dragging his teeth over the hood. "I want you to squirt for me."

A lump forms in your throat. You can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened. You're not sure of the odds that you'd be able to right now and it's not a gamble you're willing to take. "Jean, I don't think I can...."

CLICK

You thrash, gasp so loud it makes your throat burn.

Jean still holds you open, keeping you in place. "I wasn't asking." He makes sure to maintain eye contact as he drops a fat glob of spit right on to your clit before diving face first into your cunt once again.

He pushes two of his long, lithe fingers into your tight entrance. It's unexpected and you wince. He drags his right hand, the one he held the gun with up your torso, resting the muzzle underneath your breast, right over your racing heart. A reminder of what's at stake. He envelopes your sensitive clit with his lips, moving his fingers in tandem with the suction. You're consumed by desire as Jean brings you so close to the edge.

"D...Deeper please." You pant out.

He smiles against your mound before complying with your request. "Right here?" His fingers press against that squishy patch deep inside you and your eyes roll back.

"Y...yeah." You're barely able to mewl out. You dig your heels into his back and grind against his face, chasing your high. Jean keeps hitting that spot with astonishing precision but you hold off for as long as you can, letting the pleasurable sensation build until the pressure in your core becomes unbearable. When it finally snaps because you can't hold it anymore, your eyes squeeze shut, hands flying to his biceps and you dig your nails into the sinewy muscle. You gush around his fingers and all over his face. Jean doesn't move though, flicking your clit with his tongue repeatedly until you're trembling and whimpering, pushing him away from your pussy. He finally relents, a pop echoing around the room as he lets go of you.

He gives you a predatory look, scared face and chest wet with the remnants of your orgasm. "You made such a mess baby, but I'm glad you're finally having fun." He's just as out of breath as you are but far more composed.

Your head is still fuzzy and limbs are still twitching but your boyfriend doesn't let you recover. "Come on, princess. My turn." He begins to undo his belt, silver buckle clinking as he rushes to drag it through the loops of his jeans.

You pull yourself onto all fours, now eye level with his crotch. He pulls down his pants and boxers in one go, his erection almost hitting you in the face.

"You've been lucky so far." He taps the bulbous head of his cock on your lips, smearing your lips with the pre that dribbles out of it. "But I wouldn't test it if I were you. Open."

Your mouth is already watering at the sight of him. So long, thick and veiny. He fucks you deeper, stretches you wider and makes you feel better than anyone ever had. You wonder briefly, if anyone ever could fuck you as good as Jean.

You stick out your tongue and he slides himself between your lips, groaning as he pushes into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch. He fills your mouth completely and you shut your eyes, savoring the taste of him but you feel the muzzle press against your temple and making them shoot open. "Atta girl. Lemme see those pretty eyes." He grunts as he plunges into your throat. You bob your head up and down his dick, the hand at the back of your head setting a brutal pace. The room is filled with the sounds of you gagging.

"So good to me princess." He tilts his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him while your saliva leaks out, dripping down his balls. Jean is big and heavy, stretching you so wide and making you jaw ache from the weight of him. You're already lightheaded from the lack of air, no matter how much you try breathing through your nose. You don't dare to complain though.

He pulls out of your mouth slowly, stretching a string of saliva from the head of his dick to your tongue that's hanging out of your mouth. You pant like a bitch attempting to catch your breath. He doesn't give you much time before he's in your throat again, back to fucking your face.

"I love you so much. You love me?" He sounds so sweet, totally blissed out.

He stops thrusting and tilts your head up to look at him, blinking tear-clumped lashes. You try to utter a 'Yes, I love you.' but with his dick gagging you, it comes out all garbled. The muscles in your throat convulse around the deep intrusion. "You'd do anything for me right?" He asks, jabbing the muzzle even harder into your temple, finger resting lightly on the trigger. You nod, watching Jean lose his composure bit by bit. "Yeah. That's why you're my girl." He pushes himself even deeper inside you, making you finally take all of him, until your nose meets his hair and holding you there. "Fuck."

CLICK

"Mmmhhh" You squeal around him but you can't pull off because of the grip he has on your scalp.

"Wh- Why" You blubber, voice hoarse. You don't understand. You were doing exactly what he asked. You were being good.

"Sorry princess. Felt so good, my finger slipped." He doesn't even try to hide his mischievous smirk. The fucker is definitely not sorry.

You want to beg him to stop this ridiculous game because you see now there's no way you can win because Jean doesn't play fair.

He doesn't give you the chance though, already shuffling off his bottoms all the way and propping himself up against the headboard. "C'mon pretty princess." He tugs on your ankle. I want to see you bounce on my dick."

You clumsily position yourself atop his lap quickly, before you can even think about it. You know he doesn't need a reason to pull that trigger but still, you don't want to give him one.

He grinds his tip along your heat, piercings dragging across your clit over and over again. It's something he does whenever you have sex, to rile you up. And just like all those other times, it's working. Circumstances be damned. "I need to feel this hot little pussy. Give it to me baby." He murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You nod as you lift yourself off of him to hover your dripping wet hole over his hard dick. You slowly squat down onto him, the fat head stretching you out, burning with every inch you take. You mewl, making futile attempts to blink away tears. You get halfway before you have to stop, resting your hands on his shoulders trying to gain leverage. You're outright crying now, wet droplets landing on Jean's chest.

"What's the matter darling?"

I'm terrified. You yell in your head but stay silent, choosing to focus on relaxing your ever-tightening hole in order to take more of him.

"Oh, I know." He coos, voice dripping with condescension. "'I'm too big for your tiny cunny." He leans forward to kiss away the salty tears. "But you can take it. I know you can." He cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You can do it for me"

You start to move slowly up and down, using gravity to force more of his monstrous cock inside you with shallow movements. You really are trying your best but that's apparently not good enough for Jean and he lets you know that by pressing the barrel of the gun into your stomach. You freeze, horrified, more tears start falling from your eyes. You open your mouth to beg him to just give you a little time. You're trying.

"Quit being a baby and just take it." He says before you even get the chance.

"I'm trying Jean, please just-"

CLICK

He cuts off your plea. He's not interested in your excuses.

The rotation of the cylinder sends vibrations through your abdomen. Amidst the shock, you release your grip on his shoulders and impale yourself on his dick by mistake. The combination of the searing stretch and the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix is so overwhelming that you collapse forward, head falling onto your boyfriend's chest. You feel the rumbles of his chuckles while he's quite literally splitting you open.

"See? Knew you could. Just needed a little scare. Isn't that right." He rubs your back as if to comfort you. He lets out a low whistle. "But looks like you're all out of chances princess. Now bounce." He gives you a spank with an inhumanly warm hand, making you squeal and leaving your cheek tender.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders again. Jean's brown eyes are practically glowing, daring you to be stupid enough to defy him one more time.

You pull off almost entirely, keeping just his tip inside of you, before spearing his shaft into you again.

"Good girl." When he praises you with that raspy voice makes you keen and desperate for more of it.

His hand snakes its way up your torso to cup one of your breasts. Your back arches, pushing into his scorching hot touch, forgetting momentarily about his other hand and what he's holding in it. He gropes your chest, tweaks and twists at your nipples, leaving red, inflamed hand prints in his wake. You're practically delirious with pleasure, babbling out incoherent streams of his name along with "yes" and "more". All the while, he murmurs praises about how good you are and how much he loves you. It's confusing and you can't process any of it.

"Who owns this perfect pussy?"

"Jean. Fuck. Jean." Your tongue lolls out of your mouth in the most obscene way, drooling down your chin. Your plush walls pulse around him as he hits that sensitive spot every time you sink down on him.

"That's right it's all fuckin mine. My pretty baby." Jean's eyes are focused on where your two bodies are connected watching the translucent ring of your cream appear and disappear as you ride him.

You slur and he laughs at how fucked out you are, your brain completely jumbled between the fear, the pain and the bliss all combined into ecstasy.

"Darling" He groans. "I feel you squeezing me. You gonna cum?"

He's right. You nod as you feel that coil tightening again, threatening to snap at any second. The man finally starts putting in work, pounding into you every time you pull off of him. Jean abandons the gun in favour of playing with your clit, rubbing quick sloppy circles. "Yeah? Gonna cream and gush around me? I want you to baby." He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking, biting and licking while he assaults your sopping wet pussy. "C'mon doll, please."

With that you orgasm. He grabs your hips pulling you flush against his thighs, fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips up into you until your high finally subsides.

He doesn't let you catch your breath before he's got the revolver pressed hard underneath your chin. "Now make me cum." You almost collapse but the harsh grip he has on your hair suspends you upright.

Your mind is so foggy and Jean gives you a small smile, appreciating the perplexed look in your droopy eyes. But he's not done with you yet.

"Hey." You're ripped from your daze, when he slaps you across the face, sending your head swinging to the side. "Don't pass out on me now."

"So-sorry! 'M sorry!" You grovel as you slam your tired body down on his dick once again, trying to ignore the throbbing on your cheek, the ringing in your ears, and the ache in your battered cunt. You're so sensitive from your last orgasm but you don't have a choice and you don't dare deny him anything. Your thighs are quaking and burning with every movement but your boyfriend is unimpressed.

"You can do better than that doll." He lets out a bitter laugh, enjoying every second of tormenting you. "It's like you want your brains splattered on the ceiling."

You start crying again, shaking your head frantically. In the time that you've been with Jean, you've learned certain tricks, you know he likes it, but in this panic/lust induced frenzy, you can't remember any of them. Instead, you bounce, mindlessly on him while your gummy walls clench tighter around him every time he nudges at your a-spot. Your legs are going numb from all the effort and you plop down, limp onto his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Jean tsks at you, reminding you that you can't rest just yet. You swivel your hips, grinding your pelvis against his while he's buried deep in your wet heat. You pray to whatever deity is listening that he's getting close, you're not sure how much more you can take.

