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strawhatsoraya · 2 years

Note

Would you write top Usopp? I’d rlly love to see that! Maybe a shy dense reader (she) that he’s been flirting with until he finally went “y’know what? Fuck it” and just kisses her! Or anything you’d have in mind! (I love angst with happy ending, soo 👀 👉👈)

(Lil vent: I only ever see ppl writing him as a bottom and, while I don’t judge, I just rlly don’t/ can’t see that. Yeah, he’s anxious and can be a scaredy-cat, but he’s grown and when it matters he’s super brave and confident. I feel like ppl babyfy him a lot… so I’d love to see a top Usopp being all the confident and flirty for once! It’s kinda unfair how they babyfy him so much… anyway! I’m so sorry abt this impromptu vent!! Ik it was stupid, I just been thinking abt this a whole lot! Sorry again)

Anon, I love your beautiful mind. Your wish is my command, because your wish is also my wish. We are of one mind right now. I have written some Usopp for you, with some angst, and fluff, and some smut, and guess what? He's not a bottom! So there's that.

(I refuse to accept as Usopp as bottom so you and I can stand together on this hill. I'll make room. Usopp is courageous, and trustworthy. He knows how skilled he is, and isn't shy at all in my opinion! He just gets scared and honestly rightfully so! The situations they get into are absolutely bonkers. Not everyone is as fearless as Luffy. Never worry about ranting to me!! We can rant together)

hehe ANYWAY here is the fic. I could rant for three more paragraphs if you let me. Please enjoy the Usopp meal kiss kiss xoxo

Bullseye

USOPP X FEM READER | AFAB NO PRONOUNS | NSFW

WORD COUNT: 1.7k (I could have easily written another 1k but thought i should stop while i was ahead)

A (BADLY WRITTEN) SUMMARY: Usopp doesn't understand why y/n can't just grasp the concept of him being into her??? So he makes a move because life is short.

There wasn’t a target in all the seas that he couldn’t hit. No matter how far, no matter how fast. That was the guarantee. His legacy. Sniper King, Usopp the legend of East Blue.

However, with you, it was like flinging cotton balls as ammunition; not enough force, always falling too short, nothing stuck.

It was true that you always laughed at his jokes, crinkling your button nose, chubby cheeks partially concealing your eyes. It was true that whenever he called your name, you whipped your head in his direction, never ignored him; not even once. It was true that sometimes he’d brush the back of his hand against yours, and sometimes–maybe once or twice, your pinkies had entwined as silence fell between you; an understanding of shaky possibilities.

It was also true that you never once answered truthfully when he asked you if you had a crush. Did he know them? It was also true that he called you pretty, funny, amazing and you had taken it all in stride with a quiet laugh, stating that he was too kind; too sweet.

He wanted to be more than sweet. He wanted to be enticing, alluring. He wanted you to see him and feel fire wrap itself around your legs, and over your hips until you were consumed by nothing but thoughts of him. He wanted you to dream of him the way he dreamed of you at night; dream of his lips the way he dreamed of yours–their taste, their shape, the way his name would tumble out in an imaginary ecstasy.

Night after night, he struggled with himself. He’d run scenarios in his mind, wondering what else he could do, what else he could say. It bothered him enough to go to Sanji, risking humiliation. Sanji had laughed, before clapping one hand on his shoulder. Some people are like flowers, he had said as they shared a glass of wine. Sometimes they need a little extra push, a little bit more care, before they can bloom.

Usopp wanted to see you bloom. He wanted your petals to open up, to reveal the tender pink inside, like cherry trees in spring. He wanted to be the breeze that shakes your branches, scattering the essence of you everywhere to carry it with him wherever he went.

He smelled you in the ocean breeze as you stood on the deck, observing the sea as you often did. You turn to him and smile, hand outstretched to him. He doesn’t have the strength to deny you. He walks towards you, heart hammering loudly between his ribs. It seeks to escape, to run away from the scene. Usopp brings a hand up to calm it, he rubs a quick circle over his chest. He murmurs a quiet promise to himself. Today, he wouldn’t let you escape. Today, he’d make you understand.

You both look out at the ocean, watch the sun sink lower into the horizon. Orange ink spills in the skies, washes away and blends in with dusty blue.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” you ask him, tilting your head up at him. He looks down at you with lips slightly parted. As if he couldn’t breathe enough. His dark brown eyes, deep and soulful, watch you and it feels as if he sees deeper than skin; deeper than flesh, sinews and bone. You swallow, trying to ignore the steady increase in body heat.

“Yeah,” he says, tearing his eyes away from you with the last shred of his will. He places an elbow on the railing of the Thousand Sunny to glance at the sunset casually. It was beautiful for sure, but the sight of your skin glowing was far more than that; far more than words he could ever utter.

He should, though, shouldn’t he?

He swallows the nerves, they tangle in his throat. He hears you talking about something or the other; more than likely whatever shenanigans Luffy had gotten up to that day. He laughs just at the thought of it, your story barely registering. All he could do was stare at your moving lips, the way the corners of your mouth would curl up, the tiny flash of white teeth; he remembers at the most inopportune moment, he is aware, of his last dream where you sank your teeth into his shoulders to keep from crying out.

His hands shake, he feels pleasurable heat at the bottom of his belly. If he didn’t hold you tonight, if he didn’t kiss you until he was out of breath, he was as good as dead. He says your name, cutting off your speech. You blink at him, wondering when he had become so rude. You don’t get the chance to question him. His mouth is on yours, tightly pressed as one arm wraps around your waist. He pulls you in closer, fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt; desperate to keep you close. His other hand buries in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it, bringing your mouth closer to his.

You feel your body freeze, adrenaline shooting bullseyes at every nerve. Bang, Bang, Bang! And at the source of the hit, warmth blooms; ink on paper, spreading heated fingers over your skin.

He presses his tongue against your bottom lip, and feels the chapped skin. It doesn’t bother him. He just thinks he should kiss you more properly; tenderly, to make up for it. He has you in his embrace, tongue pushing past your lips. He claims yours for the taking, moaning softly as he sucks on it. When you come up for air, you are breathless; a small shiver rattles your senses.

“I like you so much,” he confesses against the baby hairs on your temple. He kisses your cheeks, brushes his plush lips against the shell of one ear. “I want you.” You don’t trust yourself to answer. Your legs feel weak, so you clasp fistfuls of his vest. He looks down at you through his curly lashes, his ragged breathing splashing against your mouth. He takes your silence as an answer, and envelopes your small hand in his large one to lead you away from the deck.

It is fortune’s grace that you meet no one on the way to his bedroom. He pushes the door open with too much force, and it slams against the opposing wall. The noise startles you, so he apologizes quickly as he closes it, ears heating up with embarrassment.

He tries to forget his slip up by pulling you into his embrace again, kissing you with abandon. You were in his room; you, the elusive you. It was more than he could have ever hoped. He had dreamed, yes, time and time again but those were fantasy; a cheap copy of the real you. His imagination could not compare to the softness of the inside of your mouth, the meatiness of your hips that he gripped tightly enough to bruise. You whimper as he bites on your bottom lip, tugs on it with a strength you didn’t know he possessed.

Your tongue is in his mouth again when he picks you up by the ass, long brown fingers digging into your glutes. You moan, arms wrapping around his neck as you both fall back on the bed. His weight on your body is arousing. You can’t get past the idea of how domineering it feels, as if he could pin you down and you’d be too weak to resist. He was an incredible marksman. You knew this, but wondered if he was a mind reader as well. His fingers wrap around your wrists, and he pins them over your head, his free hand snaking under your shirt, pressing flat against your belly at an excruciatingly slow pace. His callouses palms, the roughness of his skin makes you shiver.

“Usopp,” you breathe, barely able to utter the syllables. Your legs move despite your will, rubbing together as if that would stop the slickness in your panties from spreading. You don't have the courage to ask for it, so you blush instead. The sight of you biting your lip, sinking in your shoulders as if you wanted to hide shouldn’t entice him; it shouldn’t make the throbbing erection in his pants any more worse but it does. He feels it twitch, feels the need to force you to look at him. So he leaves your skin alone to grab your chin between thumb and index finger. He pulls your chin upwards, watches you until you make eye contact.

You can barely stand to look at him. Sweat drops cling to his cinnamon skin, and as your fingers twitch you remember how warm he always feels. A heat floods your belly, oozing downwards. You feel yourself become wetter the longer he stares at you.

“I want you to look at me,” he says as he lets go of your chin. His hand travels down the center of your breasts, fingers dancing lightly over your belly. Your breathing comes in short bursts; soft pants filling up the empty room. “Make sure you keep looking at me.”

His fingers brush along the inside of your thighs. You feel them ease under the skirt. You try not to close your eyes, they flutter briefly as he finds your heated cunt. You mutter something unintelligible, maybe his name? He doesn’t quite catch it but it makes him smile to see you falling apart so easily. He discovers the elastic of your panties with two fingers, pushes it aside to gently play with your wet folds.

You’re tethered to his gaze; dark, warm and hypnotizing. You lose yourself, sink into it, as if drowning at the deep end of a pool. Was breathing even necessary when his fingers so easily slipped inside of you? You cry out at the feel of them curving; searching. You bite your lip, before you gasp, panting. He never stops watching you, even as he picks up the pace, taking the hint from your moving hips. You were art in motion; a cascade of colors; a mixed medium of sound and touch. He was a mere consumer, delirious; his only desire was to have whatever you could possibly give him.

You cry out his name, and he feels a wish fulfilled. He buries his face in your neck, his curls brushing your cheek.

“Perfect,” he mumbled against your neck, nipping the skin he found until little purple bruises showed up. He feels like an imposter. He wishes he could leave something better; the shape slightly different, anything to add to your beauty. “You’re so perfect.” Your moans ignite his passion, your fingers are under his shirt, running sharp nails down his back. “Let’s not stop here. Give me more. I want more.”

#usopp x you #usopp x reader #usopp x y/n #usopp #usopp smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #fic request #for the cummunity!

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witchthewriter · 2 years

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hello! i saw your requests are open, so can i request headcanons on being genya's girlfriend and really liking to make her jealous? both sfw and nsfw, please

thank you anyways

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚'𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race & any/all size reader

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ESFJ 🍁Hufflepuff 🔮 Pisces Sun, Saggitarius Moon, Scorpio Rising

SFW

・Having a very flirtatious relationship

・You like to wind Genya up, push her buttons and grind her gears

・She still loves you anyway

・She didn’t want anyone to know you were together, so it was kept a secret for a few months. It was only because she thought she was protecting you - against the King, the Darkling and the rest of the judgemental Grisha

・Until one day you saw how the some Squallers were treating her and you stood up for her

・Showing more affection in public

・You love it when she uses her tailor gift on you but she always says that you don’t need it

・Calling her my love and she calls you sweetheart

・Moving into her room/living quarters and it’s the best and worst thing - the best because you get to spend more time together. Sleep in each other’s arms, wake up together. The worst because you know the queen and king want her and you can’t do anything about it. You know when they need her and you see the look on her face when she comes back

・Likes when you hold her head into the crook of your neck

・You wink at her from across the hall

・When your relationship grows further, thats when you start making her jealous

・You like the way she pulls you into the corridoor and kisses you fiercely

・Genya loves it when you open up to her, it’s showing you trust her. That you truly like her.

・She is actually so soft around you

・Opening up about what she is forced to do and you go homicidal. It isn’t until you got up to kill the King and the Darkling that Genya had to calm you down

・LOVES giving you lil kisses; pecking you on both cheeks, your nose, forehead, chin, lips etc.

・Her adoring you

・But not telling you about the Darkling and his plans at first

・It’s not until after Alina’s demonstration that she tells you

・You do not like the idea at first at all, but know that she’s made up her mind and won’t budge

・So you go wherever she goes

NSFW 🔞

・Is very very affectionate behind doors and wants to touch you all the time

・Ripping your clothes off when you’ve made her extra jealous

・Not as kinky as you think she would be

・Prefers to take things slowly

・May flinch at times because of what the king has done to her

・Is more of a dom than a sub, and likes to make you squirm

・Likes it when you entwine your fingers together when fucking

・Very tender kisses that turn into hot needy ones

・She is a loud moaner

・Likes to grab onto your tits, massaging them, flicking and sucking on your nipples

・She loves it when you look her in the eyes as you cum

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone headcanons #dating would include #genya headcanons #genya fluff #genya safin #genya safin headcanons #would include #headcanons #witchthewriter #gif #genya x reader #genya safin x reader #genya smut #genya safin smut

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viktorybell · 10 months

Text

Extra Room

GentleBeard (Stede Bonnet x Edward Teach from OFMD)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: lil bit of angst (BUT MOSTLY FLUFF), brief mentions of pirate-y (pirate-esque?) violence. It’s Blackbeard, yall know what you’re getting into.

Prompt: 20 Fluffy Dialogue Prompts (created by novelbear) #14 “sad…i have a blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with.”

“Has anyone seen Edward? We were supposed to go gallivanting in the Republic of Pirates this evening?” Stede calls out to his busy crew that was halfway through the ship's store of liquor. It’d been a long week of escaping the British fleets that still constantly sought after the captains and crew of the Revenge, and they were finally able to go to port after a particularly tense run in with Spanish merchants in cahoots with the king.

“Gall-er-vanting? What’sat even mean?” Wee John mumbles where he’s half asleep atop a pile of ropes.

“I think it’s something to do with horses, yeah? Or a pony? Can’t tell the difference to be honest,” Frenchie muses. He’s curled into John’s side, snatching the rum bottle out of his hand and stealing a swig.

“Nay, I believe tis a species of jellyfish,” Buttons interjects where he’s staring over the railing at the slowly rising moon. Without warning, he spins around to stand directly under Stede’s nose. “If Cap’n Blackbeard is missing, I’ll gladly be your guide. I know many a jellyfish. Personally, even. The moon is ripe and the fish are f-”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Buttons, but I do appreciate the offer,” Making a quick exit from that particular conversation, Stede addresses the group again. “Seriously, you guys! Have any of you seen Ed at all??”

“Not in a bit, no,” Lucius rolls his eyes, pulling himself from where he was oh-so importantly perched on Black Pete’s lap, staring into his eyes and whispering who knows what into his ear. The same thing they did almost every night. “Don’t even think of dragging me along to the Republic as your sexy, little assistant again. I still have nightmares about Spanish Jackie’s and the way that nose jar smelled when you shattered the thing into a million little pieces.”

“Yes, thank you, Lucius. We all remember! Haha, very funny! You don’t have to keep bringing it up,” Stede huffs haughtily, his nose up in the air as he turns toward his captain’s quarters. Obviously his crew was busy with much more important matters, not that he’d expect any of the bunch to know where Edward was when he didn’t want to be found. Stede would have sought out Oluwande and asked him, but Jim and him had snuck into their private quarters an hour ago. And last time Stede went and knocked on their door out of the blue, Jim had thrown a dagger through it and took an inch off his bangs.

So. That was a no-go.