"If I don't bust in the next 5 seconds." His hand finds your clit again, you grind across his fingers has you rock against him. "Bang!" He emphasises the word by bringing a heated palm down on your ass.

A choked sob bubbles at the back of your throat, making him snicker

"Five." He grits out.

"Jean, please!" But you're met with icy, apathetic eyes staring back at you, feeling the terror that the rest of the city does when they so much as hear his name.

"Four." He rubs your already raw clit, faster and you can feel another orgasm building, much quicker than your last two.

Your body feels so heavy but you can't stop moving, not unless you want him to- "Please cum!" You beg. "Need your cum."

"Three."

He starts to fuck up into you again with unforgiving force.

"Wh-Why?!" is all you can manage as your mind starts to fog up again, the need to come becoming all the more urgent.

"Two." He ignores your question, transfixes on your tits bounce in his face. You're getting close to your third orgasm of the night and it seems Jean is determined to get you there.

You still can't believe this is real. You never thought that Jean would treat you like this. You were supposed to be special.

Or at least that's what he told you.

Moreover, you can't believe how your own body is betraying you. You can't believe you're actually going to cum. Again.

"One."

You cry out his name one last time, unsure if it's out of fear or pleasure. You dig your nails into his arms again, in a feeble attempt to ground yourself as you cum around him. The orgasm that rips through you makes it difficult for you to be sure of anything.

What you are sure of is the fact that there was no bang or bullet.

Just one last CLICK and the sensation of Jean's hot cum flooding your womb. He has a bruising grip on your hips, gun now discarded, and he rusts up to make sure to stuff your cunt absolutely full of him. He begins to laugh as he softens inside you.

Your head is still spinning but once you're able to push yourself off of him, you can finally make sense of what just happened.

He was fucking with you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You yell, using weak and quivering arms to throw pillows at him while you cry so hard it makes you dry heave.

Your asshole of a boyfriend starts cackling, clutching his abdomen as if he just pulled the world's funniest prank while your heart is beating so hard and fast you think it might break through your ribcage.

"You should have seen your face. You were so fucking scared."

You become nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat as you come to a sickening realisation.

This is not your Jean. This is the Jean that the rest of the world gets to see.

Evil, sadistic, merciless. This is the real Jean.

You attempt to scramble off of the bed to get away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the humiliation. But Jean grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. A gesture you used to treasure but now it just made your skin crawl. "C'mon princess, you didn't think I was being serious did you?"

You writhe in his hold, hitting against his hard, toned chest with pathetic fists. "Don't be such a crybaby. It was just a joke." He strokes your back oh so tenderly. But you won't fall for that again. Jean is a villain through and through. You know that now.

It's no use fighting him off though, all the fight in you is used up. You don't know what else to do. So you do the easy thing: nuzzle your head into his chest, tremors rocking your body as you hiccup, while he holds you. That way you can pretend that you feel safe with him, just like you used to.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby. I love you."

#jean #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut #smut #intense smut #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot x reader #jean kirstein #gunplay #degrading kink

82 notes · View notes

taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

BTS You’re Pregnant (and unmarried) Reaction

Warnings: a little angst, some talk about whether to keep the baby (not much), smut includes breeding kink ofc, body worship, etc Word Count: 2486

Seokjin

You tell him in a rush, that you've taken five tests and you can't get false positives anyway and you know this is bad timing and oh god, you're rambling.

He just looks at you, blinking rapidly. "It… It's mine?"

Your heart drops to your toes before anger floods through you.

"What the fuck did you just ask me?"

"No! No wait I'm sorry, take that back." Seokjin makes an exaggerated fishing reel motion and usually that would make you laugh but you just stare at him stonily.

You wipe angrily at your eyes and he moves closer to you on the couch.

"Don't cry, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I was just...I was surprised."

"Yeah, me too! Of course it's yours, you jerk, I can't believe you asked me that."

"I am a jerk," he agrees, pulling you into his lap.

You bury your face in his chest, hiccuping sobs.

"Such a jerk," he murmurs, rubbing circles on your back. "Of course it's mine, because you're mine and everything's gonna be okay. No matter what you decide, we'll get through it, yeah?"

It's easier after that, Seokjin indulges your every food craving, getting up to cook for you at 2am if you decide you need it.

At the first ultrasound, he’s cracking jokes and making you laugh but when the heartbeat starts up he just goes really quiet.

“Jinnie?” You call softly.

When he takes your hand, his is shaking a bit and when you look up at him, he’s crying these big tears.

“We should get married,” he says, and you hit him with the heel of your hand.

“You can’t propose to me when I’m in stirrups on a fucking metal bed, Seokjin!”

He just gives you this dashing smile, so you roll your eyes and say yes.

He becomes fascinated with how full your breasts are getting, loves cupping them in his hands, how extra sensitive your nipples get when he runs his tongue over them, how they turn a duskier color after a few months.

They just keep getting fuller over the coming months and the way you start filling out your shirts makes him crazy.

When you complain about how much weight you're gaining he scoffs, makes you all your favorites, makes a point to kiss every part of you that night in bed.

Yoongi

He’s quiet for a long moment after you tell him, looking down at his hands in his lap. When he does speak, his tone is soft and calm.

“Are you...are you going to keep it?”

Your mouth drops open a bit, and when he looks up at you his eyes go wide and he fumbles for your hand.

“No, no, that’s not how I meant it. I mean, do you want to keep it?”

“Do you want to keep it?”

His throat works and he looks away from you again.

“I...you’re not supposed to ask me that. It’s your body and you-”

“I’m asking if you want to have a family with me, Yoongi.”

He meets your eyes and his are big and wet.

“I would very much like to have a family with you, Y/n.”

Then you’re crying and he’s crying and you end up having to go throw up because you have morning sickness and you’re very emotional but he just sits behind you and rubs your back and you think you’re glad if this happened it was with him.

He’s perfect, really, spends all his extra time with you, doesn’t stay too late at the studio, brings you the chocolates you’ve been craving home when he comes in so much that you tell him you’ll gain too much weight.

He makes the funniest face at you, like he’s offended and appalled that you’d ever suggest that as a possibility, and it makes you laugh so hard you almost pee on yourself because man you have to do that a lot now that you’re pregnant.

And the sex ramps up to an almost intimidating degree.

Yoongi can't get enough of how juicy your pussy is, how your taste changes just slightly and his face is buried between your thighs as often as you'll let him.

He loves how fast he can make you cum now, how you’re so sensitive and he’s always trying to coax one more orgasm out of you.

“You can, I know it, you’re so good, baby, just one more,” with his fingers buried inside you, crooking up just like you like until you’re muffling your shouts with the pillow until your face turns red.

Once you have the ultrasound, the records the heartbeat with his phone, uses it in tracks as a backbeat, he’s so proud even if he can’t tell his fans he wants it in here somewhere.

Hoseok

You show him the pregnancy test and his mouth drops open slightly.

“Are you sure?”

You wave the stick at him. “Hoseok, I just showed you the thing, this is the third test.”

“No, I mean-” he stops, takes a long breath, starts again. “I mean, are you sure you want this? Like, with me?”

“What do you mean, with you?”

“I mean, I’m not-” he mumbles, and you stop him with a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do this I’m not enough for you speech because you’re amazing and I love you so much. I want to have this baby. I want to have your baby.”

“Yeah?” His voice is shaky when you remove your hand, and you climb into his lap and everything seems so much easier than when you were anxiously waiting to see him, to tell him everything.

He proposes before the first ultrasound, and of course you say yes.

The first time the baby moves, he’s lying behind you with his arm wrapped around you and his hand on your belly and he yells so loud when the baby kicks at his palm that you almost fall off the bed.

You don’t stop laughing until he’s got his hand back on your belly, all misty eyed.

“Do it again, yeah?”

At the sound of his voice, you feel a tiny little bump again, and he just bursts into tears.

He’s fascinated by the way your body changes while you’re pregnant, loves how adorable you look in overalls with your baby bump.

Sex turns into this all night affair, hours and hours because he keeps going on and on about how much hotter your cunt is now, how your skin in general feels hotter and smoother and he just can’t shut up about it.

“You’re so hot, Y/n, fuck-like...you’ve always been hot, but now it’s like, literally-” He babbles, buried inside you.

“Hoseok, please, please move,” you plead, pushing back against him.

When you turn your head to look at him he’s smirking at you. “But I like it when you beg.”

At the 20 week ultrasound he can’t stop smiling and asking questions, you’re anxious because you want to make sure it’s okay.

“Of course they’re okay. They’re ours, right? They’ll be wonderful.”

Namjoon

He just stares at you for what seems like an inordinately long time.

“Joon?”

“Um, so, like, is this...a good thing? Are we happy?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m happy.”

He heaves a big relieved sigh and wraps you in his arms.

“Then it’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

You feel better instantly, less anxious with his arms around you.

He’s fascinated with everything about your pregnancy, keeps reading facts on the internet and asking you questions that are increasingly more gross.

“Is your discharge different because that can mean-”

“Kim Namjoon we are not talking about my discharge.”

“Yeah but what if-”

“No.”

“Also, I read that-”

“Joonie, I swear to God I’m gonna take away your phone and your computer if you don’t stop.”

He leans down to kiss your belly every time he comes in the door.

It becomes this ritual, to kiss your belly every time he sees you and you can’t help but smile.

You don’t ever have a second to feel insecure about your changing body because he worships you in bed, even more so than before.

He can't believe how much more responsive you are, how a single drag of his fingers up your side has your nipples peaked, your skin flushed.

“You look so pretty like this, baby, so easily worked up.”

Namjoon talks to the baby constantly, about everything and nothing, just like he does to you, in this low, calm voice, and sometimes you fall asleep and when you wake he’s still talking, telling the baby things, and it makes your heart swell with love.

Jimin

He covers his face with his hands immediately when you tell him, and you’re worried.

You worry your lip between your teeth. “Jimin?

After a long moment you take his hands from his face.

He’s crying, these big fat tears, and you don’t know what it means until he wraps his arms around you.

“Jagi, we made a baby?”

You melt, kissing all over his face.

“We did.”

He’s so happy, and you hadn’t expected that he would be, thought maybe he’d be anxious about it.

He loves your baby bump so much, all but squeals with happiness when it starts showing under your clothes, keeps a hand on your belly at all times, sitting on the couch, in bed, at a restaurant.

He doesn’t want to miss a single kick while he’s home with you.

Jimin's favorite thing about your pregnancy is how you want him all the time, constantly, pulling him into a passionate kiss the second he walks into the room, pulling him down on the bed as he laughs into your mouth.

He wants you naked in bed at night so he can trail his hands along your skin.

He just keeps trailing his fingers along your skin, so light it’s maddening, and you’re getting wetter and wetter and pleading but he’s just talking softly, taking his time.

“You’re glowing, jagiya. You’re so bright all full with our baby. It makes you mine, you know? You’re both mine.”

Eventually, you lean up to drag him down for a kiss and usually that does it, makes him slide inside you and finally give you what you want.

When you have Braxton Hicks contractions and it’s way too early, he’s as stoic as he can be, holding your hand, but when it’s over and they tell you it’s not labor he’s so relieved there are tears streaming down his face.

He just loves you so much, and he’s glad there’s this product of your love, he’s so proud and wishes he could show it to the world.

Taehyung

It’s way more simple than you thought, telling Taehyung about the baby.

You’re a bit worried, he can be a bit standoffish, especially when he’s stressed, and you feel vulnerable and hormonal

That boxy smile is there immediately, tears welling in his eyes.

“I”m so happy! Are you happy? You’re happy, yeah?”

Yeontan comes running up and he tells him he’s going to have a brother or sister, it’s so cute you want to yell.

“I should quit.” He says, suddenly.

“You should what?”

“I should quit! I can’t be away all the time when you’re pregnant, you need me here for all the doctor’s appointments and so I can see you grow-”

He’s already dialing his manager before you can stop him.

It’s rough, that fight, the argument about how he shouldn’t make a snap decision, especially before the baby is born, but in the end, he just wants to provide for you and make you happy, so he acquiesces.

He’s just in the best mood after, even when you’re snappy because of the hormones he just tells you that you’re right even if you’re irrational.

Taehyung kisses the pregnancy line on your belly, runs his fingers over it.

Thinks it's just so cute when your bellybutton pops.

When you complain about how your body is changing he doesn't know how to tell you that your growing belly makes him want you so much, how sexy he finds you glowing with his baby.

It ends up coming out in dirty talk, and his low voice in your ear sends you over the edge.

You’re too pregnant for most all positions so he’s fucking you while you’re lying down, spooned behind you.

“You’re so fucking sexy this way, all full of my baby, wish you could always look like this. You’re already pregnant but I want to fill you with my cum anyway, keep you dripping with me, yeah?”

The first ultrasound he gets so many pictures you feel like the doctor’s office is probably going to charge extra for printer ink, hands them out to all the other boys, pastes them on the refrigerator like the baby is anything more than a peanut.

Jungkook

He doesn’t react the way you think he will.

His eyes widen just a bit.

“Ah, we’re happy, yeah?” He says finally, and you laugh a little.

“Yeah, we’re happy.”

He nods vigorously. “Good. Good, we’re happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you not happy?”

He takes your hands in his.

“I’m happy.”

He’s freaking out.

You know it but he won’t say it, he’s way too quiet and he keeps doing the most extra things.

When you say you want to take a bath, offhand, he goes to run it for you and then picks you up to carry you to it.

He’s extra protective in public, one hand on your lower back everywhere you go, shielding you with his body from anyone on the street.

“Are you okay with all of this?” You ask, finally.

“What? Of course I am.”

He’s asking Namjoon for advice, texting him all hours of the night.

One night when you look over, you see what if I’m a bad father?

Your heart cracks and you tug at his arm.

“You’re going to be the best dad,” you tell him.

He kisses you so softly. “I love you so much.”

It isn’t as if you’ve ever had trouble in bed, but there’s something about pregnancy sex that really gets you.

Jungkook loves how your hips get wider, how your ass fills out, and as much as he loves to see your face he's delighted that when your belly is too big for missionary he gets to fuck you from behind, grab your hips with his hands and watch your ass jiggle with every thrust.

He tries not to show it, but you know he’s nervous at the ultrasound, he’s bouncing his knee and there’s worry around his eyes.

When everything’s okay with the baby, he relaxes, stops squeezing your hand so tightly.

He keeps a picture of the ultrasound in his wallet, looks at it when he feels down or misses you both too much when he’s away.

2K notes · View notes

harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

Note

2 & 3!!!!!!

Being of the Jealous Kind

Prompt List

Jealous!Harry😋😋

2. “You wanna say that again?”

3. “Ought t’fuck you right here if I have to.”

Harry normally wasn’t a jealous person. But when it came to you, he’d let you know that he was jealous and he’d try to win over all of your attention. When you two first started dating, Harry was jealous of your male friends. When you two got a dog, Harry was jealous of the attention seeking puppy. Harry was jealous of almost everything that took your attention away from him.

Like now, you both were at a party and a guy was talking to you. Just a normal guy you met while waiting for your drink. You thought nothing of it, you just thought that he was nice, and that talking to him would make your wait time go by faster. But Harry didn’t think so. When he saw you talking to the admittedly good looking guy, he only saw some who was stealing your attention away from him. Harry swiftly makes his way over to where you were, once close enough he heard you laugh, and it put some extra pep in his step.

Once behind you, Harry wraps his arms around you leaning down to place a kiss below your ear. He pulls you slightly off of the stool and into his front.

“This is my boyfriend -“

“Harry” he interrupts, unwrapping one of his hands from you and shoving it out to shake the mans hand. “Babe, there’s someone I want you to meet” he says trying to pull you away.

“Can I wait for my drink?”

He quickly thinks of something to stop the questions and pull her away from this guy. “They’re about to leave” he rushes out.

“Oh okay well let’s go.” you say, moving to stand from the stool you were sitting on. “It was nice meeting you” you say to the man in front of you and before he could respond, Harry was already pulling you away. After a few minutes you both were outside, with you pressed against the side of the car. Harry wastes no time and he smashes his lips on to yours, wrapping his hand lightly around your neck. You pull away and you glare at him.

“What is wrong with you” you question, looking for his eyes through the darkness surrounding you both.

“What’s wrong with me?! That guy was practically trying to get in your pants” he says sternly.

“You’re just crazy. I can’t simply talk to a nice and cute guy before you become an asshole and pretty much blow their head off.” You roll your eyes and you move to walk away. Only for Harry to push you back against the car, now tightly trapping you between his body and the cool surface.

“You wanna say that again?” Harry whispers close to your ear, sending goosebumps down your body.

“I said that you were a jealous a-“ before you could finish your statement, Harry squeezes the hand that was around your neck. You close your eyes and you rest your head back against the car. Seeing him jealous sent tingles down your body. His possessiveness over you made you so wet and needy for you. But you couldn’t let Harry know this. If he knew that you wanted him to punish you, he’d do nothing to you. He wouldn’t touch you at all, he’d just let you suffer.

“Ought t’fuck you right here if I have to.” He mumbles looking up and down your body, stopping at your chest, watching the tops of your breasts rise and fall from your breathing. Harry smears his lips onto your parted ones, keeping his grip on your neck. “Y’want me to show you who y’belong to?” He coos against your lips. You nod yes through his grip and he pulls away from your body. You don’t move from where you were, still trying to catch up with what was going on. You hear the back door open and Harry pulls you over to him.

“Face down” is all he says, knowing that you already know what to do. You climb into the backseat, your dress riding up your thighs, giving Harry a perfect view of your ready pussy. Harry smacks his ringed hand against the back of your thigh and you almost collapse onto the seat. Harry quickly gets in behind you, shutting and locking the door. You hear Harry’s pants come undone behind you and you get excited. Harry then pushes up the bottom of your dress, just enough to expose what he wanted. He pulls your panties off and tosses them onto the floor. He pushes your legs apart and be jerks his cock at the dim sight in front of him. You face down about to be taken hard from behind, and he shudders at the thought. He leans against the window above your head and he lines his cock up with your entrance. Without any warning, Harry pushes into you. He pushes all the way in until his balls are resting against your clit. You feel your pussy stretching around his fat cock, swallowing him whole. You felt the thick vein on the underside of his cock pressing against your walls. It also didn’t help that Harry moves his hand from the window and presses it into your lower back. Causing your tummy to be pressed into the seat, making you feel just how deep he really was. Harry starts thrusting into you, not starting out with shallow and soft thrusts to get you adjusted, but hard and deep thrusts, pushing his cock deep into you.

“Feel so good f’daddy” Harry pants above you, enjoying the way your pussy always took him whole. “Takin’ all of m’cock baby. You like havin’ me deep in your tummy” he continues to thrust into you from behind.

“Daddy” you whimper, gripping onto the door handle above your head, not being able to formulate any other word.

“Fuck, I need to see yeh” Harry groans, pulling out his phone. He turns on the flash light and shines it where the two of your bodies met. He watched in awe of how your sopping wet cunt was taking every last inch of his cock. “Y’look so delicious baby. Y’sweet juices drippin’ onto the seat f’me.” He pants, feeling his release coming. Harry turns his phone back off and tosses it into the front seat. Grabs your ass in both of his hands and he slams into you harder (if that was even possible), chasing after his own release. Hearing your whimpers below him sent him into a frenzy, loving the way you couldn’t form a single word to describe how you were feeling. The knot in your lower stomach began to tighten, needing to let go around his cock.

“Cum w’me baby” Harry growls, feeling you tightening up around him.