Pushing aside the heavy door to his quarters, he’s greeted to the sight of his dark and empty sitting room. It was much less lavish than when it was first built, all of his bells and whistles torn and thrown into the sea after his and Ed’s…brief break up. Gilden decorations and lost books aside, Stede rather liked the new vibes. It was a reminder of who he was and who he’s become all in one. A reminder of his new life with Edward, the one he almost abandoned for a wife and children who were far better off without him lingering around their estate like some miserable, half-dead ghost. It was bitter sweet but functional and, best of all, fitted with a bed large enough for him and his co-captain to share.

A bed that was suspiciously more rumpled than it was before Stede left to speak with his crew, Ed’s favorite pillow missing.

While he and Stede were back together and working on better communication, Edward still had his share of bad days. Days where he felt more Legendary Kraken than man. Where there had once been boiling hurt and burning anger, now remained embers of shame. Shame over trashing Stede’s ship, shame over ditching Stede’s crew, shame over letting Izzy get to him so badly that he nearly killed Stede when they reunited. Shame that manifested in Ed hiding himself away in random holes throughout the ship, isolating himself as a form of punishment.

It was something that Stede was trying to help Edward with, but it could be hard to help someone who didn’t want to be found. Luckily for Stede, though, he could at least narrow down his love’s hiding spot to somewhere in his quarters. An added bonus was his lack of lavish decorations left Ed very few spaces to sequester himself away in.

Silently creeping through his room, Stede avoided creaky spots in the wood flooring as he glanced around his cabin. The fireplace was empty, as was their bed, and underneath the couch. It might seem ridiculous to look in places so small, but after the last month, Stede knew that if it could even slightly fit Edward? The man would find a way to hide away in there when you least expected it.

To his left, out of the corner of his eye, Stede noticed the hidden door to his wardrobe cracked just barely open. It was the only place in his quarters that had been untouched, even when Edward was dead set on throwing out any other reminder of Stede. Immediately he ceased his tiptoeing around and walked forward towards the bed.

“Shame that my darling Edward’s up and disappeared on me,” Stede projects, hopefully loud enough to reach into even the farthest corner of the closet. He flops backwards onto the bed, being sure to make as much noise as he can as he kicks off his heavy boots and settles in.

The bed in the ship’s window is the only thing on the ship that has remained a true luxury. Even more so after Edward began sleeping in it as well. Who would have guessed that the most feared pirate of all seven seas had a penchant for fleece blankets softer than you could imagine and plush pillows you could push into just about any shape you wanted. The infamous Blackbeard was stubborn and embarrassed about any other sign of luxury, but the draw of a comfy bed to crawl back to after a long, hard day was just too irresistible.

“It truly is sad…I have a blanket with ALL this extra room and no one to share it with…” Stede laments, grabbing the corners of one of Edward’s favorite blankets and rolling up in it. For a moment, he’s silent. Holding himself as still as possible to listen past the soft crush of waves against the Revenge, so that he might hear any sign of life from in the wardrobe. His answer is the sound of the wardrobe door finally clicking shut all the way. So much for that idea.

Stede slides out of bed, keeping Ed’s thick, warm blanket tight around his shoulders. As much as he’s striving to make things right between them, struggling to make up for his mistakes. It’s always a shot in the dark for him. Never in his life has he had this much to lose, this much to love. It was partly why he had run, it’s terrifying having your heart beat outside of your chest in the hands of somebody else. Even now there was a sickly, frightened voice from the back of his mind. It was yelling at him to head back out to the deck. Edward hates him and he’s only going to make things worse by pushing and pushing until Ed pushes back and they’ll be right back to square one.

Ignoring that small voice, Stede pushes forward and stands outside the hidden door.

What good has running away EVER done him?

Knocking lightly on the door, Stede clears his throat and asks, “Ed? May I come in?”

On the other side of the door there’s silence. For over a minute! Stede’s practically shaking where he stands, the sick voice in his head getting louder and louder. This was a mistake! Of course he doesn’t want to see you! This is all your fault, you weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily livere-

The door to the wardrobe quietly clicks back open.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, Stede slumps a little. That had been a tense moment! Probably the most nervous he’s been all week! Which is saying something, he’s a pirate, you know.

He waits for the door to open further, for Edward to say something, make a noise, anything. Nothing goes on beyond the door opening just an inch. It’s small, but it’s enough for Stede.

The wardrobe is near pitch black when he toes the door aside and quickly closes it behind himself. As much as he adores his crew and always maintains an open door policy for any brave soul who might need to talk out their tangled emotions from their latest battle…well, nobody really even came into his room to do that. And right now Lucius whining about something or other or a bizarre bird related rant from Buttons was the last thing that would help him and Edward’s precarious situation.

Not sure he’d be able to make it more than a step or two without falling ass over elbows, Stede sits with his back to the door, blanket still snug around his shoulders.

“I’m not stupid. I know what you were trying to do out there,” Ed rasps after five minutes in silence. Edward could sit in silence for hours, maybe even days when it meant waiting out a particularly stubborn adversary. He’s used to playing strong and sullen and silent, but there’s just something about Stede not running his mouth for longer than a few seconds that just unnerves the man. It has him fighting the urge to fill the silence himself, which he knows is exactly why the bastard does it. Gentleman Pirate, his ass. These were dirty tricks.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ed,” Stede says back, matching his love’s quiet tone albeit much gentler. The blonde desperately wishes he could see Ed in here. That he could reach out and tuck his hair behind his ear, pull him close, beg him to forgive whatever he did this time to make him disappear again. “What’s going on?”

From somewhere a few feet to his left, there’s shuffling and a quiet sigh. Then silence again.

“Is it-? Did I-?” Stede begins and is almost immediately cut off.

“Oh, please, Stede. It’s not all about you,” Edward huffs, a sharper rustling noise coming from his direction. Stede can almost imagine the other rolling his eyes and folding his arms across his chest in frustration.

“Fair,” Stede chuckles. That’s yet another thing they’re working on, Stede’s insistence that all things evil and wretched were his doing. Albeit usually Edward spoke about it in a much kinder tone than this, but Stede couldn’t blame him. Not when he was centering himself when Ed was the one suffering. “Then talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your mind.”

“I just-!” Edward starts loud, the noise sounding sharp in the small space between them, but cuts himself off with a strangled groan. It’s always like this, like a physical block in his chest preventing him from saying anything. His throat tight and his face burning, it makes him want to tear down the frilly shirts and jackets he can feel brushing against his shoulders. But same as Stede working on his own self-blame, Edward is working on not letting his fight-or-fight response take hold of him. “Does it EVER get easier?!”

This time it’s Stede that needs a moment to gather his thoughts. He feels woefully unqualified to answer that question. Just ten minutes ago he was internally tearing himself to shreds, contemplating running out to the deck and jumping overboard just to drown out the unceasing thoughts of self-doubt. He was still struggling, what right does he have to comment on if it gets better or not??

“I think it does,” Stede says quietly, surprising himself. “I mean, just look at us! Do you think a month ago you would have even entertained me coming in here while you’re like this? Or even speak to me?”

“Well, no, but…” Edward starts weakly, his half-formed protest dying almost immediately.

“There we go, proof!” Stede is grinning into the dark now, Ed can hear it in his voice. “I don’t think this kind of thing ever goes away, really…but it will get easier. The time will keep passing, and before you know it, you’re surrounded by family you never thought you could have. You’ll find that you haven’t struggled like you used to in a long time.”

It’s quiet in the wardrobe once Stede finishes his little speech. He politely pretends he doesn’t hear sniffling coming from in front of him. Without warning, Edward flops into his side, burrowing his way under the blanket still covering his shoulders.

“Where’d you learn all that, huh?” Ed mutters while Stede happily wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in close. “Certainly not from any bloody pirates.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I read it in a book somewhere, or maybe it’s just a universal truth. Who knows?” Stede sighs happily, feeling like a missing piece of him has been returned to its rightful place.

“Sounds like a crock of shit to me,” Edward teases back, not an ounce of sincerity in his voice.

“Oh, whatever! Seems to have done the trick just nicely,” Stede hums happily as he turns enough to wrap both arms around the other. Returning the embrace, Ed wraps his arms around Stede’s torso, burying his face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

“Sorry for screwing up the whole Republic idea you made,” Edward mumbles into the warm skin just above Stede’s collar. “Would’ve been proper nice to get in and old-fashioned bar fight. Might’ve even got to stab someone.”

“Ah, yes. Well, another time. Plenty of stabbings ahead of us, dear!” Stede’s a little less bummed about missing their evening in the Republic of Pirates now. While he’d done major change after starting his new life as a pirate, it wasn’t THAT much progress. “I think I’d rather like to stay in this evening, anyways.”

Making a soft noise of agreement, Edward sinks fully into Stede’s arms, going limp like a puppet with his strings cut. It makes Stede’s heart flutter almost painfully and it’s like suddenly he understands every trashy romance novel he’d ever snuck onto his bookshelves. For all the struggle and strife it took to maintain an actual relationship, the benefits largely outweighed any temporary discomfort.

“Ah, but maybe not on the floor of the wardrobe,” Sheepishly, Stede tries his best to shift his leg out from under where it’s pinned under Ed. “I think both of my feet are asleep.”

Edward laughs heartily as he sits up and shoves the hidden door back open. Hazey, burning light floods the once pitch space of the closet. It turns Edward’s eyes a honeyed orange that glows warmly as the two pirates stare at each other, positively love sick.

“Alright, old man, to bed with you!” Ed grins as he pushes himself to his feet and holds both hands for Stede to take. While it’s mostly just to help him to his feet when they’re filled with pins and needles, there’s the added bonus of being able to tug the blonde forward. Stumbling into Ed’s chest, Stede raises an eyebrow at him, unable to cut down on the lopsided smile the action brings to his face. “‘Sides, you’ve really sold me on the blanket thing. Looks mighty lonely on you.”

#gentlebeard #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd stede #ofmd ed x stede #ed x stede #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #ofmd fanfic #i never fucking know how to tag shit #gay little pirates idfk #gentlebeard fic

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inquisimer · 2 years

Note

happy friday!! how does 'Reading a book together' sound for Mahariel and anyone of your choice?

happy happy friday, anything mahariel always sounds perfect because i love her<3

this has been marinating in my head for a bit and i finally found some motivation to actually type it out this week so have a lil bit of fluff

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“Did you know, rumor holds that when the last Ferelden king dies, the Dragon’s Peak will erupt in ash and fire?”

Alistair scowled. “Yes. Do you have to read that wretched thing when I’m around?”

“When else am I supposed to read it?” Sari gave him an impish grin over the faded maroon tome. “You’re always around.”

“Maybe we should split up,” he grumbled.

The Compleat Geneaology of the Kyngs of Ferelden was imprinted on the cover in peeling gold paint, and on the spine in smaller filigree of the same shade. Bodahn had practically fallen over when she offered to take it off his hands—“not sure why we kept lugging that brick around to be honest”—though not quite excited enough to offer her more than the usual discount. He was a businessman after all.

“Ostensibly, that means Cailan couldn’t have been the last Ferelden king. Seeing how the only impending world disaster is the Blight.”

“Or maybe it’s a ridiculous rumor, started by the royal advisors, in a propaganda-fueled scheme designed to cement their hold on the throne.”

“The best rumors have a kernel of truth to them.”

Alistair glared at the book with such force that Sari was surprised it didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back slightly toward her chest, just to be sure it was out of his arm’s reach. She wouldn’t put it past him to ‘accidentally’ knock it into their little fire.

Sari knew that her experiences weren’t universal, but Alistair’s apparent indifference to his lineage irked her. For her part, she’d pestered Ashalle and the Keeper, Ilen and hahren Paivel for hours, begging for even a scrap of her personal history. When her old guardian finally relented, not even a day before they found the eluvian, Sari had taken the story into her heart and looped the necklace around her wrist, where it still firmly clung.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious where you come from?”

“I know where I come from,” he insisted. “Eamon gave me my childhood. Duncan gave me the only part of adulthood worth remembering. The Theirins have given me nothing.”

Sari hummed. She was pushing his buttons, she knew, but they hadn’t really gotten into it much last time around, because he’d put off telling her about his lineage as long as possible.

“Don’t the shems say, ‘blood is thicker than water’?” she asked. To her surprise, Alistair actually smiled at that.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he corrected with a snort. “They used to say that to templar recruits who were homesick. I always thought it was fitting for the Wardens, all things considered.”

“No kidding.”

“Regardless,” he said, giving her a sardonic look down his nose, “I’ve never been a Theirin. Their history holds as much interest for me as Morrigan’s sweaty boots.”

Sari shrugged with calculated nonchalance. “Whatever you say. I’d have thought you’d be more concerned about what the book implies about Theirins in general, that less discerning readers might extrapolate to you.”

“What, flowing locks and charismatic leadership?” Alistair scoffed. “There’s nothing in that book anyone would be foolish enough to think applies to me.”

“Oh?” A wicked grin snuck across Sari’s face, which she quickly hid by raising the tome. Years of deceptive antics with Tamlen went into her ability to keep her voice level now. “So you don’t have a birthmark shaped like Lake Calenhad on your—”

His blush rose high in his cheeks faster than the sparks off the fire, and just as red too. Sari didn’t bother hiding her laughter—neither did Leliana or Zevran, who’d been at least pretending they weren’t eavesdropping from where they were keeping watch.

“It does not say that!” Alistair scrambled around the fire, but Sari deftly rolled beyond his reach and danced backward to keep the tome that way as well.

The tome didn’t have a single sentence about birthmarks, of course. It was a dry, dull ode to the monarchy written by an author who was at least a little bit in love with Brandel the Defeated, judging by the apologist rhetoric. But Sari had seen the birthmark for herself—on Alistair, at least. It wasn’t actually a family trait as far as she was aware.

But Alistair didn’t know that for sure and it was going to stay that way, as long as she could keep the tome out of his hands.

She led him on a merry chase around the campsite, weaving between the tents and storage crates and various patches their companions had claimed. Her nimbleness and dexterity gave her the early advantage, but his legs were far longer and he was rapidly gaining on her. In a last, desperate bid, she shoved the tome down her shirt and hugged it tight to keep it from slipping out as Alistair tackled her to the ground behind Bodahn’s wagon.

A fresh blush quickly chased away his look of triumph when he realized where his prize lay. It wasn’t as though the tome was well concealed—it was almost wider than Sari herself—but the thin layer of her tunic was more than his Chantry-ingrained sensibilities could overcome. It probably didn’t help that they were both knocked prone and panting from their little jaunt. Sari could practically see his thought process: from the initial desire to the obvious implication to the Andrastian inhibition. He huffed out a breath and sat back on his haunches, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, keep the bloody book! Let all of Thedas know I have a geographically specific birthmark where the sun don’t shine!”

“Is than an offer of demonstration?” called Zevran.

Alistair made a crass gesture—definitely offending those Chantry sensibilities—in the elf’s direction.

“You know, this book ends with Maric.” Sari had propped herself against one of Bodahn’s wagon wheels and was flipping through the tome once more, toward the back this time. “The author bound a bunch of blank pages after that.”

“He was a little over-optimistic about the Theirin line,” muttered Alistair. Sari looked up at him through her lashes, gauging his mood.

“We could fill it in, after we follow up on Elric’s lead about Ostagar,” she said cautiously. As she expected, Alistair stiffened. He still wasn’t processing his grief properly. She bit back a sigh.

“If you want.” She shrugged, then grinned deviously. “I’ll also gladly include an affidavit that bastards don’t get the birthmark, so you’ll be excluded from the legend.”

“That would just feed the garbage and you know it,” he grumbled. But his eyes and voice were soft when he finally looked over at her.

“I would like that. For Cailan,” he clarified. He cleared his throat and looked away again—the blush was back full force. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said lightly. She stood and allowed herself to casually brush her knuckles across the back of his hand, then went to relieve Leliana from her watch.

#dadwc #my writing #oc: sari mahariel #sari x alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x mahariel #dao #dragon age #gotta make a feastday pranks prompt list bc thats some good material hmmm

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dontbemeanplease · 5 years

Photo

I stuck with Anxiety, because I’m intimidated by Cyberbullies! It’s been a fat minute since I’ve drawn the most handsome character in DRRR!! Thank you, anonymous!

#I'm messing around with the resolution because all of my other pictures seem so blurry on mobile... hope this works nicely!#i'm not kidding he really is just the most handsome #lil button nose what a king #aozaki shu #drrr #drrr2 #tricart #i would go as far as to say that he has the best tiddies in drrr as well get out of here namie #aozakis coming through

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some-kindofgnome · 3 years

Text

meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

characters: eijirou kirishima x f!reader

wc: 2.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, quirkless au, implied friends-to-lovers, fluff, mentions of drinking/the sliiiiightest bit of tipsiness, swedish condoms, no beta we die like that bottle of wine

notes: @the-moons-raes and I discussed travelling with BNHA boys at some length a lil while ago, so I wrote this sweet lil scene for her! Consider it a (very) belated birthday present my dear. 💖 xoxoo

MASTERLIST

The sky’s faded from powder-blue to apricot by the time you stumble together into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. You’ve been grinning all night, so hard it’s starting to hurt your wine-warmed cheeks. But this is the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.

“That was,” Eijirou starts, “one of the- no, the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“We should’ve ordered another bottle of that wine,” you muse. He’s got his hands on your hips and you twist in his grip, curling your fingers around his palms. His face has gone pink, but his eyes are sparkling and you’ve already decided you want to preserve this feeling for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think you need anything else to drink tonight,” he teases smoothly, pulling you close with his fingertips digging into the gauzy fabric of your dress. He leans down and pushes his lips against yours, the last tartness of the strawberry gelato you finished on the boardwalk still lingering in the tender flick of his tongue.

Tonight falls at the tail end of a long backpacking trip across Europe that you’ve been wanting to take for as long as you can remember. You’d never planned to take anybody with you at all, let alone the man you’d wind up falling for.

But Eiji’s always been pretty good at defying your expectations.

The rest of the summer hasn’t been this glamorous. You’d spent most nights shacked up in rickety little hostel beds, bunking together in rooms of six or camping out in the backseat of a tiny rental car. But the sleepless nights and sore backs and restricted luggage hadn’t changed a thing. You’ve been in heaven all summer long.

To celebrate your last couple of nights in this hemisphere, you checked into one of Naples’ top-rated hotels. It’s still not the most luxurious room on the market, but compared to the military-issue bunk beds you’ve been sleeping on for the past eight weeks, it might as well be paradise.

Especially now, given the changed nature of your relationship.

You got on the plane together two months ago nursing a deep, intense crush on your best friend. You’ve been close with Eijirou since your first year in college together, when he was assigned to the dorm room beside yours. And for as long as you’d known him, you assumed you’d be loving him from a distance.

But somewhere between Brussels and Berlin, the line between friend and lover started to blur. Since then, it’s been completely erased.

“Come on,” you protest, flinging your arms around his neck and clasping them together behind his head. “I can hardly feel a thing.”

He ran out of hair gel two weeks ago and he’s been wearing his hair down ever since, tied into a loose little ponytail at the nape of his neck. The dark roots of his natural colour are starting to show at his crown after going nearly two months without so much as a haircut.

To you, he’s never looked sweeter.

“That’s my point,” he insists, descending into tipsy, cheerful laughter. “You’re so drunk y’can’t feel a thing. C’mere, it’s time to get you to bed.”

His euphoric grin twists around the edges with mischief as he stoops, sweeping you off your feet with a quiet little grunt of effort. You burst out laughing, letting one arm drop around his neck as your head falls back in deepening mirth.

“Take me to bed,” you swoon, dropping purposely limp in his arms. You haven’t been able to do any of this since that night in Athens a couple of weeks ago where you miraculously had an entire hostel bunkroom to yourselves.

Even then, those cots didn’t make it easy.

Tonight you’ve got a king bed all to yourselves, which Kirishima plants you on before crossing to the window and throwing it open. The night air is velvety and sweet, rolling in like heady steam and waking your senses as you watch him ditch his shoes and crawl across the plush bedspread to settle down beside you.

“You are insanely beautiful,” he croons, propping one head on his arm and smoothing his fingers affectionately down your temple. “I can’t believe I get to tell you that.”

He leans in to kiss you after that, tasting you carefully as his hand drifts from your cheek to your neck to your side. He’s a careful kisser, tasting of the last hints of that sweet summer wine that’s filled both your heads.

Picking up on your eagerness, he breaks from your lips to push attentive little kisses down the side of your neck. But as he reaches the hem of the floaty little dress you wear, he pauses and finds your eye.

“Can I?”

He’s already sliding one palm down over the curve of your hip, but it pauses at your thigh, and the earnest little quirk in his brow is so cute you can’t help but giggle.

“Do you really need to ask?” you quip.

He hums thoughtfully against your skin, already mouthing at your collarbone. “Just making sure.”

There are oversized buttons lining the center front of your dress, and he takes his time popping open every single one. He opens the dress far enough that he could have easily pulled it down over your hips, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead, you get to watch as he works open the last button with quiet, deep concentration, and when he finally does, he pushes the folds open around your body with a loving little triumphant smile.

“There’s my girl,” he croons as he crawls atop you once more, shedding his sweaty t-shirt in the process. You’re chest-to-chest when he catches your lips again, and his skin is still a little warm from the afternoon you’d spent at the beach before dinner.

He kisses you long and low and slow, giving you plenty of time to let your thighs fall open around the slope of his hips. Eiji presses naturally forward, pushing the ridge of his pelvis and the stiff denim of his shorts against your flimsy underwear. He huffs quietly into your mouth, and as you shift and squirm beneath him you can feel his cock stirring against you.

“Eiji,” you whimper, turning your face sharply to one side. “Don’t make me wait.”

In the absence of your mouth, he noses attentively down the column of your throat. His eyelashes flutter at your jaw and you feel it when he purses his lips and swallows hard.

“Okay,” he rasps. “Okay, I gotcha.” He rears back, sitting up on his haunches to unbutton his shorts. Before he gets up to shed them, he rests a hand on the plane of your belly, smiling so innocently down at you it shouldn’t make you throb.

But it does.

“Ready for me already, pretty girl?” Eiji muses, and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from rolling over and screaming into your pillow as loudly as possible.

“Been ready for you since the beach,” you tease back, and it works, since his ears are turning red as he slips out of bed. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his undershorts and shucks both garments in one smooth motion, hunching over to let them drop to the floor while he steps unceremoniously out of them.

His cock’s half-hard already, sitting full and heavy between his thighs and swelling self-consciously under your gaze. He’s exactly as big as you always sort of knew he was. He’s not shy about it, either. He can’t afford to be.

But he doesn’t know how beautiful he is, sunburned and sweating in the fading golden-hour light of your last sunset in Italy. You want to pet the soft little bristle of dark hair that dusts his chest, follow the taper of it all the way down to that perfect trail that always used to disappear under his shorts.

Not anymore. You get to see him at his most vulnerable now.

And you will not misuse that trust.

“Come here,” you purr, pushing yourself onto your elbows so he can see the desire burning in your gaze for him.

He leans instinctively toward you, hands twitching by his sides. He snaps out of a little reverie with a hard blink, stooping in front of his shorts and fishing out his slim little travel wallet.

“Hang on.”

He flips through the creased euros and museum tickets, carding out a wrapped condom. He climbs back onto the bed and passes it to you with a shy little grin.

“I know you like to do the honours.”

The condom comes from a packet you bought in the wee hours at some twenty-four hour roadside convenience store before bedding down in a rented car together. The instructions are in Swedish, but you know what you’re doing.

By the time you get the condom unwrapped, Eiji’s on his knees in front of you and his cock is fully hard out of sheer anticipation. You reach between his thighs and wrap your fingers around his warm flesh, making him shudder. And you drop one sweet, warm kiss to his mouth before you focus.

He rolls his hips quietly into your touch as you handle the job with delicate precision, unrolling the condom all the way to his base.

“Ready?” He asks you, but you’re already laying back against the pillows and thumbing off your underwear, slick and aching for him.

“Get over here before I start without you,” you tease, and he is powerless to resist you. He anchors himself on his knees, hooking each of your legs over one of his powerful thighs. He reaches for you and his cock sweeps the inside of your thigh as it bobs between you. You’ve been wanting this from the moment you saw this room, the perfect ending to a life-changing trip.

Eiji sinks lower, letting the barrel of his chest rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath. He reaches between you to line himself up with you, casting his eyes up to yours when he feels you.

“Ready?” He repeats himself, and this time the humor’s gone. You nod quietly against the pillow and reach for his free hand, lacing your fingers together tightly.

You squeeze hard as he starts to slot himself inside you. He stretches you deeply, especially without any preparation. But he knows how to keep you comfortable, moving slowly and smoothly. He braces a hand on your belly as he bottoms out, but he does not pause there. Instead, he starts to ease into a lazy rhythm, sweeping his thumb between your folds to find the swelling nub of your clit.

“Fuck,” you whine, and he flinches a little inside you.

“God,” he gasps, bending over to press his forehead- sticky with sweat- into yours. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, yeah?”

You reach up and lightly pinch his chest with your free hand, and he grins above you.

“You’re good,” you confirm, hearing the breathlessness echo in your own voice.

“I’m not gonna last long like this,” he brushes. You shake your head.

“Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

His brow lifts against yours. After a chuckle of disbelief, he sits up.

“Aye aye, captain.”

He squeezes your fingers tightly and begins to thrust.

He does not hold back with you, keeping the pad of his thumb winding tight circles into your clit as he fucks you with eager diligence. You revel in the slap of your bodies, the fact that you can spread out and make noise, moan for him like you’ve always wanted to. Finally alone together for real. No stolen moments of privacy here. You can take as much as you want.

“Eiji,” you beg, beginning to clench around him as you feel the first twinges of your climax approaching.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he huffs, borderline incoherent as the flush spreads down his neck and chest. “Let go for me, I gotcha.”

In a dozen thrusts he’s got you falling, letting high whimpers escape your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around his thick shaft. He rubs you diligently through your climax, fucking you steadily until you whine and paw his hand away, overstimulated and sensitive.

“I’m there,” he promises. “I’m there, I’m there, I’m….. f-fuck!” His jaw falls slack as he throws his head back, thrusting headlong into a tight climax that has him trembling against you. His hips go still, but you can feel the way his cock twitches inside your spent walls as he fills the condom.

When he’s finished he stays there for a moment, shoulders dropping while the rest of his body goes slack. He reaches up, scraping sweaty strands of hair off his forehead before he grins sleepily down at you.

“Did you…” He starts, eyes turning inquisitive. Someday he’ll be able to tell, but for now you’re just glad he’s asking.

“Yeah,” you hum, eyes bright despite the weight setting quickly into your limbs. It’s worth it for the pride that surges visibly through him, and he pulls out of you with a triumphant grin spreading his lips.

“Good,” he gushes, slipping quietly away to dispose of the condom. He’s hardly gone for a handful of seconds, and when he comes back he crawls eagerly up to your side and pulls you into his arms, curling his body attentively around yours.

“This is nice,” you confess, drifting pleasantly in the wine-and-sex-induced fog that rests heavy in your brain.

“Hmm?” Eiji’s already half-asleep above you, eyelids drooping as the light fades from the window beside the bed.

“This,” you prompt again. “Not having to get dressed again right away. We should do this more often.”

“I sure hope we do,” he enthuses. “When we get back, I’m not letting you unpack until we consummate our relationship on the right hemisphere.”

That was the longest you’d gone around him without laughing in a while. Even half-asleep, though, his wisecracks are enough to make you snort.

“Deal,” you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as the world bleeds out of focus around you. It’s not even eight o’clock and you’re sure you’ll have him again before nightfall. But for now, you’re more than happy to bask in the afterglow with the one person in the world you never thought you’d make it there with.

#bnha x reader #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima smut #tw drinking #reader insert

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

London Calling - 1

Yes, I'm still in my August phase and I'm not even sorry...I just can't stop thinking about the sexy mf and so this idea crossed my mind and turned into a storyline. I have to admit I'm even more nervous about posting this than usual because it's a little different from what I've written before and I really hope it's not going to bore the shit out of you. If you like this although the tension between August and my ofc builds slowly, please let me know. I appreciate every single comment, reblog and/or like! Thanks 💜

Pairing: Augut Walker x OFC (Lu Johnson)

Words: ~3.0 k

Summary and A/N: This story plays with the thought of "what if…" What if August Walker had taken another road? What if he had turned into John Lark for completely different reasons? What if he had found love before becoming a bitter, disillusioned man?So the events of "London Calling" take place about ten years prior to MI:Fallout and August Walker hasn't joined the CIA yet, he's an FBI Agent and his new mission in London that lies ahead of him is going to be a challenging one. Maybe it's even going to change his life.

Warnings: 18+! This story deals with the topic of a toxic/abusive relationship, gaslighting and problematic behavior of one of the protagonists in general. Please don't read if these topics trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable. Luckily I've never been in any kind of toxic or abusive relationship, so I lack personal experience but I hope still do this sensitive topic justice.

English is not my mother tongue but the lovely @sillyrabbit81 was so kind to be my very helpful and patient Beta! Thank you so, so much, bunny 🐇💜 You have no idea how much I appreciate your support, your encouragement, your help and the fact that you took the time to proofread this. (Edited by me, so there might still be mistakes and they're all mine)

📖 You can find my other fics on my Masterlist 📖

Credits: I don't own August Walker or anything related to MI:Fallout. Pics for the moodboard from pinterest, face claims: Lu - Hannah van der Westhuysen, Adam - Freddie Thorpe. FaceApp helped me with making August look a little younger

Taglist

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfanfics101 @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke

So...now...off we go...story under the cut!

"London? Are you kidding me, Kyle?"

August Walker stopped pacing the room with an incredulous frown. He raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes fixed on the other man's face.

"Absolutely not," his superior and close friend of many years said slowly, drawling both words more than necessary to stress that he wasn't joking. "They want you in London."

"What about my promotion? You gave me your word. You wanted me to finish Operation Old Bridge and that's what I did. You wanted Tony Salerno's head on a silver platter, that's what you got."

August's voice was surprisingly calm, his expression blank but his gaze was blazing with anger and frustration. His hands were balled into fists and he only opened them to lean on Kyle's wooden desk, which was very tidy, except for the piles of case files that slowly grew larger than him.