“Fuck” you cry out, feeling your release coming. Harry gives you one last good thrust and you both are unraveling. You let go around him, feeling your release take over your whole body. You feel Harry’s cum pouring into you, rope after rope and you gladly welcomed it. Harry pushes his cum deep inside of you and he pulls out of you.

“Squeeze y’pussy baby. Gotta keep m’cum inside.” He instructs, slowly pulling out of you. He tucks himself back inside of his pants and he pulls your dress back down. He opens the door behind him and steps out behind you. He taps your the back of your leg, beckoning for you to climb out. You huff, wanting to stay in the car to recover.

“C’mon baby, we gave to get back inside” he says sweetly, a complete 180 from how he was no more than 20 minutes ago. You climb out of the car and you grip onto Harry to balance yourself. Harry smooths down your now slightly unruly curls and kisses the corner of your mouth. Harry pulls your tired figure into his body and he goes to close the door. Just before he does, he sees your panties lying on the floor. He reaches in to grab them and he twirls them around his finger. Harry then brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal in the thin fabric.

“M’keepin these for the rest of the night.” Harry tucks the thin piece of fabric inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“Can I have them back, you came a lot and it’s hard to keep in.” you whine dropping your head in his neck.

“If y’keep it all in, daddy will give you a nice treat later.” He replies giving your ass a nice squeeze. “Can y’do that for daddy?” you nod your head and Harry pulls you into his side pulling you both back into the party.

He keeps you close for the rest of the night. Harry was socializing as if he didn’t just fuck you into the backseat of his car. While you on the other hand try to socialize, but not doing so successfully. Due to the fact that you’re thighs are becoming sticky with Harry’s cum, and whenever you moved, you felt it drip down your thighs, only making you clench them together.

Maybe the green eyed monster wasn’t so bad after all.

Masterlist

1K notes · View notes

amazingmsme · 4 years

Text

Lets See A Smile

AN: My first Hazbin fic! There’s not nearly enough fics for it so here I am! Had a blast writing it, hope y’all enjoy! Angel and Alastor have such a fun dynamic!

Angel sighed in relief as his shift finally came to an end. You'd think a hotel with virtually no patrons would make for an easy work day, but when one of those guests was none other than fucking Sir Pentious of all people, you might as well jump off the highest cliff in hell. He kicked open the door to the break room, eager to vent to his friends.

"You would not BELIEVE the day I had! Next time you need someone to deal with Sir Penis get someone else to do it 'cause there's no way I'm going back up there to pick up eggshells and 20 feet of snake skin," he exclaimed dramatically, eyes closed with an arm thrown over his face like a damsel. Alastor popped his head up from where he was laying on the couch.

"I will be sure to let Charlie know of your complaint," he said. Angel's eyes flew open as he pushed himself away from the wall.

"What, you? Where's Charlie? Or Vaggie?" he asked, not too pleased to see the radio demon when he was expecting his gal pals.

"Don't you remember? Tonight is their anniversary!" Alastor said in a cheery tone. Angel crossed his first pair of arms and rested another hand on his hip.

"Oh yeah, forgot about that," he said dismissively. Alastor sat up fully now, resting his feet on the floor instead of taking up the whole couch. He tilted his head quizzically, taking in the other demon.

"What, you got some fuckin' problem?" Angel asked, noticing his intense stare. Alastor shook his head, looking away.

"Not at all Angel, but from the sounds of it, you do." Angel rolled his eyes.

"Yeah and he's on the third floor," he said with a huff. Alastor scooted over and patted the cushion next to him invitingly.

"Why don't you sit?" Angel's face lit up as he strolled over.

"Hey don't mind if I do," he said before plopping right in Alastor's lap. He blushed and faltered.

"Wha- Not on me!" he exclaimed and shoved him off. Angel Dust chuckled, settling into a proper seat.

"Sorry, you didn't specify," he smirked. Alastor glared at him with a small growl.

"You know damn well that's not what I meant." They fell into a slightly awkward silence. Alastor sat stiffly while Angel sprawled across the sofa, taking up most of the room and not seeming to care. Alastor liked to pride himself in his ability to read other people, and right now it was obvious that Angel was not himself. Oh sure he would try and act like his usual flamboyant and snarky self, but apparently their customer had really gotten under his skin. He didn't like seeing the other demon so upset. He tapped his fingers on his knees, letting out a low whistle that mixed with the smallest whine of microphone feedback.

"Soooo..." he started. Angel only raised a brow. "Would you care to talk about it?"

"Eh, not really. That slithery prick's already eaten up too much of my time," he dismissed. After a brief pause he let out a long suffering sigh, arching his back over the arm of the couch and just let himself hang there. This caused Alastor himself to sigh.

"Well you're obviously upset about it, and normally I'd dump you off on Charlie but she's not here right now, so you're stuck with me. And while I may not be very good at this, I would like to cheer you up. Is there, um, anything I could do to maybe help?" Angel raised himself up, a little skeptical.

"You serious?"

"Yes! After all you're never fully dressed without a smile! And you sir are lacking the appropriate attire," he justified.

"Yeah well, I'm a slut, so what do you expect?" he asked, though he allowed himself to relax a bit. "Can you, no ya know what, never mind," Angel stopped himself mid sentence. And was that a blush creeping up his face? Needless to say Alastor was intrigued.

"No do go on!" he encouraged. Angel waved a hand as if to brush him off.

"Naw you wouldn't like it."

"Nonsense! And if I don't like it, I'll just talk about it behind your back to Husk like a normal person," he admitted. Angel considered this and shrugged.

"Well at least you're honest. So, what I was gonna say was, uh, can I have a hug?" he asked sheepishly. He reached up and rubbed a hand behind his neck, "It's just I'm a little tired and upset, and I'm kinda used to it with Charlie around. Hehe, look at me, goin' soft..." he trailed off. Alastor- didn't really know what to say. So instead he just leaned back into the sofa and held out his arms. Angel broke into a shy grin and cuddled against him. Alastor rested his arms around him, not allowing himself to fully relax into the hug. Not yet at least. Affectionate touch was still kinda new for him. But he had to admit, it did feel nice. It gave him a warm kind of comfort he hadn't felt in forever, and he let himself sink into the feeling.

"Ya know what Al? You actually give pretty good hugs. Heh, better not let Charlie know, am I right?" he joked with a poke to his side. Alastor went completely rigid, his hold on Angel tightened ever so slightly. This didn't go unnoticed.

"Al, you okay there buddy? Didn't hurt ya, did I?" he asked. He doubted he could even hurt him if he tried, but he wanted to make sure.

"W-what? You hurt me? Oh please," he tried to play it off, hoping he would just drop it. But this is Angel Dust we're talking about, he's not one to simply "drop" things. Not to mention, he's had years of experience in his old line of work. He's learned all there is to know about the body and it's various reactions to touch. Which is why it only took him a second to figure out what had happened.

"If you're ticklish you coulda just said so, I woulda left you alone," he said casually. Alastor's jaw dropped in mild horror and shock, pushing the other demon away.

"I am no such thing!" he adamantly denied. Angel raised a brow, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.

"Oh please, big scary tough guy like you? Definitely ticklish," he said, watching Alastor's reactions from the corner of his eye. Despite his best efforts to keep it at bay, a blush rose to his cheeks. As Angel spoke, he let one of his hands wander closer to Alastor's side.

He was just about to snap at him, a sharp retort on the tip on his tongue, when Angel's hand connected with his side. He let out a startled noise, jerking away and snapped his head to look at Angel. The smile he gave the radio demon was completely predatory and feral. Alastor found himself scooting away.

"Now Angel, don't do anything you'll regret," he warned, but his voice wavered with nerves.

"Trust me, I ain't gonna regret this," he said, lunging forth and straddling a very shocked Alastor. He wasn't used to people not taking his threats seriously and was a bit stunned. He tried to grab Angel's hands to block him, but he countered by pinning his wrists with his first set of arms. He chuckled, wiggling his fingers above his stomach. Alastor struggled, trying to free himself.

"What's the matter? Forget I had these?" Angel asked. He emphasized his point by skittering his fingers all along his belly, making him burst into staticky giggles.

"Stohohop this ihihinstant!" Alastor demanded through his laughter. Angel Dust leaned forward, grinning widely. Alastor could see his own hysterical reflection shinning in Angel's eyes, so he looked away, too embarrassed to see the giggly mess he'd become.

"Nah, I don't really feel like it. Besides, I think this is the first time I've heard you laugh! I'm having way too much fun to stop!"

"Thahahat's nohot true! Ihihi laugh ahahall the time," he tried to speak through his manic giggles.

Angel shrugged, "Yeah but laughing at your own lame jokes don't count. Kinda pathetic actually." He added another pair of arms to the mix, reaching behind him to squeeze and scratch at his knees. Alastor drummed his legs on the couch, his laughter increasing in volume and pitch. Radio static mixed more frequently with his laugh, making Angel coo.

Dohohon't patronize mehehe!" Alastor cried.

"I'm not! But you gotta admit Al, your laugh is adorable," he teased, making his voice a higher pitch and using the same tone that he normally talks to Fat Nuggets with. He brought his third pair of arms up to squeeze at his sides, the second pair starting to crawl up his ribs as he sang.

"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout." Though he thought it to be impossible, Alastor's laughter increased even more. "Down, came the rain and washed the spider out." He raked his knuckles down his ribs, making him arch his back with a cackle. As he finished the nursery rhyme, he let his fingers walk back up his ribs before attacking his exposed underarms.

Alastor squealed before his voice faded into the high pitched screech of a microphone. Angel jerked back in shock at the loud noise, covering his ears as he fell back on the couch. His eyes were squeezed shut as he fell into a giggle fit, clutching his stomach with his many arms. He brought a hand up to wipe away a few tears as Alastor recovered.

His breathing was already beginning to return to normal, but his face was still a burning crimson. Angel patted his leg comfortingly before he rose from the couch, stretching as he spoke.