"Damn, Kyle, I risked my life when I went undercover and joined this Mafia mob."

"I know, August, but unfortunately my hands are tied. Interpol wants our best undercover Agent and that's you. Just this last job and afterwards you can happily join the CIA." SSA Kyle Langdon leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck with a sigh and an apologetic shrug.

"That's exactly what you said last time. Do you expect me to believe you?"

"As I said, it's not my doing. Manchester contacted Bill because the NCB needs help, blue notice, August. You know that we cannot say no and that means...London calling, man," Kyle pointed out with a smile. "You should be grateful, it's a great opportunity. So just do your job there, return and get your promotion."

"Why don't you just send someone else and I get my promotion right now? We have many great undercover agents. Craig for example. He's crazy about British pussies. He'll love London." August straightened his tall body before crossing his arms in front of his broad chest that was forced into a white button down shirt and a black suit jacket.

"No, Craig cannot go because they want you in this operation. They asked explicitly for Agent August Walker. That's a huge appreciation of your work and a big compliment. You're only 27, August, not many FBI agents are this well known and respected at such a young age." Kyle sat up straight, mirroring August's body language.

"I don't give a shit about their respect and appreciation. I know my worth and I know I'm your best agent. I've worked very hard to get where I stand now... just one step away from becoming a CIA agent," August said angrily, his brows furrowed, his eyes dark. "Fuck, Kyle...why use an American agent in a purely British matter in the first place? They could easily…"

"Listen, August," Kyle cut in and he got up and walked around his desk to face his friend, "the thing is, I am not asking you to do this, okay? It's not a request, it's an order. There's no room to negotiate."

He gave him a friendly smile to temper his words before placing a hand on August's shoulder. "No hard feelings. It's…"

"It's the job. Yeah. I know." August took a step back and nodded his head slowly, curling his lip. He had heard his boss say these words so many times and he hated that line although he was perfectly aware that it was the truth. That was the way it worked. They got orders, they did the job, no matter what. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling a bad headache brewing behind his forehead.

"I have already talked to Sloane about this. Erica seconds the motion by Interpol because she wants you to prove yourself in another operation abroad. If you are successful you will be part of her team. It's simple, Walker. Just don't fuck this up."

"I've never fucked anything up,” August snarled, clenching his teeth, his jaw grinding.

"See, that's exactly why they want you,” Kyle answered with a triumphant smile.

****

"Lu!" Adam Mayfield knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. "Get ready. We're going to be late." He glanced at his Rolex with an annoyed sigh before he straightened his tuxedo jacket and adjusted his bow tie for the umpteenth time. "God damn, this meeting is important." He banged his fist against the door again and rolled his eyes when he heard her muffled voice behind the bathroom walls. "Just a minute, Adam."

Although he was really a little angry that it took her so long to get ready, they weren't actually late, in fact there was more than enough time to meet up with his clients at The London Opera. He had just said that to make her hurry up. Lu had the tendency to dawdle around, she got easily distracted and it was his responsibility to help her with that bad habit and usually it worked well.

Compared to the woman she was when they had met at a party more than five years ago, she had improved her behavior a lot, thanks to his efforts and his strict education. She had been common as muck when they started dating, an ordinary working class girl, smart but not a bit sophisticated, pretty but with no sense of fashion or taste, ambitious but without any connections. He had changed that, he had moulded her into the beautiful, stylish, refined and cultured woman she was now. She was his work, his success, his pride...she was his.

When the door of the bathroom that was adjacent to the master bedroom finally swung open, the welcoming sight of his fiancee interrupted his thoughts and picked up his spirits immediately.

"Wow, this was worth the wait." He eyed her up and down with a smirk and leaned in for a kiss but she stopped him with her hands pressed against his narrow chest.

"No, you're gonna ruin my make-up, darling." Lu smiled at him and spinned around to present him her dress. The black, belted Burberry gown was elegant and classy. High-necked on the front but with a low back that showed off lots of her perfect, lightly tanned skin. Chaste and sexy at the same time, just the way Adam liked it.

"That dress is stunning, baby. You look wonderful." He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close to leave a sensual kiss on her slim neck while his hands wandered to her ass where they rested for a moment before they squeezed her firm cheeks. "I really hope you're not wearing any panties."

Lu freed herself from his embrace with a frown and stepped in front of the large wall mirror opposite of their king-size bed to check her reflection one last time, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Of course I'm wearing panties. We're going to the opera with your VIP clients." She walked to her dressing table and took the diamond-encrusted, leaf-shaped brooch Adam had given her for their five years anniversary on New Year's Eve. "Would you help me with this?"

Adam took the piece of jewelry from her slim hand and pinned it carefully on her dress, right above her heart. He kissed her tenderly but his expression was stern when he spoke. "Strip it off."

Lu's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"You heard me. Get rid of your thong. I know you're wearing one of these slutty, tiny g-strings to make sure your look is flawless and your underwear doesn't show under your dress." His face hardened slightly, yet his voice remained soft and smooth.

"But…"

"Don't test me, Lu,” he said slowly, still smiling but screwing up his beautiful grey eyes. "I want you naked underneath that dress in case I want to have a little fun with you tonight. I mean, we both know Rigoletto is gonna be boring as fuck, we may need a little distraction." He gave her a lewd smirk and with a tiny frown and a raise of his brows he motioned her to be obedient. "You don't want anything to get in my way, do you? Not even a little piece of lace, right?"

"Of course not, Adam," she answered softly with a smile she had to force onto her lips. Lu reached under her dress with shaking hands and pulled down her panties till they hit the floor so she could step out of them carefully, making sure they wouldn't get tangled up in her stiletto heels.

"Good girl," Adam said with a wolfish grin and with a sly smile he added, "you know what, baby? I think I'm going to have a little fun with you just now. My clients can wait."

Lu didn't even try to argue with him, knowing exactly that she was in a no-win situation. She closed her eyes and turned around, lifting up her dress, when she heard him unzip his fly.

****

While Adam Mayfield was fucking his fiancee in front of a mirror in one of the most exclusive penthouses in London, August Walker was having a bad coffee, sitting at a table in the plain and pretty ugly meeting room of their FBI department at the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC, listening to the explanations of Kyle and the lead of 'Operation Brutus', Christine Carpenter. He didn't like her much but he respected her competence and her leadership qualities and most of all he trusted her with giving him the perfect fake identity for the job in London.

"So, what do you have for me, Chris?" August looked at her with a smile, but his eyes gave away that he'd rather be somewhere else.

"Well, let me just explain the background first, okay?"

She pressed a button on her laptop and the handsome face of a young man appeared on the screen behind her.

"This", she nodded at the picture, "is Adam Arthur Clive Mayfield, 27 years old, only son of Alfred Mayfair and his late wife Erica, heir of the immense family fortune and the private bank Mayfield & Holmes, that was established by his ancestors more than 200 years ago. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in the United Kingdom, and one of the richest, too. His father officially still runs the family business but he isn't in the best state of health, so in fact Mayfield junior is the one who's at the helm. Unlike his father he's not a man of integrity, he's been on the radar of the British authorities for years. From dealing drugs and other minor crimes in his college years to insider trading, investor fraud, misappropriation and money laundering nowadays. He is a big fish, has connections all over the world, drug rings, gun runners, human traffickers, you name it."

"And the Brits are not able to catch him without my help?" August couldn't help but smirk cockily.

"Don't be so full of yourself, Walker. The problem is, he is a damn genius. IQ score beyond 150, very clever, very cautious, a strategic mastermind, always ahead of the authorities. They tried to infiltrate his business a few times but they failed miserably, so now they want to concentrate on his private life."

"And this is gonna be my part?"

"Exactly," Kyle said, getting up to join Christine in front of the screen. "He has a few bodyguards he always hires from an American agency. They are known for their discretion and loyalty and the bodyguards they place with their clients are the best of the best. Unfortunately one of his bodyguards died in an accident a week ago and now he needs a new one. Luckily, we have the owner of the agency by the balls for several major crimes. He cooperates or he will end up behind bars for the rest of his life."

"To cut a long story short, he will place you with Mayfield and you can become part of his daily life. Your job consists of monitoring and collecting information and data. I will give you an exact briefing later," Christine finished Kyle's explanations.

"So I will just be his lapdog?"

"Not his," Kyle grinned, "hers."

The picture on the screen changed, now showing a young, blonde woman. The second he saw her, he judged her.

He could tell what she was like, just by her looks, by the way she jutted her chin in the picture, by her perfectly manicured fingers, by her flawless make up and the expensive clothes. He knew women like her, a walking stereotype, the blond, beautiful Trophy Wife Barbie that's always by Millionaire Ken's side. Pretty on the outside, boring on the inside. Lame bimbos that only lived for showing off their designer clothes and it-bags, tripping around in high heels that cost more than he earned in a month, finding self-fulfilment in stupid things like designing overpriced furniture, running a yoga studio or doing charity stuff. Useless, needless but still blueprints for millions of girls who would literally give the shirt off their backs to catch themselves a rockstar, a famous actor, a hyped football player or just a rich heir.

"This is Mayfield's fiancee," Kyle said, pointing at the photo, "you're gonna be her personal bodyguard."

"How am I supposed to monitor him, when I have to be on her heels all the time?"

"You're gonna live with them, there will be lots of opportunities. Just make her trust you, we need her to open up, get her to talk. They've been together for years, she should know what he's involved in," Chris explained and she made it sound easy when in fact it wasn't only hard to gain a stranger's trust, in this case it was even dangerous.

"Alright. Tell me about her."

"Her name is Lucretia Johnson, 24 years old," Kyle started reading the memo.

"Lucretia?" August let out an amused snort.

"Yeah," Kyle grinned, "her mother seems to have a preference for strange names, her younger sister's called Petronilla."

"What the fuck?" August laughed out loud. "Is she some kind of Latin professor or something?"

"Well, first of all she's dead," Christine took over with a serious look on her face, she was notorious for her lack of humour, "and secondly, no, she was not a professor. She was an alcoholic and a complete mess. An irresponsible, uncaring mother who spent too much time fucking around and too little time taking care of her daughters. Petronilla was taken away from her when she was 15 and was handed over to youth welfare. Lucretia was 18 at the time and lived on the campus of the Chelsea College of Art and Design."

"So she's an artist, huh?" August knew the ridicule in his voice wasn't very professional but he just couldn't help it.

"Maybe, at least she has a master degree in curating and owns a little gallery in Covent Garden. Well, actually Mayfield owns it, she just runs it."

"So, to sum it up, she's made it from the daughter of a drunkard to the fiancee of one of the richest heirs in the kingdom. She's fucked her way to the top. I guess that's all I need to know about her."

"Don't be so sure, August. She seems to be smart," Kyle threw in, "I think there's more to her than the pretty face. It's just a gut feeling but I guess you'll find out soon enough."

August took a deep breath, rolling his eyes at Kyle. "Sure. She's the saint that sleeps with the devil."

"That's not what I said, mate. But whatever she is, you'll have to deal with it."

"What's my cover, Christine?" August wanted to know.

"Well, your alias was born in 1981, just like you, but on the fifth of May. Born and raised in Portland, Maine. Only child, mother deceased, not on speaking terms with his father, a mechanic who still lives in Portland. You can find the details of your early life and your family tree in the memo," she waved the file above her head before she continued. "Careerwise...ex military, ex cop, had some problems following the rules and respecting the law. Single, no ex-wifes, no kids. We kept it plain and simple. They will not dig deep anyway. According to the agency boss, Mayfield expects his bodyguards to be disciplined, always on duty, quiet and discreet. There's three of you. Benjamin Garner is Mayfield's watchdog and his personal assistant, Edward Landow was Johnson's guard you're gonna replace, Andrew Brown is the back-up. You and Garner live with them, Brown lives nearby with his girlfriend. There's other staff of course, a housekeeper, a cook, cleaners. No chauffeur, no butler, no assistant, that's all part of your job."

"Great," August let out an annoyed snort, "so basically I'm gonna be her servant."

"Basically," Chris fixed her gaze on August, "you're not gonna leave her side unless you're told to. Just be professional, stay in the background, prick up your ears, listen closely and be careful. No obvious nosing around. Their penthouse is a high tech fortress, including video monitoring, so just…"

"I know how to work undercover," August cut in impatiently, "just gimme that fucking file and let me do my job."

Christine gave him a pissed look but she handed him the document with a shrug and without further comment. August grabbed it from her hands, staring at the data of his new life, his new name and the composite sketch of his new look. He would have to stop shaving.

*****

tbc

#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker x ofc #slow burn

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jamaisjoons · 4 years

Text

intro: her XI ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ⋆ fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: it starts of super fucking fluffy, like - fluff galore, there’s a naked bath scene but like nothing sexual happens, just lots of soft kisses and touches,,, but they are naked so,,,, also it gets a lil sad/angsty towards the end, reader broods about her past toxic relationship, mentions of cheating/infidelity, then it gets sappy and fluffy again because joon is a gentle giant bear and i love him thank u for coming to this solar talk

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: guess what’s back, back again. intro: her’s back, tell a FRIEND,,,, yeeHAW it’s a new chapter of the lONG, L O N G awaited intro: her. I’m so damn sorry it took so long, idk what got into me but i was missing my babies and my man so i hAD to return to it like asap

⏤ thank you to miss ellie aka @hobisbeautifulass so betaing this for me ! sorry it took me so long to add this omg

⇥ Previous || Masterlist || Next

Sitting on Namjoon’s sofa, you’re surrounded by the boys as you play an intense game of Mario Kart. Rap Mon is currently curled on the floor, his tail flicking lazily as he watches the screen. Jungkook’s small body - as usual - lies on your dog, using Monie as his person pillow. Not that your dog minds really - especially with the way he’s got his head perched on Jungkook’s small knee. Jimin sits against his father’s lap, watching as Namjoon helplessly tries to steer Toadette’s pram around the circuit. Taehyung, on the other hand, is seated on your lap, and you hold the wheel close to your body - allowing the little boy to press the button.

Usually, Jungkook would be glued to you; and for the most part, he still is. However, when Namjoon asked who he wanted to play with, Jungkook had shaken his head - his hair flopping with the action - and declared to his father, in a very proud voice, that he could do it himself. You’d wanted to believe him at first, but the shiftiness in his eyes had confused you. Until you’d started playing - and then, you’d found out that Namjoon was damn awful at the game. Of course, you’d offered to play with Jungkook yourself, with his wildly competitive streak, he’d also refused you - to Namjoon’s utter surprise.

Thus, you’d ended up the way you had: with Jimin and Namjoon, you and Taehyung and Jungkook by himself. Keeping your attention focused on the screen, you stick your tongue out in concentration. Of course, when Jungkook had requested you play Mario Kart, you’d been over the moon. You absolutely adored the Mario games, and Mario Kart was something you’d played frequently during University - whenever you needed to relax from the crushing workload of training to become a vet.

“Alright, Tigger, now,” you whisper to Taehyung. King Boo - your character - aligns right behind Namjoon, and as soon as you do, Taehyung presses the B button, firing off the green shell you’d been storing.

“What the- HEY! Why would you do that?” Namjoon shouts, turning and staring at you in disbelief. A mischievous smile painted on your lip, Taehyung bouncing in your lap happily, you shrug at your boyfriend. Namjoon growls, his lip pulling into a slight pout as he ducks his head to the side. Grumbling under his breath, “I was already a lap behind anyway,” he mutters. Suppressing the cackle at the back of your throat, you simply blow him a kiss before turning your attention back to the screen.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook sit up straight - his little shoulders tense as he leans forward slightly. The two of you are neck and neck - Jungkook just a little behind you. Loosening your grip on the wheel slightly, you let yourself swerve to the side just before the finish line - allowing Jungkook to overtake you - consequently taking first place. Throwing the controller down, Jungkook stands up on his little legs and begins jumping around.

“I did it! I did it! I came first,” Jungkook starts yelling as he bounces in victory. His excitement instantly has Monie on his feet, your dog’s tail wagging happily as he runs around Jungkook’s small body in circles. Jungkook turns to you and runs up to the sofa. Placing his hands on the edge, he jumps up and down while looking at you, his face a picture-perfect expression of elation. “Noona! Noona did you see? Did you see? I came first!” Jungkook says.

Face softening, you nod happily, causing him to beam. At this moment, it doesn’t matter that you’d purposely thrown every circuit of the cup, it doesn’t matter that you’d spent half your time making sure the computer-controlled characters didn’t overtake him, and it definitely doesn’t matter that you’ve come second. No, because right now, all that matters is that Jungkook is happy - and you simply don’t have the heart to tell him you purposely let him win - nor would you ever.

Instead, biting your lip, you reach out and ruffle his hair, “well done, baby. I knew you could do it!” you tell him. Jungkook grins brightly at your praise, his entire body vibrating with cheerfulness.

“It’s okay, daddy,” Jimin’s sweet voice carries out. Jungkook immediately stops celebrating, both your attention turning to him. Once again, you bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from cooing at the scene. Jimin’s currently standing on the couch, his face incredibly close to Namjoon. Squeezing his father’s cheeks between his small palms, squishing your boyfriend’s face together and causing his lips to puff out, Jimin sweetly comforts Namjoon. “I don’t mind losing! You did your best daddy,” Jimin continued.

This time, you can’t help the way your face softens, a quiet ‘aww’ falling from your lips. Namjoon’s arms wind around Jimin’s small body before he pulls his son into his embrace. Burying his face into Jimin’s soft belly, Namjoon blows a raspberry - previous upset at losing the game already forgotten. Jimin’s squealing giggles fill the air, the jubilant sound echoing through the living room. Seeing his twin, Taehyung leaps out of your lap and throws himself towards his father, not wanting to be left out.

Instantly, Jungkook’s eyes light up and seizing the opportunity, he climbs into your lap. Making himself comfortable between your crossed legs, you and Jungkook watch as Namjoon gently wrestles his sons - their childish titters weaving together as he begins tickling them. Finally, both boys squirming vigorously, Namjoon relents. However, instead of letting them go, he whispers into their eyes - muttering so low under his breath you can’t make out what he’s saying, though the impish glint in his eyes doesn’t bode well for you; neither does the mischievous twinkle in the twins’ eyes.

“Now!” Namjoon says. The abrupt sound startles you, causing you to jerk. The only thing keeping you from falling off the sofa is your instinct to keep Jungkook from getting hurt - you know that if you fall, so does he.

However, in the second you catch yourself from falling off of the sofa, Jimin and Taehyung attack you. The two boys jump onto you, their bodies bouncing on the sofa as they begin tickling you. Your eyes widen when you feel their fingers wiggle over your body, raucous, childish giggles filling the air and mixing with your own. Usually, you’d struggle violently - but with the smaller boys around you, you’re conscious of hurting them - and thus, you subconsciously subdue your squirming body. However, that only gives them more room to continue their assault. Not wanting to be left out, Jungkook grins and joins his brothers, Namjoon laughing from the other side of the sofa.

“Joon! Oh my god, Joonie, please,” you whine, heaving for air through your laughter. Your boyfriend’s eyes soften, and taking pity on you, gathers his sons in one sweep of his arms. With the three finally off of you, you gasp for air in an attempt to catch your breath. “I hate you,” you mumble, tilting your head to Namjoon and sending him a mock glare.

Namjoon lets go of his sons, his face falling dramatically as he clutches his heart. “Oh, my love, you wound me,” he gasps theatrically before turning and flopping onto your lap. He looks up at you, his gentle umber eyes swimming with nothing but tender love. A soft smile curls on your face and you gently trace his features: over his strong eyebrows and along the delicate slope of his nose. You tap his nose twice with the tip of your pointer finger before you cup his face. Then, bending at the waist, you press a soft kiss against his lips.

Your boyfriend smiles against your mouth, before reciprocating as he tenderly returns your soft kiss. A chorus of ‘gross’ resounds through the air, the boys flopping on their father as their noses scrunch identically at the display of affection. The two of you laugh softly, your breaths fanning each other’s face - but neither of you moves. Eyes twinkling with contentment, and Namjoon’s mirroring yours, you both brush your noses together - your mouths caressing each other in a series of butterfly kisses.

Lost in the moment, neither of you notice when Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok enter the living room; nor do you notice the triumphal smiles on their face. Silently, they watch the five of you. Taehyung and Jimin catch their attention first, both boys briskly crawling off the sofa before running up to the three of them. Jungkook, noticing his brothers are gone, looks around - only to find them in Hoseok and Yoongi’s arms. Briefly, he turns to you and Namjoon, rolling his eyes when he realises the two of you aren’t going to separate anytime soon. Sliding off the sofa, he waddles over to Seokjin before gesturing for the older man to pick him up.

Meanwhile, practically oblivious to your surroundings, you and Namjoon stare into each other’s guys, whispering soft nothings while you continue lavishing each other in gentle tenderness. Eventually, growing sick of the display, Seokjin clears his throat. Instantly, the two of you stiffen, Namjoon sitting up slightly as you both stare at the newcomers with wide eyes.

An impish twinkle in his eyes, and a playful lop-sided smile curled on his face, “well, isn’t this adorably domestic,” Seokjin teases. Groaning, your head falls back onto the sofa, Namjoon rolling his eyes at the slight taunting lilt to Seokjin's voice.

"Don't," comes his only reply. Hoseok's eyes wander over your figure, his eyebrow quirking at your state of dress.

"When was the last time you went home?" he asks. Biting your lip, your gaze down at yourself, your face flushing with heat. Dressed in a pair of Namjoon's boxers, an oversized t-shirt with your university logo on it, and fuzzy socks; you know you're the epitome of comfy. Hell, your face is thrown up into a messy bun, strands of hair falling out of it and framing your face in an unkempt way.

Face intensely heated, "I went home two days ago," you mumble under your breath. Twin scoffs of disbelief echo, causing you to scowl at Seokjin and Hoseok.

"And when was the last time you actually stayed home?" Seokjin asks. That immediately causes you to shut up, your jaw clamping tight as you purse your lips. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Seokjin snorts. Turning to Taehyung, the boy happily sitting in Yoongi's arms, Seokjin directs his attention to him before asking, "When was the last time noona stayed home?"

"I don't know," Taehyung replies with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"I went home two days ago, oh my god!" you reply, your voice taking a defensive tone. Yoongi snorts, causing you to despair - even he didn't believe you. Grumbling under your breath, you throw your hands up in the air in exasperation, "Okay fine! I don't remember the last time I stayed at home - and I only really go back to get more clothes. But even then, I have enough here that I could just do laundry," you ramble, a pout forming on your lip as you look away. Eyebrows shooting into their hairline, the three simply blink at you, taking in your words.

"How do you get to work?" Yoongi asks, causing you to shrink behind Namjoon. Sensing your embarrassment, he tilts his head from his place on your lap and presses a kiss against your kneecap in comfort.

"Did you not see her car in the driveway? She drives to work," Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"Damn, why don't you just move in?" Hoseok taunts - his tone is light, and meant in a joking manner - but both you and Namjoon startle for a minute, looking at each other in surprise. Shyly, you smile at him before ducking your head down. As much as you love him, and as much as you've grown used to being around him and essentially moving into his house - it was still too soon to be thinking about that. Seokjin opens his mouth to say something, but in an instant, Yoongi cuts him off.

"Anyway, do you have time? We didn't come over to tease you," he says. Nodding at his oldest friends, Namjoon finally gets up from your lap before gesturing to the empty seats. Shifting closer to Namjoon, you sink into his side, Namjoon loosely resting his hand in your lap. Instinctively, your fingers lace between his, neither of you even thinking about the gesture.

Putting the boys down onto the carpet, you watch as they begin playing with each other. It always surprised you how easily they were able to read the room - as much attention as they craved, they always knew when to settle down and leave the adults alone. You turn your attention to Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi, your eyes skimming their faces for any clue about what they're going to talk about. However, Yoongi's face is a picture of stoicism, Seokjin's easy gaze giving away nothing - though, Hoseok winks playfully at you. His light gesture has you relaxing, the tension in your shoulders deflating as you sink further into Namjoon's side. At least you know it's nothing serious.

"So, what's up?" Namjoon asks, his voice calm.

"We've booked a world tour. You, Yoongi and Hoseok," Seokjin says, taking charge of the meeting. Your eyes widen, excitement bubbling in your veins. A tour! It's been about two years since they've toured - you couldn't wait to see them on stage. You hadn't been able to go the last time - they'd toured while you were amidst your final year exams. However, this year, nothing would stop you from supporting your boyfriend and friends.

Unable to contain your excitement, you bounce in your seat. Namjoon turns to you, quirking his eyebrows. A burst of adrenaline rushes through you, and before you can even think about it, you're kissing Namjoon on the corner of his lips. Your boyfriend looks at you in stunned surprise before a lazy smirk crawls onto his face.

"Someone's excited," Hoseok laughs, causing you to turn and stick your tongue out at him.

"Of course I'm excited - it's going to be amazing! It's been so long since any of you have been on tour- and I couldn't go last time. But I will go this time - even if it means I have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to buy tickets," you reply, nodding your head in determination. For most of it, Namjoon looks at you in happiness - though, he can't help the twinge of sadness in his heart.

Eyes softening, he regards you tenderly: with your bouncing legs, bright smile and animated chatter, you are a picture-perfect sight of joy and elation. He should be happy - and the majority of him is: he's got a loving, supportive girlfriend, three wonderful children and he's at the peak of his career. However, right now, all he can think about is how good it's been between the two of you; how easy you've both fallen into a routine: waking up together, getting the boys ready for school before going to work, then coming home and spending time together only to head to bed together. He's grown comfortable in domesticated bliss - and he can't help but wonder what it'd be like on tour; being so far apart, unable to touch each other or be near each other - like you are now.

"Joon?" you ask. His eyes come back into focus, your visage becoming clearer. He smiles gently at you, shaking his head at the soft worry evident in your eyes. "What's wrong?" you ask, squeezing his hand in comfort. Namjoon returns your squeeze, basking in the comfort you so effortlessly offer.

"I'm just worried I guess. It's been a while - and last time it was easy because I could take the boys with me. Everyone was with me. But-"

Namjoon begins. He doesn't need to finish his train of thought, because you're finishing it for him, "but this time I'll still be here in Seoul," you supply. Namjoon nods, his usually warm eyes dulling with melancholia. You shake your head, the loose wisps of your hair following the movement, "it's okay. This is your job- your dream before you met me. I'll still be here for you when you come home- and maybe, I could come to see you one day," you offer.

Taking comfort in your words, Namjoon lifts your hand to his mouth before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your palm. His heart clenches at your words - even now, when he's about to leave for months, you don't resent him for it. Instead, you simply step aside, offering nothing but warmth and support. "You're right. And you don't need to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to buy tickets. I'll give you as many as you want- for whatever dates you want," Namjoon replies. Eyes widening, you look at him in shock - stunned by his offer.

"Are you serious?" you gape, your jaw completely slacked. Namjoon chuckles, turning back to his friends.

"Yup! We can do that, right?" Namjoon asks. The three of them snort in response.

"You literally just ignored our presence for a good five minutes - why should we help you?" Yoongi questions, his eyes are passive and cool - but you notice the light twitch to the corners of his lips. Relaxing, you let out a breath of relief. At least he wasn't really angry. Though, you can't help the heat of embarrassment that flashes through you briefly - really the two of you need to stop doing that.

A small wave of guilt washing through you, "I'm sorry," you apologise with a slight now. Seokjin and Hoseok sigh dramatically at your gesture.

"See, now how are we supposed to stay fake-mad when you do that?" Hoseok sighs theatrically.

Seokjin nods beside him sagely, "yeah, we'll give you all the tickets you want," he says in mock pensiveness. Eyes rolling at their dramatics, you ignore them - more than used to them by now - and instead, turn to Namjoon. Once again, you drop an impromptu kiss onto his lips.

"See, it'll be fine!" you reassure Namjoon. Biting his lips, and feeling a lot more sure of himself, Namjoon returns your kiss. From the carpet, you both hear Jungkook sigh loudly - causing you to laugh.

That night, once Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi leave, you find yourself in the twins' rooms reading them a bedtime story while Namjoon tidies up. Jimin and Taehyung are in their respective beds, snuggled underneath their covers as they listen to you. Laying on the large beanbag in their room, Jungkook curls into your side, his head resting on your shoulder. Softly, your voice carries out into the still air of the bedroom - you're currently reading one of their favourite fairytales, 'Swan Lake', as they slowly drift to sleep. Your low, mellifluous voice comes to a close as you near the end of the book. Once you're done, you gently shut the book.

Your eyes sweep over the dimly lit room; their bedside lamps and the star projector Namjoon had installed being your only source of light. Bright stars flit over their features, the projector light spinning lethargically and adding to the sleeping ambience of their room. For most of it, their eyes are mainly shut - both the twins' eyelids fluttering as they slip in and out of sleep. Gently, you manoeuvre Jungkook's head off your shoulder so that you can finish tucking the twins into bed. Jungkook whines at the loss of your body, a small pout forming on his face as he squints his eyes blearily at you.

Getting up from the beanbag, you gently pad over to Jimin's bed. Fluffing his pillow slightly, you tuck his blanket under his body before pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. As you move to his twin, Jimin smiles sleepily at you, one eye peeking to watch you repeat your actions with his twin. When you're done, he watches you walk back to Jungkook - carefully lifting the boy into your arms. Jungkook's body is mainly limp, sleep weighing his muscles down. However, that doesn't deter you for one moment - and after a brief struggle - he curls easily into your arms, his head finding the comfortable spot in the crook where your neck meets your shoulders.

As you bend down to switch off the bedside lamp, Jimin calls out to you, "noona?" Humming softly, you turn your attention to him, shifting Jungkook in your arms. "Do you love daddy?" Jimin asks, his voice low and quiet. Your eyes widen at the unexpected question and you blink owlishly at the small boy. Unsure of what to say, or how to answer, you ponder Jimin's question for a few moments - silence falling over the room. Eventually, you decide on the truth.