"Oh man, that was fun. Never knew ya could laugh like that Smiles," he said, settling back onto the cushions. Because he was so tall, Alastor was taking up most of the space, causing Angel to huff and kick his legs with his boot. "Skooch over, you're takin' up the whole damn couch," he grumbled. Alastor finally sat up, seemingly recovered. His cheeks were still sporting a decent flush and he brushed himself off, trying to scrap together his remaining dignity by straightening his crumpled clothes. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"You have ten seconds," he stated calmly. Angel raised a brow.

"Ten seconds to do what?" he asked.

"Why, to run of course," Alastor stated as though it were obvious.

"Hell no, I ain't runnin'! I just got comfy," he said, gesturing to his already lounging position. Alastor shrugged, his residual smile widening into something more sinister.

"Very well, it is your funeral after all." Angel's eyebrows furrowed together, beginning to connect the dots. He opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off.

"Nine."

Angel's eyes widened and he scrambled to get as far away from the radio demon as possible. In such a rush, his legs got tangled and he stumbled over himself before rushing out the door. Alastor was already down to six. He rushed down the hall and into the lobby, looking for cover. There was no way he could out run him, so his only chance was to hide. He only hesitated for a second before his eyes landed on the bar and he sprinted towards it.

Husk saw him coming and shook his head. "Oh hell no, you already used up all your points," he said casually. He jumped back with a hiss, fur standing on end when Angel made a move to dive over the bar.

"This ain't about that, you gotta hide me!" he pleaded, gripping onto his shirt. Husk shoved him off.

"What the hell did you get into now?" he asked, running a hand down his tired face.

"No time to explain, just go on about your business and act like I ain't here," he said, crouching down underneath the bar. "Oh and if Al asks, say you haven't seen me."

Husker's eyes widened, shaking his head. "Sorry, but I'm not covering for you. This is your mess, you deal with it. I don't wanna get caught in the cross hairs of whatever you did to piss him off," he said, trying to drag Angel Dust out from underneath the countertop. Angel cursed as he struggled to stay put, already forced halfway out. It was then that Alastor himself leisurely strolled into the lobby. His eyes fell on Angel, and he twirled his microphone stand gleefully.

"Oh Angel there you are!" he exclaimed. Angel let out a small scream before leaping back over the bar, much to Husk's annoyance. As he ran out of the room, he used two hands to flip Husk off.

"Wow thanks for bein' fucking useless!"

Husk cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after him. "I'll be sure to remember that next time you ask for a drink!" He sighed in defeat, bending down to arrange the various glasses and bottles he had knocked over. Alastor came up and leaned against the bar.

"I'll take a glass of water real quick, if you don't mind," he said. Husk complied, filling it up with tap before sliding it over to him.

"The hell he do to you? Kid was so desperate to get away you'd think he was fleeing for his life." Upon hearing the question, Al's ear twitched, another blush dusting his cheeks as he looked away. Husk looked him up and down and spoke once more. "Then again maybe he is."

"Mm. If you'll excuse me Husker, I believe I must enact some well deserved revenge." The bar tender chuckled.

"Alright, but don't rough him up too much. Charlie'll have your head if you hurt him."

Alastor waved a hand lazily as he made his way in the direction that Angel ran off. "No need to worry, our friend shall be in good hands." He sent his shadow in search of the fleeing man, rolling up his sleeves in preparation. In his time alive, one of the things he adored most was the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline rush that came with hunting down his prey was nearly more enjoyable than the act of killing. Almost. But oh how he relished in the fear glistening in their eyes and their labored breath as they were inevitably trapped, watching as he closed in. He found he was eager to see that look in Angel's eyes, though for a completely different reason.

Angel was close to his room now. He had had a few close calls, turning down halls that suddenly lead to nowhere, catching the glimpse of a dark shadow from the corner of his eye. He knew Al was fucking with him, but he was determined to make it to safety. He was almost there; he could see his door at the end of the hall. He ran that much harder, only to find he wasn't getting any closer. He looked down at his legs that were running in place and felt dread sink to the bottom of his stomach. He heard a deep, staticky chuckle from behind and gasped, trying with all his might to get to his room.

"Oh c'mon!" he yelled out in an exasperated tone, looking over his shoulder only to see the grinning deer. He gave a small wave, tilting his head to the side. Whatever magic Alastor had him trapped with vanished, and he let out a victory cry as he threw himself at his door, opening it before slamming it shut and locking it behind him. He let out a deep sigh of relief, shoulders slacking as he leaned against the door. The wood felt cool against his cheek, and he smiled to himself, finally knowing he was safe.

A slow clap sounded from behind him, and his breath hitched and caught in his throat. He whirled around to see Alastor, sitting on his bed with a stupidly smug grin as he applauded.

"Splendid! You put on quite a good show I must say, but I'm afraid the previews are over." Angel reached for the knob, only it was locked by his own doing. He pressed his back against the wall, smiling sheepishly as the man stood and slowly made his way closer to him.

"Look, A-Al, no hard feelings, right? I won't tell a soul I swear! You got my word, I'm sorry," he tried to plead.

"Did you really think I'd let you get away without having my revenge?" he asked calmly. Angel shrugged.

"Well I mean, yeah. I mean- I was hoping for it," he corrected himself, rubbing a hand behind his neck with a chuckle. Alastor snapped his fingers, opening a portal in the floor. All of a sudden, tentacles reached out and grabbed Angel and forced him onto the bed, pinning all of his limbs.

He blinked in shock before smirking. "Can't say this isn't what I'm used to. Been in worse bondage situations than this, let me tell ya," he mused, trying to mask his growing fear with his usual flirtations. Alastor sat next to him on the bed and he tried to squirm away, not getting very far. Angel shrunk in on himself, feeling very exposed underneath Alastor's gaze, and not in the way he would've liked. He gulped and spoke. "So uh, I normally ask this question with a lot more enthusiasm, but- what are you gonna do to me?" he ventured to question.

Alastor answered gladly. "I would've thought you were smart enough to know but clearly I overestimated you." Angel let out a cry of protest only to be cut off.

"I'm sure you know the phrase "an eye for an eye,"" he said, casting a sly look his way. That alone made Angel's chest shake as he fought to force down his chuckles. He tugged at his bonds but they held strong, not allowing any leeway.

"Ahahal I'm sorry! I won't do it again, promise!" Alastor smirked and rested a hand on his stomach. Angel jerked at the touch, barely holding back a squeal.

"Oh I know you won't, but I have to make sure the lesson is ingrained in your thick skull so you won't even think about trying it again." He looked down at him, smirk growing as he drummed his fingers along his stomach.

"Nohohooo," Angel whined through his giggles, trying to suck in his stomach to get away from the touch.

"Laughing so soon? Oh this is going to be fun," Alastor practically growled through static. "So, are you willing to speed things along and tell me your worst spots? Or are you going to do this the hard way?"

Angel was already in deep, he knew he shouldn't say it but the guy gift wrapped a perfect chance for a dirty joke and gave it to him on a silver platter. He couldn't help himself. "Oh you know I like it hard," he all but purred. Alastor's eye twitched and he flicked an ear. Angel's flirtatious smirk quickly fell flat as he saw his life flash before his eyes.

"Nonono wait I take it back-"

"Too late Angel. I'm delighted to say that you just dug your second grave." He dug his claws into his stomach, grin growing as he watched him writhe underneath his touch. Angel bit his lip, trying to contain his titters. Maybe if he held out long enough, Alastor would grow bored and give up. Angel always was a dreamer.

"Hm, I wouldn't have thought you of all people would play hard to get," Alastor mused. Angel screwed his eyes shut biting his lip so hard he began to taste blood. "But you'll crack sooner or later," he said. Angel was wearing a loose t-shirt, so it was easy for him to slip his hand underneath. The reaction was instantaneous; he burst into frantic cackles, tugging on his wrists weakly. Alastor gave him a lazy, nonchalant smile. "See, I knew you'd come around!"

"Nohoho you cahahan't do this to mehehe," he cried out.

"Oh but I can! In fact, I'm doing it right now!" he said with a flourish, followed by a laugh track that could barely be heard over Angel's mirth. He let out an annoyed huff when the baggy shirt slid back down over his stomach due to his squirming. "Why don't we get this out of the way?" he asked. Before Angel could question him, he snapped his fingers leaving Angel's chest bare.

"Hey that was my favorite shirt you asshole!" Alastor didn't dignify that with a response. Well, not a verbal one anyways. The thin pink line trailing the middle of his stomach caught his eye, placing a single finger on the pattern. "Whoa hey, if ya wanted me to take my shihirt off all ya hahad to do was ask nicelyyyy," his voice raised in pitch when Alastor pressed down ever so slightly. Fuck this wasn't good, his pattern was way more sensitive and he really didn't need Al of all people to figure that out.

"By now you should know that I don't ask nicely," he said, a completely sinister look in his eyes. He drug his finger up along the pink line, making Angel arch his back with a squeal, much to his delight. His finger made its way back down the same path, and Angel shook his head back and forth, squirming in the tentacles' hold.

"Nohohot thehehere," he pleaded. Alastor hummed in thought.

"You see, when you say that it really makes me want to focus all my efforts on this exact spot," he teased.

"Bihihite mehehe!" They both froze, Alastor's grin stretching across his entire face. Angel realized his mistake and even though he knew it was futile, he kicked his legs out for purchase so he could scoot away. Alastor moved to straddle his waist, leaning in closer as sharp teeth glistened. "A-Al Ihihi didn't mean it like that! Oh shit, you're not gonna eat me, are ya?" Nervousness gave way to fear as he had no chance to escape.

"Why, what an excellent idea Angel Dust! I am a cannibal after all." He lunged forth, head diving towards his stomach. Angel screamed in terror which soon gave way to hysterical screams of laughter as Alastor nibbled and nuzzled against his stomach.