"Yeah, puppy. I love your daddy a lot," you admit quietly. It's the first time you've said it out loud - and it doesn't matter if it's just to the six-year-old boy - the weight of your words are still heavy - nothing but the truth in them. Jimin smiles and with a nod, he snuggles back into bed.

"But you love us more, right noona?" Jungkook mumbles as he looks at you with a small pout.

Laughing softly, you nod. "Yeah, but don't tell daddy that," you whisper - your tone conspiratorial. You hear Taehyung exhale loudly through his nose, and turn to him, your eyebrow quirking. You'd thought he was already asleep - but clearly, you were wrong. He's looking at you hesitantly, a silent question in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Tigger?" you coax gently. Taehyung brightens up at the use of the nickname, causing you to smile tenderly. Frequently, Namjoon would refer to Taehyung as tiger, and one day, when Taehyung was singing along and bouncing to 'The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers', you called him Tigger: considering he bounced around, was incredibly sweet, and a cuddler to boot. Suffice to say the least, Taehyung had loved your nickname - it was his favourite character in Winnie the Pooh after all - and ever since then, it had just stuck.

Nervously, "are you our mommy now?" Taehyung breathes out. If you'd thought Jimin's question had come out of the blue, Taehyung's one completely throws you for a loop. Unsure of what to say, you stand between their beds - all three of their gazes fixated on you as they expectantly await your answer.

Eventually, you take a deep breath, and gathering all your courage, "that's up to you and Namjoon," you reply. As soon as you say that, the three of them nod - apparently accepting your answer. Taehyung curls further into his sheets, Jimin nuzzling his head against his pillow.

"You should be our mommy... I like your hugs... and you smell nice," Jimin mumbles, his voice heavily laden with sleep. Taehyung makes a soft noise, agreeing with Jimin's sentiment. However, that's all they say - because then, they're both drifting off to sleep.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you wrap your arms tighter around Jungkook and carry him to his own bedroom. Already dressed in his pyjamas, and on the brink of sleep, all you have to do is tuck Jungkook into bed. A feat that would be easy - if Jungkook wasn't desperately clinging to your neck. When you unwrap his arms from his neck, Jungkook whines but acquiesces - letting you place him on the bed. Sitting on the mattress, you begin tucking his sheets under his sides before brushing his hair out of his forehead.

"Noona?" Jungkook asks sleepily - and this time you freeze. A twinge of fear courses through you - is he going to ask you something you're unprepared to answer again?

"What is it, baby?" you ask, swallowing thickly. Jungkook turns to his side, looking at you with his large doe eyes.

"I didn't want you to be my mommy at first," Jungkook breathes out - causing you to freeze - however before you can panic, "because I wanted you to be my girlfriend," he continues. Instantly, relief floods through you, causing you to let out a soft, breathy laugh. Jungkook ignores you, looking at you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes - and you find your breath hitching in your throat. Immediately you know, that you're completely unprepared for whatever he's going to say next.

"But I want you to be my mommy - if it means you'll stay with daddy, Jimin, Taehyung and me forever," Jungkook finishes. The moment he finishes his sentence, your heart grips, tears filling your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you try to suppress your overwhelming emotions - not wanting to cry in front of Jungkook. Instead, "I'd love to be your mommy - and stay with you all forever," you choke out, your voice straining as your throat constricts.

"Then you should stay - and be our mommy," Jungkook says. His words are simple - as if the answer was there all along - and to Jungkook's four-year-old mind it is simple.

You swallow thickly - gulping audibly. "Yeah, maybe I should," comes your only response.

An hour later, you find yourself submerged in the bath. Light sniffles escape your nose as you wipe the tears from your eyes. Really, you can't help but laugh at yourself. Just a few months ago, you were ready to run for the hills over this level of commitment - and now, here you are, crying in your bath over their sweet words. Never would you have imagined such touching words from them. Of course, they didn't really understand the gravity of their words, and their toddler-like minds couldn't really comprehend forever - yet, they'd still asked you, oh so sweetly, to be in their lives forever. So easily, with only a shred of hesitation - they'd bravely asked you to be their mother, to love and care for them like a mother would - to be with their father. It's the last one that has you emotionally devastated - you have their approval.

You've been with Namjoon for months now - but part of you always worried whether the boys only accepted you because you were intertwined heavily in their lives - or maybe they'd just grown comfortable with you. But today proved that they wanted you in their lives - enough that they trusted you to nurture and love them as a mother would - as their mother should have. Choking down another sob, you submerge yourself further in the bath - letting the water envelope you in its warmth.

"Love?" Namjoon's voice breaks through the silence. Sitting up, you turn your head - only to come face to face with your boyfriend. Concern shines in his warm brown eyes, Namjoon looking at you in a mixture of tenderness and worry. His eyes trail over your slightly puffy eyes and swollen face, a frown marring his face at the clear signs of what he thinks is distress. "What's wrong, Angel?" he asks, his voice incredibly soft and gentle. Shaking your head, you sink further into the bath, your throat constricting.

Guilt gnaws at your belly - you don't deserve his concern, and you certainly don't deserve his sons' trust - not when you'd almost walked out on them. Of course, that stemmed more from your fear of commitment than them. You were just afraid to be hurt again. Afraid to let someone in and have them utterly break the trust you put in them. Maybe Dojae was right - maybe you do ruin your own relationships. As soon as the voice of your ex echoes in your head, you shake it off. No - he's wrong. No matter what he said - you didn't ruin your relationship. He did. You had loved him - and were willing to give up almost everything for him. Everything except your dream to become a vet. Something he hadn't appreciated very much.

Sometimes, you wonder why you stayed with him for as long as you did. Though, you figure it was youthful stupidity. Dojae had been your boyfriend since high school and things were fine during then. But all that changed in university. The two of you had always loved science and biology - and though you'd always wanted to be a veterinarian, he'd somehow convinced you to apply for medical school - just so you could be with him; and in your foolish youth, convinced you were in love with him - you'd agreed. But that first year had been completely miserable - and you'd never hated anything more. Nonetheless, you'd put up with it for an entire year. Until you couldn't anymore.

After your first year, you'd transferred to veterinarian school. It was still fairly close to Dojae's medical school - but you could no longer spend as much time together. And then, things had changed. You'd given him everything - your first kiss, your first relationship, your first time. Hell, you even gave him one miserable year of medical school - just to make him happy. But it hadn't been enough. No, despite how much you loved him, how much you were willing to put up with for him, it just hadn't been enough. And he'd gone looking for more with someone else - in someone else's bed.

You'd seen the signs at first - when he'd come to you smelling like a different perfume, or when the settings for his passenger seat had changed - even though they'd been adjusted specifically for you. You'd seen it when he'd message you hours later, and when he did it was only about when you'd be able to come over because he missed you - and by that he meant in his bed. However, each time, he'd made an excuse and not wanting to believe it, you'd believed them. You'd believed him when he said the perfume was from his lab partner, or that he'd dropped a friend off and that's why the settings were changed. You believed it when he said he messaged late because he was busy studying - or that he just missed you so much he had to have you. But they'd all been lies.

Lie after lie, he'd fed you his deceitful excuses - and like an idiot you'd believed them all. But that doesn't mean it's your fault. No - it's not. You gave him everything - and all he did was take, take and take - and demand more. You were simply trying to finish your degree - it's not your fault you couldn't drop everything just to give his cock some attention - and it's definitely not your fault that he started fucking your roommate just because you were busy studying for your numerous tests and exams. No matter how much he tried to blame it on you; no matter how much he tried to say you're the one who pushed him away. It's not your fault.

"Angel? Where are you right now?" Namjoon asks gently. Drawn out of your bitter reverie, you blink in surprise when you feel him behind you, his lips gently caressing your naked shoulder. Somehow, while you'd been lost in your own world, Namjoon has stripped and gotten into the bath with you. Not only that, but you'd been so deep in your thoughts, you hadn't even noticed that Namjoon had shifted your position. Now, you find yourself laying against his hard chest, the soft of his belly pressed against your lower back as his thick thighs cage in your body.

When you fall against his back, your shoulders noticeably deflating, Namjoon frowns. "Angel?" he prods, nudging you lightly with his nose.

You take in a deep breath, "I was thinking about Dojae," you mutter under your breath. Namjoon stills behind you, a frown marring his face. Then, he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Head lolling behind, you rest it on his collarbone and take in a deep breath: drinking in his scent of sandalwood and vanilla.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently. His voice is soothing, not a single ounce of judgement in them, and you know that if you did want to talk about it, Namjoon would simply listen. But you don't want to talk about it - a sentiment you express to him. Humming softly, "do you want to tell me why you're thinking about him?" he asks.

Biting your lip, "they asked me to be their mother," you whisper. You feel him stiffen behind you, his shoulders tensing below your head as he grows quiet. The two of you stew in silence, Namjoon waiting for you to elaborate while you gnaw on your lower lip. Eventually, you take another deep breath, "I wasn't expecting it - and they asked so sweetly - but I feel so guilty because I almost left - and they didn't deserve that. But then I thought about why I left and..." you blurt out, your words rushing out one after another.

The air thickens with trepidation, and you feel Namjoon suck in a sharp breath, "do you... do you want to leave again? Is that why?" he asks - a mixture of hesitation and fear evident in his voice. Face crumpling, you quickly shake your head, sinking further into his embrace. Feeling your head move, Namjoon relaxes - the uneasy tension dissipating.

"I don't want to leave. I... would it be so wrong of me to say I want to be there for them? That I want to be their mother - that I desperately want to be with them and you for the rest of my life? That I hate Dojae - and I wish I never met him? That I wish I met you instead - that I wish I met you earlier?" you ask, your voice low and full of uncertainty.

"No," comes Namjoon's immediate answer. Twisting in his arms in the slightly, you finally turn your head to look at him, your eyebrows furrowed as you frown. "It's not wrong for you to say that. Sometimes... sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I never met Jihee - if I'd met you earlier; if you were my children's mother. I imagine it all the time too, wonder all the time," Namjoon confesses. Your heart clinches in your heart - the distance in his eyes all too familiar, as well as the slight tinge of pain in his eyes as he thinks about his ex. However, as soon as it comes, it fades away and Namjoon inclines his head down to you, a soft smile on his lips. "But none of that matters. Because we found each other anyway, and we're here now," Namjoon finishes. He moves his hand, entwining your fingers together. Then, bringing it up to his lips, he presses tender kisses to each of your fingertips.

"You're right, we're here now," you echo, your voice just above a whisper. Namjoon smiles brighter before he bends and places a gentle kiss to your temple. After that, the two of you sit in silence, simply basking in each other's presence. Lazily, Namjoon's fingers dance along your skin, lightly tracing circles over your kneecap as you sit in the bath.

Eventually, you break the silence once again, "forever sounds nice," you chuckle lightly - trying to lighten the mood. Namjoon's own soft laugh fills the quiet bathroom, and immediately he's dropping his head to pepper kisses along the length of your shoulder.

a/n: owo did we ENJOY IT HUH? i hope so ᵘʷᵘ because i KNOW I DID IM SO FUCKING SOFT I MISSED HIM I MISSED BY BOYS I MISSED DAD JOON WAH WHY DID I STOP WRITING THIS WTF

Kofi | Masterlist

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Note

Summertime- 10. Someone gets sunburn (the reader) and needs a little tlc. (Rami or Merriell)

I don’t know why, but I’ve just been dying to write a sunburn story! Thanks for requesting this one 🧡

You squealed with laughter as the wave crashed into your shoulders, the ocean water splattering up your neck and soaking your hair.

You looked over at Merriell, who had just emerged after diving underneath the wave. He gave his head a toss, droplets of water flinging away from his curls. He smoothed back his hair and looked at you with wide, happy eyes.

“Toldja ya hair was gonna get wet,” he smirked.

“I tried!” you insisted, grinning as you swam to him and placed a salty kiss on his lips.

“Here comes anotha one—come on!”

Mer grabbed your hand and ducked into the wave again. This time you followed his lead, giving up on maintaining what you thought was a cute beach-do.

You let go of his hand to wipe your eyes and grinned as you pulled out your scrunchie and ducked into the water again so you could slick your hair back.

“I’m not cute anymore,” you pouted as you emerged.

Merriell laughed and said, “Nonsense, darlin. Though ya are turnin’ a lil red. Sure ya put sunscreen on?”

“Positive!”

“Maybe we should go back unda the umbrella fo—”

“No! This is fun! I promise I’m not getting burnt.”

Merriell shrugged his dark shoulders and turned his attention back to the water to watch for the next wave. You played together, laughing and splashing, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the ocean in contrast with the blaring heat of the sun.

When the water calmed again, Merriell asked if you were ready to head back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.

As you toweled off, his eyes traveled over your torso but not in their usual licentious manner.

“What?” you asked as you scrunched the towel over the ends of your hair.

Merriell took a deep breath.

“Ya look red.”

“Nah—I’m fine,” you dismissed with a smile as you shoved your towel into your beach bag.

* * * 3 Hours Later * * *

“I’m dying, Mer,” you whined as you sat on the bed, your torso stiff and radiating heat underneath your short-sleeved polo dress.

“‘M so sorry, darlin.”

“I SWEAR I put sunscreen on this morning,” you said more to yourself than to your boyfriend as you wracked your brain to figure out how you got so badly burned.

“Didja reapply after we swam ‘round lunchtime?” he asked as he stood in front of you, looking handsome in his dark blue shorts and palm-tree-shaped polka-dot button up.

Your eyes squeezed shut tight as you fought off tears of stupidity.

“No—I didn’t even think about it.”

“Salt water’ll scrub ya raw. Damn bottles say “waterproof” but they ain’t really,” Mer muttered angrily as he went into the bathroom and dug through your bag for the aloe you had packed—just in case.

By the time he returned to stand in front of you, two fat tears had rolled down your cheeks. Merriell placed the aloe on the nightstand and bent at the waist so he would be eye level with you. He reached out and lifted your chin, but you still didn’t look up at him.

“Stop dat. Ya know I’ma take care a you.”

You gave an undignified sniff and still refused to meet his eyes.

“Darlin’ look at me.”

“I’ll cry if I do.”

Merriell chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss your forehead, his normally warm lips feeling almost cool against your burnt face.

“Why ya gonna cry? Hurt dat bad?”

You were quiet for a moment as Merriell straightened and looked down at you.

With a sigh, you answered, “I’m ruining our last day of vacation. I won’t be able to do anything like this!”

Half of Mer’s mouth formed a grin as he dropped down to his knees, forcing you to look at him. When you met his empathetic green eyes, your lip trembled, as you knew it would, but he placed a gentle hand on the side of your face, his thumb ghosting over your lips.

“And what’ll be so bad ‘bout layin’ in bed, watchin’ a lil TV while we on our vacation?”

You gave Merriell a tiny smile and slightly shook your head in awe of his sweet nature.

“Nothin’ I guess.”

“Absolutely nothin’, darlin. I can go anywhere ya like for anythin’ ya wanna eat. I’ll put dis goop on ya anytime ya need it. I’ll make sure ya drink lots of wata. I love takin’ care a you because ya always take such good care a me.”

Your lip trembled again, but this time it was for an entirely different feeling: happiness.

“I love you, Merriell Shelton.”

“I love ya more, baby. Now let’s get dat dress off.”

“For absolutely no fun reason,” you grumbled.

Mer laughed, and said, “Ya won’t be sunburned foreva. Now, up ya go.”

He pulled you up by your hands and you hissed at the way your dress moved against your skin. Slowly, Merriell worked your dress off and over your head, whistling when he finally took in the state of your skin.

“Don’t move.”

He returned from the bathroom with a few ibuprofen and bent to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

You swallowed your pills, then Merriell played an on-the-spot game of Operation™️ making sure not to slide the straps of your bra against your skin as he removed it. Your back definitely got it worse than your front, so he instructed you to lie face down.

You made a noise as Mer opened the aloe and poured some into his hand.

“I know—but it’s gonna feel so much betta once ya get past the cold.”

Bracing for contact, you clutched at the sheets as Merriell dribbled a little aloe onto your shoulder.

“Ai-yi-yi!” you called out.

He giggled and said, “Don’t think I’ve eva heard ya yell dat before.”

You groaned in response, and Merriell began to gently rub the aloe over your shoulder. His touch was feather-light, and he took it slow, cooling one section of your back at a time until it finally felt like the fire that had become your skin had been squelched.

Mer lightly petted your lower back where the sun hadn’t reached while you were in the water as he waited for the aloe to dry.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your eyes closed as you concentrated on his soothing touch.

“Of course. Ready for the front?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered, slowly rolling over and propping your head up with extra pillows so your upper back wasn’t directly on the bed.

He started with your arms, then moved to your chest, slowly dribbling out the aloe so it wasn’t a shock to your aching skin. Like your lower back, your belly had escaped the wrath of the sun, so Mer gently trailed his fingers over your unburnt skin, occasionally reaching up to stroke your breasts, keeping the touch intimate rather than sexual.

By the time the aloe was dry, you were fast asleep.

Merriell got up, careful not to jostle the king-size bed, and went to the bathroom to wash off the sticky aloe. Your mouth was open and a soft snore was passing through the gap, making him smile as he looked you over, still in disbelief at just how red your skin had turned.

Fussing with the comforter, he finally got it out from under your legs without waking you. He pulled it over you making sure your arms were placed on top of the blanket and making sure not to let it touch your burnt chest.

“I’ll always take care a ya,” he murmured as he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

#Merriell Shelton #Snafu Shelton #Merriell Shelton x Reader #Female Reader #Merriell Shelton fluff #rami malek #rami malek fluff #rami malek character #snafu

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

The Switching Hour

A/N: it’s been just over a week since halloween but i finally got this piece done and i’m quite happy with it! :D i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always welcome and cherished!! ilyyyy

masterlist | ask

word count: 8.4k

content: dramatic perfectionist demon!h, fluff, and a lil bit of smutty sexual tension

preview:

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?”

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?”

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.”

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.”

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body.

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

///

Harry was aiming to be an angel.

Well, not literally. Hell forbid it, in his opinion. Most of them are wound so tight, they wouldn’t be able to fly if they tried.

Plus, he actually quite enjoys being a demon. Immortality, flexible work hours, free range of the human world, and not to mention a pretty sick gig with the sorcery. It’s a sweet deal, once you get past the decades of excruciating torture and training, of course.

So no, he’s not aiming to be a literal celestial being. Rather, he’s planning to be one for Halloween on behalf of Y/N’s approach to switch identities as a couple’s costume.

The idea had stemmed from when they had been walking around Party City a few days prior, trying to gain inspiration for the annual costume party a friend of Harry’s is hosting.

Y/N hadn’t really been keen on going, despite the invitation being extended to her through Harry. She felt like she never really fit right with her boyfriend’s inner circle and it was for an obvious factor: they were all demons.

She’d only ever gotten along with one demon before (granted, she’d only ever put effort into befriending this single one) and she was perfectly fine with that number. It isn’t that Harry’s friends treat her coldly in any way (they were pretty welcoming, much to her surprise), but she could practically drown in the awkward tension that milled whenever they had to interact. She stuck out of place in a painfully obvious manner and she refuses to force herself into bonding with them; it would just make the situation a whole lot worse.

The connection remained as a polite acquaintanceship, and from what Y/N could tell, both parties are more than happy for it remain as so.

Either way, Harry had managed to sway her into accompanying him. She wanted to give out candy to the children from the complex and he wanted her to be his plus-one, so a compromise was settled. They would hand out candy from six in the evening until eight, then get ready and leave for the party at nine.

After agreeing upon the terms, they’d spent well over forty minutes in pursuit for their costumes at the store.

The choices they had weren’t very compelling, according to Harry.

He outright refused to be a vampire, warlock, or werewolf— the overuse of the genres made them tacky. He’d rather be caught dead (a second time) than have to wear a cowboy hat, so that was a bust on Y/N’s part. No aliens, no zombies, no Frankenstein (which he filed under zombie and it was an entire five minute bicker session between them before Y/N finally let it go with an exasperated sigh).

No superheroes. He’d cycled through all of them already, including Black Widow. He looked great in a bodysuit, if he does say so himself.

Historic figures were a bore considering there isn’t anything truly scary about King Tut, other than his crippled foot and untimely demise. Animal costumes are for children, as well as ghosts and ghouls. Mummies were too messy.

Due to his selectiveness, they ended up circling the store five times, coming up empty-handed. Y/N had stopped giving him suggestions after he’d used a release spell to make her drop the Elvis wig she’d been inspecting.

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?”

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?”

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.”

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He pulls a pirate costume out from the metal rack, eyeing it judgingly. “You don’t get crowned best costume every year without being dramatic.”

The outfit holds a decent aesthetic with the passable material and colorful gems. The embroidery on the cosmetically tattered vest holds up and there’s no stingy parrot accessory in sight, though the cheap plastic sword is a bust. He’ll have to rummage through his storage and find a real one (probably the one he used during the American Revolution). If he’s lucky, maybe it’ll still have some dried blood on it.

With a bit of smudged black eyeliner and a pair of silver hoop earrings, he just might strike gold at the party.

Best of all, the costume gives him an excuse to show off his broad chest (not that he needs one, but the fact that it adds to the genuinity of the look is a win).

“Harry, look.”

The giddy hilarity in Y/N’s voice draws his attention upwards from examining the purple buttons on the potential candidate.

She’d clad herself in a bright red glittering cape that goes down to her knees, the button of the collar a large pentagram and perched atop her head is a pair of bedazzled devil horns about five inches in height each. In her hand she holds the rest of the costume— an attachable pointed tail and a three foot tall blood red pitchfork.

“What do you think? Kinda reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.” She looks up in faux thoughtfulness, tapping her chin for effect.

Harry’s cheeks twitch with a grin of endeared amusement, dimples blinking. “I think you look absolutely adorable. Although...”

He trails off as he drift towards her, tugging lightly at hem of the cape, looking past his girlfriend towards the array of other devil costumes. He reaches for another, pulling it out and holding it up for consideration, shrugging his brows suggestively. “I think I’d rather see you in this skimpy little red dress and fishnet stockings.”

Y/N’s eyelids droop into a stern scowl. “And I’d rather not have my ass hanging out in front of all your friends.”

“That’s the whole point, minx.” Harry holds the hanger up in front of her, humming admirably as an image swipes over the front of his eyes of her prancing around in a pair of glossy red-bottom heels, a pentagram choker, and some bold cherry-colored lipstick. “Just wanna show off my girl.”

Y/N shoves the garment back towards him, tone cocky and pointed. “If you like it so much, why don’t you wear it, then?”

He lowers his arm, slinking his head slightly to the side and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, the edges of his mouth twitching cheekily. “I don’t think all my bits and pieces would fit inside these stockings properly.”

She unclasps the pin that holds the cape closed, pushing it off her shoulders as she sing-songs her words teasingly. “Won’t know until you try it.”

Harry puts the articles of clothing back into their designated spot. “You’re no fun.”

His focus dances to a few hangers down, a random twinkling nabbing his curiosity. He moves the surrounding pieces away with the back of his hands to get a better look, a smile creeping across his face at the fit.

“Hey, babe. What d’you think of this one?”

Y/N glimpses up from fiddling with the bendy devil tail, scoffing in entertained delight at the sight before her.

Harry stands with his elbow propped on the top of the metal clothing rack, his legs crossed at the ankles with the tip of his worn tan boot tapping at the sleek black floor beneath it. He’s decked himself out in full angel attire, a light-up, wire-supported halo flashing brightly above his head, alternating patterns between quick bursts of yellow light and longer, drawn-out fading. The wings across his back span about four feet in total, strewn with white and gold holographic feathers, some covered in glitter.

“I think you look dashing.”

Harry pushes off the metal rail, the whole set-up quaking a bit under his strength. He ambles over until he’s right in front of his girlfriend, holding his arms out to his sides grandly. “I think I look dashing, too.”

He then turns his torso to the side, propping his chin on his shoulder and batting his lashes, going for a faux effect of adorable pureness. “Personally, I feel like I’d blend right in.”

His eyes suddenly ink black, dark veins protruding under his waterline and snaking their way down his cheekbones. “I’m as innocent as they come.”

Y/N glances up at the ceiling with pretend mild annoyance, irises focusing back on Harry with the left corner of her lips curved, her sentence deadpan. “I beg to differ.”

Harry drops the act, a look of insulted shock painting over his features as he carefully removes the halo headband from his quiffed curls. “You don’t think I’d play off being a good angel?!”

Y/N reaches over his shoulder and gives the tip of one of the fluffy wings a signifying tug. “Frankly, I don’t think you’d get past the gates. You’d get smited on sight.”

He gently grabs the hand that was playing with a gold polyester feathers, sifting his fingers between her’s and thumbing over the back of her knuckles temptingly. He cocks his head sideways a tad, stepping forward until his chest is ghosting over Y/N’s, the air of his sultry words just barely caressing her lips. “Maybe you could sneak me in, then?”

Y/N squeezes his digits playfully, snorting softly. “And why would I do that? So you can wreak havoc in the dining hall?”

Harry releases a boyish giggle, the edges of his eyes crinkling as his nose scrunches. The childish grin slowly melts into a brazen smirk, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip as some very explicit scenes bounce around the inside of his skull. He shakes his head lightly, making a low mm-mm sound to hint that he has other plans in mind.

“Want you to sneak me in so you can take me up to your room. Show me around a bit— beginning of the universe memorabilia sounds interesting.”

“Yet something tells me prehistoric rocks aren’t why you’d want me to sneak you up to my room.” She gives him a knowing stare, the pad of her thumb toying with the glossy black surface of his painted index nail.

“Well aren’t you a clever little thing?” Harry leans in closer, his lip piercing grazing the skin along her jaw, settling nice and snug right against her earlobe. Her blood feels like it’s boiling.

His whisper send tendrils of electricity revving across her temples and down her neck.

“You’re right, though. Honestly, I just wanna fuck you on your bed instead of mine, for once. Make you whine and whimper for me to let you cum, all right under your dad’s nose. Make you stain your sheets and leave a few nail notches on your headboard.”

“Harry, we’re in public...” Y/N’s urgent murmur is warm against his neck, causing him to whine deeply in the back of his throat as the heat washes down his jugular, leaving his ears tingling.

His voice is thick and full of gravel as he answers. “I know, makes it so much hotter.”

He pauses his breathing for a heartbeat and Y/N gets the sensation that he’s analyzing her. She then feels him press a conceited grin across the back of her jaw, his two front teeth nipping at her earlobe tauntingly. His tone is heavy with arrogant certainty. “You’re wet.”

She digs her nails into his knuckles, looking down at her feet out of embarrassed instinct. “Shut up.”

He ignores her request. “I’d have to muffle those pretty sounds you make— we both know how loud you are. Would cover your mouth with the palm of my hand while I spread your thighs with my hips and fill you up with my cock until you feel it at the pit of your tummy. I’d run my lips across your stinging nose and hot cheeks, hushing you and mumbling dirty things against your skin. Telling you what a good girl you are for me and how tight and warm you feel. How good you’re taking me and how cute you look all sweaty and needy, trying to keep quiet so no one finds out you snuck a demon back home, all because you wanted to get your brains fucked out with everyone right outside the door.”

A sudden prickling slithers up the back of Y/N’s neck, her muscles tightening in heightened anticipation. “Someone’s watching us.”

Harry’s arm wraps around her waist, the hand holding the halo sliding over Y/N’s hip and maneuvering her out of sight of the prying eyes he can feel burning into his broad back, piercing right through the material of his leather jacket. He glimpses over his shoulder, catching a snapshot of the culprit peeping into their exchange: an elderly woman, partially hidden behind the black and orange tensile decorations, staring at them with disgust.

Harry mumbles a quick basic spell under his breath. “Dis.”

Push.

The aged woman spontaneously jars forward, stumbling out of sight down the aisle she’d been loitering.

Harry cranes his neck back towards his girlfriend, a happily satisfied smile staining his lips. “Took care of it.”

Y/N’s wide, astonished gaze leaves the empty space where the target had been, zoning in on her boyfriend with alarmed outrage. “You just shoved an old lady!”

His giddy grin immediately drops into a confused frown. “And?”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to go wider, but she puts rest to his doubt.

“And?! She could be hurt!” She immediately slaps his hand off her hip, releasing their conjoined fingers and smacking her palm across his chest as a repercussion for his actions (though he barely feels it).

He rolls his eyes at her theatrics. “She’s fine! It was a light graze.”

“It was a satanic spell!”

“She was intruding!”

“Oh, and that warrants you pushing her down the aisle?”

There’s a halt in the argument, followed by Harry’s eyes darting across different points of Y/N’s face— her tinted lips, her creased brows, her slightly flaring nose, and her faintly glowing eyes. The look in them is intense and begrudging.

He hadn’t even realized his lips were parted in aroused surprise at her vehement outburst— she always looks so hot when she’s mad. He licks over them lightly, willing them closed and exhaling loudly through his nose. His eyebrows jolt upwards with salacious intent, the corners of his pursed mouth following suit. “Are y’gonna spank me for it, then?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Harry pecks the tip of Y/N’s nose and steps sideways, purposefully leaving just enough space for Y/N to squeeze between his chest and the clothing rack.

A swift peek at the designated aisle confirms that the woman is indeed fine (just a little bewildered) and Y/N is finally able to move past it, though still grumbling condemnation.

She pulls at the thick clear straps of Harry’s fake wings thoughtfully. “We still haven’t found any costumes.”

“Speak for yourself. I think I’m gonna go as Captain Jack Sparrow over there.” He hooks his thumb towards where he’d hung the pirate costume while he tried on the angel props.

Y/N squeezes the cushioned bedazzled devil horns, an idea dawning. “What if we go as each other?”

Harry raises a single brow, intrigued. “Well, that’s an idea.”

“It’d be a cute couple’s costume!”

He removes the wings from his back. “I dunno. I quite like my pirate costume. I look great in black liner.”

Y/N pouts, though he doesn’t think she notices, which makes it all the cuter. “Pleaseee?”

He lightly tugs at the collar of Y/N’s striped t-shirt. “I could be persuaded...”

She huffs. “Why are you such a handful?”