"Fuhuhuhuck it tihihickles so damn muhuhuch!" he yelled, trying to curl in on himself, but Alastor's magic held firm. He rose his head back up from the fluff, sputtering before picking a few hairs from his mouth. Angel gasped for breath during the break he knew wouldn't last long.

Alastor wiped his tongue on his sleeve to rid his mouth of any excess fluff. "Suddenly I've lost my appetite!"

"Greheat, so can you lehehet me gohoho?" Angel asked, fearing the answer. Alastor tapped his chin in thought, studying his form before answering.

"I suppose I could, but there's one spot left I want to try," Alastor said, eyes falling on his exposed hollows. Angel followed his gaze, eyes going wide with realization as an excited sort of panic flooded his body. Giggles bubbled out of his mouth that was stretched in an anxious smile, gold tooth gleaming.

"No please, anywhere but there," Angel begged, his efforts to escape doubling but still yielding the same results. Alastor smirked as he rested his hands right below his second pair of arms. Just doing that made him jerk and let out a small squeal. Alastor tilted his head, a devious look on his face.

"Oh Angel, you don't really get a say in the matter," he said, and then he attacked. He was completely lost to his laughter as Alastor scratched and skittered in his underarms, switching rapidly between them all to keep him a jumpy hysterical mess. He drilled his thumbs into the fur and kneaded around the sensitive area. He had to hold back his own chuckles once Angel started hiccuping amongst his cries of laughter. He finally granted him mercy, snapping his fingers and releasing his hold on the other demon. He sat beside him as Angel's giggles trailed off, interrupted every once in a while by another hiccup. Alastor notes that he hadn't moved at all, arms still raised and laying on the bed.

Angel glared up at him. "Damn you, you fuckin' prick. You're a fucki- fucking monster," he said, having to restart the word when another embarrassing hiccup broke up his speech. Alastor just smirked, narrowing his eyes.

"A tickle monster," he felt the need to correct. Angel groaned, a bright blush growing on his face. He covered his face with his lower set of hands, hoping that Alastor would at least be nice enough not to comment on it. "I hope it goes without saying that none of what happened is to leave this room," he threatened in a nicer tone, though it was a threat none the less. Angel sat up, waving a hand at him.

"Yeah yeah, trust me I don't want anyone else to know." Angel perked up, head snapping to look at Alastor. "Hey what'd you do with my shirt?" Alastor pointed around a pile of clothes in the corner, the soft pink shirt laying on top. He walked over, slipping it over his head. He noticed him staring at him, a smug, knowing look on his face. Angel narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Alastor glanced down at his nails nonchalantly. "Nothing, just noticed something rather peculiar." Angel flopped onto his bed, making him bounce with the mattress.

"Mind sharin' with the class?" he asked, even though he had a feeling he would regret it.

"I don't recall hearing you tell me to stop," he said with a sly smile. The curious grin on Angel's face immediately disappeared, cheeks heating up. He refused to meet his eyes as he struggled for a comeback.

"I- you- well- how could I, I was laughin' too hard!" he justified.

"You didn't seem to have any trouble saying other things," he beamed, holding up a hand when Angel grabbed a pillow and started beating him with it.

"Shut the hell up!"

"You like it!"

"SHUT UP!"

Alastor's static filled chuckles rang through the air. He even had the audacity to pinch his cheek before standing. "Glad to see you're feeling better. Laughter is the best medicine after all," he said.

Angel crossed his lower pair of arms, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. "Heh, I guess so."

Alastor was at the door, hand on the knob before he looked over his shoulder at Angel Dust. "Don't be shy to come find me if you ever need any more cheering up," he teased with a wink. Angel's face was practically on fire, and for once he didn't have a witty comeback. Alastor gave an amused huff before closing the door, leaving Angel alone to think about all that just happened.

#alastor #angel dust #husk #husker #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel tickle fic #ticklish!alastor #ticklish!angel #ticklish!angel dust

262 notes · View notes

ricksroaches · 3 years

Text

Namjoon - Dysphoria ch. 3

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

Summary: As a last resort, Namjoon tells his strict, overbearing father something that isn’t exactly true. He ends up having to find a way to prove his bluff.

Notes: Namjoon is also a junior. Jungkook and Taehyung are sophomores, Jimin, Y/N, and Namjoon are juniors, and Hoseok and Yoongi are seniors. Jin has graduated but still hangs out w them.

word count: 5.4k

warnings: cursing, mentions of drug use, mentions of mental hospitalization

Prev chapter Next chapter

Perfection.

The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines perfection as: freedom from fault or defect.

Perfection was the standard held over Namjoon’s head since the day he could walk. His dad expected perfection. Not excellence, no. Excellence has the stain of room for error. Perfection was pure, unscathed by failure. Freedom from fault or defect. And he accepted nothing less. He was obsessive. His mom always said that’s where he got it from.

When Namjoon was 13, he stayed up all night binge watching Star Wars. He didn’t mean to, the time just flew by. What he forgot though, was an Algebra unit test he had that day. He snuck a cup of coffee from the pot and felt tip top, but by the time 5th hour came around, he was dying. You know that feeling when your in class dozing in and out and time kinda warps and every time you blink, 10 minutes have gone by? It’s also not easy to think about quadrilaterals and Euclidean triangle proofs while your at it.

He made a C. He never scored less than an A. Ever. He was sure his fate was sealed. The walk home alone had his palms sweating.

Namjoon remembered a lot of screaming that night. At him, his mom, his brother. No one was safe. Even long after they’d been sent to bed, he could hear their shouts, muffled by the walls. Sleep didn’t come to him that night either.

Naturally, he grew to resent his dad, but then strive for his approval at the same time. All that stress festered into rage. The kind that would put the fear of God in anyone. It scared him, and he was smart enough to know he needed to do something about it. Every time he felt that twinge, that compulsive urge to bash someone’s head in, he’d do push-ups. 10 turned to 20, 20 turned to 50, 50 turned to 100.

By 14, he had developed a strict diet and workout schedule. His body fat dropped from 23% to 10%.

He joined the football team by his dads wishes as a freshman and quickly excelled. By sophomore year, he was not only the starting quarterback, but the team captain. His IQ and OCD allowed him to see patterns in the other team’s offense that others were too brain damaged to notice. He was basically the team’s strategist and often took the coach’s job of giving the rundown before games.

He loved to win. He loved the endless cheers and adoration they showered him with. None of that, however, could compare to the feeling of seeing his dad watching in the stands with a proud, contained smile. His dad’s approval wasn’t Namjoon’s driving force. It was the wrath that he’d do anything to be spared from.

Beads of sweat were blown from Namjoon’s forehead as he sprinted around the track surrounding the school football field. His heart hammered in his chest and his legs begged for rest, but he needed to make exactly 7 laps without stopping or he had to start all over again.

He could see the finish line inching closer in the distance and he pumped his legs even harder to go even faster until he sped over the thick white line. With a parting ‘fuck you,’ his muscles went slack and he collapsed into the grass. He couldn’t hear himself think over the all consuming sound of his heart thundering in his ears and him gasping for air.

Once his pulse slowed to a non frightening pace, he pulled the hem of his jersey up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He laid his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and let his body sink further into the grass.

He thought he fell asleep, because the light reaching through his eyelids faded, and he couldn’t feel the cancer waves beating down on his arm. Confused, he peeked under his arm-“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Y/N was standing at his side staring down at him. He didn’t fall asleep, he was just laying in the long shadow she cast. “What the fuck what are you fucking Annabelle?!”

“I called your name like twice.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Okay first of all,” she took the sucker she had out of her mouth and pointed it at him “watch it. Second of all, Jimin told me you needed a ride home, so I’m telling your ungrateful ass ahead of time.”

“Why aren’t you in class?” She put the sucker back in her cheek.

“Skip n trip.”

“You’re a dumbass. There’s no way they won’t notice your gone.”

“Joon this school’s budget is $300 and a handful of Chuck E. Cheese’s tokens. Those teachers could give a shit. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“What did you take?”

“Shrooms.”

“What are you gonna do until I get out?”

“Dunno. I might rescue a cat from a tree, might steal the Constitution. You never know.”

“Okay well I need to shower before next period so,” Before he could finish she offered him her hand. He took it and she heaved him up a lot easier than he’d expected for a 5’4 druggie.

“Thanks. Now begone, demon.” With the small shove he gave her arm, she turned and meandered to the front of campus.

~~~

Namjoon’s stomach fluttered when his 7th period teacher started talking about what they were going to do tomorrow. A key sign of the end of class nearing. He watched the clock make its way around and around until finally, the bell rang.

He came down the brick front steps of the main hall, eyes sweeping for Y/N’s car. Nothing. With an annoyed huff, he made his way to the parking lot. “Why can’t you use the carpool like a human?”

He was nearing the back of the parking lot when the 1993 Corolla e100 came into view. Its dusty blue paint job and modifications courtesy of Yoongi and his father’s garage that he worked at. A pair of converse hung out the passenger window. When he got closer he saw Y/N laid across the front seat, plastic sunglasses balanced on her nose, hands folded behind her head.

He wrenched the door open making her feet flop to the seat hard enough to wake her with a choked snore. He swatted the bottom of her feet so she’d move. He sunk into the passenger seat and watched her hastily rub her eyes trying to wake up, glasses now perched in her hair. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why the hell were you asleep when you were supposed to pick me up.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. Shroom come downs make me hella sleepy.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Nah, just hand me a Monster. I keep some in the pocket behind your seat.” He gave her a concerned look but reached around and pulled a lime green can from the pocket. She shifted the car in reverse and cut the turn to exit the parking lot, opening the can in her hand with her teeth in the process.

“I could’ve gotten that for you.”

“And not look badass? I think not.”

“That wasn’t badass.”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

~~~

Y/N wanted burritos and Namjoon was getting hungry so they stopped by La Michoacana, their favorite Mexican place, and ate them on the hood of her car.

By the time she pulled in his driveway, the sun was beginning to sink below the trees and buildings. He grabbed his backpack and sports bag from the trunk and walked around to her window, leaning his forearm on the edge and bending to be eye-level. “Thanks for the ride. My dad's home so don’t floor it out of here okay?”

“No problemo brochacho.” She gave him an OK sign before pulling her shades back down and driving off with two small growls of her engine.

His family was already having dinner when he came through the door. “Joon honey, is that you?”

“Yeah mom!” Who else would it be?

“Come eat dinner will you?”

“It’s fine I already ate-”

“Come sit with your family.” His neck hairs prickled at the sound of his dad's voice. He knew better than to keep him waiting. He dropped his bags by the coat rack and made his way to the dining room. He took his seat across from his older brother, Geongmin. “Care to tell us why you were late coming home?” His dad, at the head of the table, finally spoke.

“I was just getting something to eat with my friend who gave me a ride home.” His dad took in his answer before giving a dismissive nod and returning to his plate. Another wave of silence carried the table for another few minutes before his mom spoke up.

“So, Mrs Kwon told me today that her daughter Somin is still looking for someone. Why don’t you give her a call?”

“What? Mom, no. Why?”

“Aw come on sweetie it could be fun you never know. You need at least one highschool relationship before you graduate.”

The truth was, he’d actually had a few relationships in the past. He just never let them find out about it.

“Listen to your mother, she’s right. If you want to understand women enough to marry one, you better start learning now.”

“But…I just can’t.” His dad's gaze zeroed in on him.

“And why is that?” The words came out before he had time to rethink his idea.

“Because I already have a girlfriend.” His mom dropped her fork. Geongmin let out a snort and choked on his iced tea.

“What?” She placed a hand on her chest. His dad didn’t seem too mad. Yet. He set his silverware down neatly and folded his hands in front of his mouth.

“Who is it?” Oohhhhh shit. Now everyone was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Okay Namjoon, just say a female name. Any name, just say something.

“Y/N.” FUCK!

“Y/N? Y/N who?” His mom jumped in.

“L/N.” SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT!

“Hmmm…. I've never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He turned back to his dad who was still eyeing him. He could tell something wasn’t right, only making Namjoon’s thighs sweat more against the seat.

“I want to meet her.”

FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK! NAMJOON YOU STUPID ASS MOTHERFUCKER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?

“Okay.”

Fuck a duck.

~~~

Y/N took a thoughtful hit of her joint. “So you're telling me…that I have to go to dinner with you…to meet your parents…because you said you had a girlfriend?”

“Yes.” The pair were sitting on the school roof during lunch. Her usual hiding spot.

“You know,” she blew out the wispy cloud, “for a genius, you’re really fuckin stupid.”

“Please Y/N they’re trying to get me to date this girl I used to go to preschool with. We hate each other!”

“Woah woah chill my guy. I never said I wouldn’t.” His eyes lit up and she held her joint above her head to avoid it being crushed by Namjoon’s hug.

“Thank you so much I mean it! I owe you big time.”

“All you have to do now is ask Yoongi.” She had to hold in her laugh when she felt his body stiffen, and ever so slightly take his hands off her.

“Oh…right.”

~~~

“Hey, Yoongs.” Y/N tapped one of the boots jutting out from underneath one of the various cars in the garage. The raven haired boy rolled out from under the car, laying on one of those rolly things. He looked up at her with streaks of motor oil and sweat on his face. His eyes lit up when he recognized the lame stance and shaggy hair that was his person.

“Hey, N/N.” In one swift motion, he was on his feet, wiping his hands on the red rag that was tucked in his waistband. He noticed Namjoon standing behind. “Sup. What are you guys doing here?”

“You see…about that.” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck.

“Come on Joon, spit it out.” She shoved him forward.

“Fuck’s wrong with him?” Yoongi pointed at him with his thumb.

“He has to ask you something.”

“Well on with it I have a job to do.”

“IneedtotakeY/NtodinnerwithmyparentscauseIsaidshewasmygirlfriendtogetoutofthemsettingmeupwithsomeone.” Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut and braced for his reaction.

“I don’t think that was a question, but okay.” His eyes popped open.

“Wait, really??”

“Yeah. If she’s willing to clean up your mess that’s all I care about.”

“I told you he’d say yes.” She bumped his arm with her elbow with a smirk. The wave of relief washed over him like jumping in a pool on a hot summer day.

“There are rules that come with that.”

“State your terms.”

“No touching below her waist, no pet names, no staring, and have her home before 10. You’re also allowed exactly one kiss if things get sticky.”

“Deal.”

“So when is it?” Yoongi listened to Namjoon explaining their plans while Y/N took his rag and started wiping the grease off his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Namjoon watched him sit still while she practically climbed all over him like a jungle gym. His patience with her was simply astounding.

By the time she finished and tucked the rag back in his waistband, Namjoon got a call. It only lasted a few seconds before he hung up. “That was my dad. I gotta get home.”

“Ight. That means me too. Bye Yoongs.” She spun around and followed Namjoon to the car.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She turned around. Yoongi held his hand up and made a ‘come here’ motion with his index finger.

“Oh shit!” She came bounding back and threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her chin and planted a kiss on her lips. He made eye contact with Namjoon over her shoulder and gestured around her figure clinging to his body, dramatically mouthing ‘mine.’ Namjoon chuckled and climbed in the passenger side and waited for the lovebirds to finish their visit.

~~~

Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel when there was a knock at her door. She padded to the door and opened it. “Jimin! You learned to use the door!”

He rolled his eyes and stepped in.

“I was told I’m needed for assistance.” She swung open her bedroom door and they entered.

“Yeah, I need your help picking an outfit that won’t get Namjoon killed.”

“Hmm. I see.” He put his finger to his lip and eyed her closet. “Are they religious?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Old school or progressive?”

“Pretty old school I think.”

“Underlying misogyny?”

“What? Fuc- Jimin I don’t know.” He simply eyed her hair, face, and body, nodding.

“Okay, I think I have an idea.”

“And what is thAH!” Her towel was ripped off and he began rifling through her drawers. “JIMIN!”

“Oh please, nothing I haven’t seen before. Let's see…” He tossed a plain bra and a pair of underwear over his shoulder to her.

“Something comfortable, since you won’t be getting lucky tonight.” He moved to her closet nonchalantly while she scrambled to clothe herself. He pulled out an armload of clothes and tossed them on the bed. It was funny how he seemed to know her closet better than she did.

After countless trial and error, he finally decided on an outfit. A white, one shoulder long sleeved bodysuit with a black velvet pencil skirt.

Next was hair. “Jesus what am I gonna do with all this?” He held locks of her curls in each hand. It ended up not being as big of a problem as he thought. A nice bun with a few curls hanging out suited the look well. It was messy, but not too messy, and made her look put together.

Last was makeup. He opted for nude shades on her lids, minimal foundation and contour and a soft peach lip gloss. “In case they’re secretly Amish, I don’t want them thinking you're some whore.” She chuckled, his light hearted nature broke through her nerves. He pulled her in front of the mirror and admired his work. “You look stunning.” She couldn’t help the bashful smile that she hid behind her hands. Suddenly he gasped. “SHOES!” He raced to the closet and looked through her meager collection. He settled on a pair of white block heels, the white strap across her toes complimenting their fresh white pedicure. She slipped them on and he repositioned her in front of the mirror. “Now,” he slid his hands down her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, “you look perfect.”

Her phone buzzed on the bed, interrupting the sweet moment.

Joon🦒: I’m almost there.

“Okay he’s almost here, do I look like a good girlfriend?”

“The best.” With a smile and a peck on his cheek, she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. She opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Hydroxyzine. Namjoon had asked her to refrain from being stoned at dinner, since she tended to say some crazy shit when she was. Granted, he didn’t say sober, just not fucked up. Shaking out three capsules, she eyed them before tossing them into her mouth.

Namjoon’s grey BMW M4 pulled into the driveway, it’s headlights pouring through the front kitchen window. Y/N and Jimin shot up in unison. He grabbed her by the shoulders and faced her. “I know you're probably freaking out right now, but just remember, you got this. There’s no way you can fuck up so bad they never want him to see you again.”

“Way to put that in my head.” He just smirked and opened the door for her.

“Go get ‘em tiger.” He landed a playful swat on her ass, sending her out the door for him to close behind her. No going back now. She made her way down the front steps and Namjoon got out wearing a matching charcoal grey suit and met her on the passenger side. He opened the door for her and held her hand for support until she was settled before shutting it gently. His car was spotless. Yoongi took great care of his car but even he had maybe a jacket laying in the backseat. It looked like he just rolled out of the dealership.

He climbed in the drivers side and pulled out of the driveway. “Was that Jimin?”

“Haha yeah. He helped me get ready.”

“How is he gonna get home if you don’t get back ‘til 10?”

“Hobi’s on his way to pick him up. Apparently they’re gonna drop and watch scary movies.”

“Hobi? Watching horror movies. You're kidding.”

“I've done it with him a few times, it’s quite entertaining.”

“I’m sure it is.”

~~~

It wasn’t a long drive to the restaurant they were meant to meet his parents at. It was a restaurant she’d never heard of, and probably would never be able to afford. He offered her his arm which she gladly took and they entered.

She was immediately hit with the smell of olive oil and fresh bread. Italian music floated over the light din of patrons dining on luxury dishes. Namjoon leaned down and whispered, “I didn’t think they’d pick such a nice place.” A hostess carrying an arm full of menus approached them.

“Mr. Kim?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Right this way please.” Y/N almost couldn’t keep up in her heels with the swift steps the hostess made. She remembered why she never wore them.

The woman led them past table after table, until they reached another smaller room, lit with candles and a crystal chandelier. It was quieter than the front, but still filled with the light chatter of diners sipping million dollar champagne. Okay, she knew Namjoon was wealthy, but this? God damn. She might as well be meeting the President.

They eventually stopped at a table with a couple already sitting. His parents. She put on her best face and gave a polite bow when they stood to greet her. “안녕하세요 당신을 만나서 매우 기쁘게 생각합니다” She looked back up to see them both frozen in surprise. His mom looked to Namjoon.

“You never told us she could speak Korean.”

“주금” Y/N held her index finger and thumb close together with a humble smile. This was good. She’s off to a good start. Once they exchanged pleasantries, they all sat down. A waitress came by for their drink orders. His parents ordered wine and they both ordered sparkling water.

“So, Y/N, how did you get to know our son?” His mom was the first to speak. She was clearly the more excited one. His dad looked like he was at an interrogation.

“We met at a pep rally sophomore year, and I noticed he kept visiting the art room where I worked after school, so when junior year came around I just risked it and asked him out.” His mom melted over the story she made up on the fly. God bless her wicked creativity. It wasn’t until he met his dad's eye that his smile tapered. Although it wasn't noticeable to anyone else, it was obvious to Namjoon. His dad wasn’t happy. Allowing himself to wait around to be asked out by a girl? Disgraceful.

Y/N basically lied about everything she was asked. Where she lived, who her parents were, plans for the future. Somehow the conversation shifted to religion.

“Are you religious, Y/N?” His dad asked. She definitely feared talking to him the most, given the few rants Namjoon went on in the past.

“I was raised Catholic, mass on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the whole deal, but nowadays we hardly have time to go.”

“Were you confirmed?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

“We…” Her mind froze. She couldn’t get past the memories of that age. Cold metal bed frames and IVs, stringless hoodies and slip on shoes. “We moved and by the time we found a church to join, my parents were too busy with new work to take me to the classes. So it never really happened.”

“Aw, well that’s a shame.” His mom remarked. And the conversation moved on.

Y/N barely remembered the rest of dinner. Her mind still stuck in the padded rooms. Eventually, the last of dessert was finished and it was finally time to go. She briefly excused herself to use the restroom. She was feeling pretty good while she washed her hands. She said all the right things, they didn’t seem annoyed or too judgmental. She pushed the door open and nearly ran into Namjoon’s dad on the way to the mens’ room.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s alright. Listen, I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“You and my son seem to have a strong bond. I can tell he likes you a lot. But just between us, I know you lied to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach. “I know you don’t live uptown, I know you don’t live with your parents. I know where you actually live.”

“W-what?” She was frozen in place as he stepped closer. “I understand you may be embarrassed of your financial standing and I’m proud of Namjoon for accepting you for who you are. But I’ll tell you one thing.” He leaned in her ear. “You will never be good enough for my son.” With that, he turned and vanished into the restroom.

All Y/N could do was plod back to the table where Namjoon and his mom were standing. “Joonie? Would it be okay if we went now? I’m starting to get cramps.”

“Oh no please. Namjoon, take the poor girl home.” Best. Excuse. Ever. Works every time.

Once they were inside the car, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Had she been holding it the entire time? It felt like it.

“Ohhhh shit.”

“Dear god what now.”

“Don’t look now but my parents are staring at us from inside. I don’t think my mom believes us.”

“Why?”

“She’s talking about how I wasn’t affectionate enough.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've seen countless of their conversations, I don’t need to hear to know what they’re talking about.”

“Nuclear option?”

“Going nuclear.” With that he leaned across the console and cupped her cheek, melding his lips to hers. It wasn’t as bad as she expected it to be. She thought it’d be rigid and awkward, but he had a way of making them feel comfortable. They parted and he shifted back into his seat.

“Did it work?”

“My mom is jumping up and down. I think it worked.”

He started up the car and pulled out onto the road to her apartment. “What you said about cramps, was that true?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t dare tell him the real reason. Knowing Namjoon she knew that would only turn out one way. He reached over and popped open the glove box in front of her. Inside were tampons, pads, makeup wipes, muscle relaxers, and more lined up in neat rows. She gladly took one of the pills. “How you don’t have a girlfriend yet I’ll never know.” Namjoon may be a compulsive hothead, but at least he knows how to treat a lady.

“Hey, N/N?”

“Yup.”

“Are you actually Catholic?”

“Yeah. All of it was true except for the moving part.”

“Did you, you know, believe in it? In God?”

“I mean it’s kinda like Santa. Your parents tell you he’s real and you’re too naïve to think for yourself so you believe. To answer your question, yes, I used to at least.”

“What happened?”

Hospital gowns, bed restraints, pills in little paper cups.

“….I pretty much lost faith in anything I couldn’t see the moment I was admitted to that place. Shit like that kinda breaks down your character.”

“Are there still times where you think you might still believe?”

“What are you, Jehovah's witness?”

“I’m just curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to be religious.”

“Rarely. I only turn to a higher power when I think there’s nothing left between me and death. When I’m so sure that my life is coming to an end that the only thing I can think to do is pray that heaven is real.”

“H-how many times has that happened?”

“Three times.”

“Oh.”

“Namjoon, promise me something. If one day you see me with my rosary, I need you to throw me in a mental ward and burn all of my religious shit. The whole box I keep in my closet. All of it.”

“I…I promise.”

~~~

The Beemer pulled into her driveway and he helped her out of the car, heels in hand. She took the shoes from him and he gave her a warm hug. “Thank you.”

“No problemo brochacho.” He mocked a scoff and pushed her away.

“Ruined it.” He circled around and climbed back into the driver's seat. Y/N made her way up the steps and turned around. She gave him a wave and he waved back from behind the windshield. With a chuckle, she went inside.

She was met by Yoongi and Taehyung sitting cross legged at her kitchen table. “And just where have you been all this time, young lady?”

“Yoongi, why is it here?” Tae sipped from the mug he carried daintily in one hand.

“Heard Yoongi whored you out. I tagged along to watch the drama.” She chuckled.

“There isn’t any. Go home Tae.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can. We were gonna hang out tomorrow anyway.” Yoongi fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the fluffy haired pervert. “Leave even a scratch and I’ll skin you. Make sure you lock the garage cause if someone jacks it then I’m really gonna come for you.” Taehyung gave him an exaggerated salute and a boxy grin before he bounded out the door and to the car like Tigger. Yoongi shut the door behind him and spun to face her. “What’s wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play that game with me, you know it never works.” She let out a long sigh and flopped onto the couch. The cushion dipped beside her when Yoongi sat down. She instinctively laid her head in his lap. He began plucking out the bobby pins holding her wild hair in place. “So how did it go?”

“It was fine at first. I pretty much had to lie about everything so they wouldn’t think I’m some gold digger.” He loosened the hair tie, finally setting her locks free. His fingers rubbed her scalp to ease the tension from the tight hairstyle.

“That’s obviously not the problem. You have no shame lying.” She giggled.

“It was pretty much fine halfway through, then for some reason they started asking if I was religious.” His veiny fingers mindlessly scratched her head, nearly sending her to sleep. “His dad asked if I went through confirmation, but it just reminded me of other stuff.”

“The hospital?”

“…yeah.”

“What about the other half?”

“I couldn’t really focus after that so I’m sure my conversation wasn’t the best.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I was pretty much in a different place after that.” He tucked a piece of hair that was hanging in her eyes behind her ear. “After dinner, I went to the bathroom and ran into his dad on the way out.” Yoongi stilled.

“Relax, he didn’t diddle me or anything.”

“What did he do?”

“He knew I lied about where I lived. Luckily he still believed we were actually together, cause then he told me that I would never be good enough for his son.” The head scratches halted all together. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it’s not like it matters. We’re not even dating.”

“Y/N look at me.” He met those e/c eyes and made sure he had her full attention. “You don’t actually believe that do you?”

“Believe what?”

“That you're not good enough.”

“I mean….no?”

“That didn’t sound very certain.” She turned her head back so her temple rested on his thigh.

“I mean I haven’t exactly been the gold standard in my lifetime.”

“You don’t have to be. Name someone you think is perfect. I’m talking not a single flaw inside or out.”

“….”

“So, why do you think you have to be?” She was quiet. He didn’t need her to answer, he just wanted to plant the thought in her mind. The softest sniffle could be heard. “Hey, come here.” He laid longways and guided her on top of him. She pressed her ear to his heart and he cupped the back of her head in his hand. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You might not be good enough for him, but you're too good for me.”

“I think I can live with that.” He could feel the small smile grow against his chest.

After a half assed shower, Yoongi tucked them both in bed. Once again her head was on his chest. “Did you tell Joon?”

“No.”

“Good.

“Although we did get kinda deep on the way home.”

“Like what.”

“My religious awakenings.”

“Oh, you really went balls deep didn’t you?” Her head bobbed when he chuckled.

“Ha, yeah. Speaking of which, there’s something I forgot to mention earlier.”

“Oh boy.”

“When we were leaving, his parents were starting to get suspicious because the entire night he didn’t touch me once.”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“So he had to kiss me in the car where they could see.”

“…”

“Hey you can’t get mad you said he could.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” He gently rolled her off him and he peeled the covers back. “Where are you going?”

“Hold on, I gotta piss.” She just laughed and watched him lumber out of the room in his t-shirt and boxers.

When he came back, she was sitting up with her knees hugged to her chest. “So what were you thinking about?”

“Was it good?”

“Was what good?”

“The kiss.” She thought for a second.

“I’m gonna be honest, it was unexpectedly pleasant, but you have nothing to worry about.” He came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Why’s that?” She stood and bounced to the end of the mattress. She grabbed both his shoulders and looked down at him.

“Why would I cheat when I already have the best sex I’ve ever had?” He gave her a long, cool look.

“Until now.” He grabbed the backs of her knees and swept her onto her back with a surprised yelp. He crawled onto the mattress and attacked her with a barrage of kisses anywhere he could reach. It was going to be a long night.

#bts x reader #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic

13 notes · View notes