He taps the pad of his index finger against the faint hollow at the center of her throat. “I’m more than a handful and you’re well aware of that.”

She forces herself to keep a tab on the electricity threatening to brim into her irises. “Please?”

“Say it again. Love the way your voice sounds when you’re begging.”

She narrows her eyes at him, irked (and slightly aroused, though she’d never admit it) at the way he’s being so crude. “Pretty please?”

The sensual touches at her neck halt, the atmosphere suspended for an elongated second. “Pretty please...?”

His tone suggests he’s waiting for her to utter something more, eyes waltzing with pompous appeal at the way she’s stroking his ego.

Y/N grinds her teeth, jaw muscle visibly ticking. When she speaks, her voice is low and timid. “Pretty please, Daddy?”

The amusement swimming in the amber specks around his pupils translate across the ends of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan. Cliché, but I’ll bite.”

She clears her throat to break the puncturing sexual tension. “We just have to figure out the outfits to wear with the accessories. It can’t be that hard, right?”

Harry smiles confidently, dozens of combinations of clothing already buzzing around his mind. “You leave that to me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t disappoint. He brings the rest of their costumes home the next day after three grueling hours at the shopping mall, carrying two frosted plastic covers over his shoulders (as well as an exhausted yet triumphant expression) when he saunters into the living room.

Y/N falls in love with her fit before it’s even fully out of the bag.

It’s a two-part velvet design and it’s absolutely dazzling. The main statement piece of the garment is the actual pantsuit: flared cuffs that cut perfectly just below her ankles, the soft fabric a pigment mix between a bright red and deep maroon. As the eyes draw upward, the suit ombrés into a murky black; by the time one’s sight gets to the bando-style top, the color is solid. The accompanying second half of the outfit is a blazer, tinted the same shade of maroon and covered with carefully embroidered crystal clear gems, resulting in material that both absorbs and reflects any light that hits the jacket, giving it bewitching juxtaposition. The cuffs and grand folded collar are lined with elegant glittered lace— a small detail that makes a world of a difference.

The beauty of it draws attention, clutching it effortlessly and Harry knew it would match her ideally the moment he laid eyes on it at the store.

He even managed to work an aspect of his little skimpy dress fantasy into the mix: the red-bottom heels. They compliment the look down to the detail with the chic, dark glossy surface on top and the flashy red lining along the underside. The model of the pumps is sleek and tapered, made to give an air of sensual confidence to anyone who dons them.

He doesn’t regret a single cent of the thousands he’d spent— the way his girlfriend’s eyes are twinkling with enamored awe makes it more than worth it.

Y/N had been rendered speechless as she passes the pads of her fingers gingerly over the plush velvet, almost as if she’s scared it will disintegrate if it wrinkles. Her voice is a stunned murmur. “Jesus, Harry...”

“You like it?” He sets his own protective carrier down along the arm of the couch, the blurred plastic keeping its contents hidden.

She holds the top portion of the pantsuit up to her chest, trying to imagine how it’ll look with her hair and makeup done. “Like’ doesn’t even come close.”

Harry smiles shyly as he takes the spot beside her, chest fluttering at the notion of making her so happy, fingers rising up to mess with the hoop piercing hooked along his eyebrow— a bashful mannerism. “Good. Always love making your eyes glow like that. Metaphorically speaking.”

Y/N laughs lightly at his joke, face shimmering with a certain loving warmth that makes his insides stir.

Harry drops his hands into his lap, leaning a bit to bump her shoulder jestingly with his. “Where’s my thank you?”

Y/N returns his gesture, hugging his gift to her stomach gratefully. “Thank you. You spoil me rotten, honestly.”

He ducks his head down to press a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling her scent of lavender and cherry blossoms and baby powder and another odor he can’t quite place but it reminds him of a time in his life long ago when he was happy and fulfilled and loved. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You better stop before my eyes start glowing non-metaphorically.”

Harry’s full-hearted chuckle chimes the air like a thousand bells. It dies down slowly, his forehead pressing against her cheekbone, the tip of his nose brushing across her skin in a caring manner. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and raw. “Can I have a kiss?”

Y/N bobs her head, craning her face towards him, their noses bumping. She flushes her forehead to his, gazing deeply into his irises as they twinkle with delicate admiration.

Contrary to the usual, there’s no lascivious teasing or suggestiveness in Harry’s behavior; just simple, subtle affection. And the fact that he’d asked permission makes it sweeter. It’s intimate moments like these that make her cherish giving love a chance.

She buttons her lips to Harry’s tenderly, feeling him sigh dreamily through his nose. It’s not a messy kiss, there’s no desperate sexual drive behind it. It’s homey and mellow, like a hug from someone long lost.

It lasts a solid ten seconds before Y/N draws back, dwindling the singular kiss into a dozen tiny pecks across Harry’s cheeks, nose, and eyelids until his face is puckering up at the feathery sensation, lashes fluttering open sleepily.

Y/N sponges her lips between her boyfriend’s brows with finality. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She attentively eases the cover back over her expensive present, zipping it closed and making sure the metal bit doesn’t catch on the cloth. She lays is out across her lap, already glancing over Harry’s shoulder investigatively, trying to make out what he had bought for himself.

“So what’s yours look like?” Her hand stretches out towards the costume with the intent of undoing the zipper.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Harry’s fingers come town over the top of her own, smacking them away humorously.

Y/N’s head reels back quizzically, insulted.

He shrugs his brows ominously, one of his large, ring-clad hands streaming across the bag protectively. “It’s a surprise.”

“That’s not fair!” She exclaims adamantly, though the giggles escaping her are doing a horrible job at backing her claim. “You got to pick mine and I can’t even take a peek at yours?”

Harry defends his secret with another playful slap at her insistent hand as it attempts to reach below his arm. “You know how much I love edging.”

Y/N slumps her shoulders dramatically, the weight of the mystery already itching the back of her brain. She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to put up with it for the next couple of days. “Can I at least see the shoes?”

Harry shakes his head, an evilly delighted simper coiling onto his face. “Nope.”

“Unbelievable.” She snips, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“‘Good things come to those who wait’ and all that.”

He’s having way too much fun with this.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him challengingly. “I’ll have my way when you’re asleep.”

He belts out a laugh. “Over my undead body.”

With that, Harry springs up from the couch, jetting towards the stairs that head up to the top floor of the condo, the forbidden costume in tow.

“Hey!” Y/N vaults up to chase him, well aware of all the possible hiding places scattered upstairs. It’ll take her ages to find it; by the time she does, it would already be past the date.

Harry has a decent amount of time ahead of her, his lanky legs taking the steps two and even three at a time, easily leaving her in the dust. How he keeps from slipping on his jack o’lantern socks is beyond him.

Y/N scurries up the spiral staircase after him, both of their airy giggling bouncing off the intricate metal railings and dark hardwood panels.

Harry stumbles into their room and slams the door shut behind him with a simple spell, the lock magically flicking shut. He’s laughing so hard his stomach aches, whipping around on his heels to keep alert as he backs into the room, picking his brain for a proper enchantment. He mumbles the invisibility incantation out of breath and half-snickering, but gets it out nonetheless.

“Fallax flamma, ignis de potentia, et in abscondito, ego ignire te evanescit.”

Cloaking flame, fire of power and concealment, I ignite you to vanish.

A blinding red and blue flame engulfs the entirety of the plastic cover, extinguishing almost immediately, leaving behind no trace evidence of the object he had under his arm moments ago.

And without a second to spare, the door flies open, Y/N rushing in with a victory elating her features. “Gotcha—!”

Her head swivels from side to side, confusion furrowing her brows as she takes in the image of her boyfriend’s empty arms, alongside his smug, self-satisfied expression. “Where’d it go?!”

Harry creases his brows to mimic her own baffled appearance, mocking. “Where’d what go?”

She ignores the dig. “You can’t possibly have hid it that fast! Not unless you used…”

Realization floods her face. “Cheater!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s called using my resources.”

“Cheater!” Y/N reiterates, lunging forward and koalaing her arms and legs around Harry, sending him stilting back and crashing into the mattress, the duvet rising up in a puff of fluffy black cloth.

His back bounces three times against the bed yet she manages to stay latched on, her knees digging into his hips as her hands fumble to pin down his wrists.

He fights back, wriggling from side to side to try and shake her loose, kicking up his legs wildly in hopes of teetering her off. “This is wrongful punishment, I didn’t even get a fair trial!”

Y/N ducks down, running her soft lips over the spot where his neck meets his jaw, knowing full well it’s one of his most ticklish places. She whispers her words warningly. “Let me see it.”

Harry can’t help the high-pitched, half-suppressed laugh that escape him, jitters coursing through his bones, stemming from the area where her mouth rubs along his heated skin. He wills the bubbly shrieks to die down, teething at the ring that adorns his bottom lip, eyes alight with pure ecstatic energy. “No.”

Y/N shrugs off his refusal, her supernatural strength proving valuable as she manages to keep her boyfriend stretched to the sheets. “Fine, then. Guess I’ll just have to torture it out of you.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at her mockingly, the ruby gem piercing glinting in the faint, grey evening light streaming in freely through the large glass wall that overlooks the city skyline. “Guess you will.”

Her method backfires almost immediately.

Harry’s sneaky ways and matching inhuman strength accomplish to outmaneuver her. After a fair share of complaining grunts, palms slamming against cheeks, carefully coordinated pinches to side, and a somewhat harsh tug to her hair, she ends up splayed over the mattress beneath him, heaving shallowly as he traps her forearms against his chest, nimble fingers wrapped around her wrists.

Harry kinks his brows up boastingly. “How’s that, then? Taste of your own medicine.”

Y/N squirms excessively, but slipping free seems unlikely. “I could totally kick you in a really sensitive place right now, but I won’t.”

He calls her bluff, words sticky and warm against her chin. “It’s in your best interest not to considering you’ve taken a liking to bouncing on it.”

She yanks at her arms almost savagely, snapping her head sideways to avoid him taking a piss at her as her irises flare up a pale neon blue.

Harry ends up getting his way. The costume remains unseen until the night of the Halloween party, hidden in some tear in the universe where he knows she won’t be able to find it.

It remains in its magical alcove until Harry summons it out after his shower, hanging it on an unused towel hook on the marble wall.

He gives it a calculating once-over, chin propped on his loose fist, elbow supported by the wrist of the arm he has swung across his torso. He sways ever so slightly, the towel clinging to his hips dangling dangerously low on his structured pelvis. His wet curls caress the back of his neck, mopping over his small ears and itching his brows, resulting in Harry combing them out of his face with his fingers and sighing lightly.

He taps absentmindedly at the center of his plump lips, running the pad of his index digit along the ridges of his bottom one, feeling the smallest bit off since his piercing is lacking in its rightful spot. The things he does for the authenticity of the look.

The hand across his stomach clenches and unclenches thoughtfully as he chalks up the details of the full costume in his head, cracking each of his knuckles one at a time with his thumb as he dwells on his ideas. He can never seem to stay still when he’s plotting.

He glances down at his nails, smiling fondly at the white lacquer Y/N had painted on them to go with his theme. He knows the suspense has been killing her and it amuses him to no end.

Harry rummages through the bathroom cabinets, retrieving his hair drier along with his favorite mousse. Y/N’s makeup bag also makes it onto the counter, as well as his Dove Fresh Cucumber deodorant, cologne, and a pair of dangley pearl earrings he’d acquired as a gift centuries ago from a French noblewoman more than willing to give him what he wanted (in more than one sense).

He knows exactly what his costume is going to look like now and he doesn’t waste a second in beginning preparations.

On the opposite side of the door, Y/N thinks quite the contrary— he’s taking forever to get ready, the minutes wasting away just like her patience.

The plan had gone as intended, to an extent. They’d handed out candy to all the children that had come and she’d even weaned Harry into buying a cute jack o’ lantern bowl to set the mood. She enjoyed seeing all of the creative costumes the kids had conjured up; she thinks her favorite was probably the ten year old girl dressed like Thanos from the Avengers movies. Y/N’s favorite part had been the gauntlet, which had carried different colored Jolly Ranchers in place of the Infinity Stones. Quite clever, if you asked her.

There was an incident with a twelve year old who gave them attitude for their choice in the candy they gave out, but Harry handled it before Y/N could even react. He’d crouched down to her level, mumbled something unintelligible, and then from what Y/N could see in the split second that it occurred, flashed her his demon face. The preteen fled without a single word.

He had pushed himself back up with his palms to his knees, brushing past Y/N into the apartment, grumbling under his breath. “Entitled miscreants.”

No more kids ventured towards their door after that.

She had been the first to get ready, well aware of how long Harry tended to take when preparing himself to go out.

He casually suggested that it would go by faster if they showered together, not to mention it’d “help the environment and what not,” though she knew his intentions would likely set them on a detour. He was playfully insistent, however, and she ended up having to shove him out of the bathroom with his underwear already half off.

After she had cleaned up and blow dried her hair accordingly, she left the bathroom to him, deciding to finish getting ready in the bedroom to avoid being late (and also because she knew he wasn’t going to let her see him putting on the costume).

“I know we have an eternity to live but try not to fill it all up with your showertime.” She’d quipped as she drifted past him on her way out of the foggy, humid washroom.

A sudden tug at her towel had sent her hands fumbling, just barely managing to keep her chest covered. Harry’s snickering had bounced off the shell of her ears. “I make no promises.”

Now Y/N sat on the large bed, distractedly rocking her heels back and forth against the thick-carpeted ground, running her fingers over the silky velvet fabric of her flared pantsuit as it bunches around her thighs.

She isn’t one to brag or boast because she had been wired to be humble, but she doesn’t think she’s ever looked better. The suit fit her perfectly, all of the seams and cinches falling exactly where they should. The jacket was loose enough to be comfortable but snug enough that it hugged her shoulders properly, not to mention the inside was made of velvet, as well. The wide-legged portion of the fit stopped just below her ankles, giving away to the shiny, midnight-tinted glassy shoes. She’d practiced her walk for about ten minutes.

Her hair is parted to the side, the front section pinned back from her face to showcase the makeup she’d applied. She’d tightlined her eyes with black kohl eyeliner and a red lip pencil she’d had to make due with (which she’d ducked into the bathroom to get, disappointed when she didn’t see the familiar plastic covering hanging anywhere along the walls) and applied the bright red lipstain Harry had gotten for her.

Around her neck lays a delicate gold chain, Harry’s large ruby ring glittering at its center. He always loved seeing something of his on her and he always joked about how this specific act was a vintage antic that dated back to the nineteen twenties; girlfriends would wear their boyfriend’s rings around their necks as a symbol of love. The first time he’d mentioned it, she had fallen head over wings for the idea— fallen for its simple yet deep meaning. And it just confirmed to her that under the layers of the hard exterior he donned, Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart (despite the fact that his no longer beat).

Y/N thumbs over the big stone encapsulated in the aged gold band, sighing restlessly through her nose as the pattering of the water echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He’s probably taking this long on purpose and she has half a mind to stalk in there and drag him out by his wet curls, but she refrains. His surprise better be worth it.

The water spout creaks to a stop, the only sound resonating in the bathroom being Harry’s faint humming to Thriller as the door to the shower cracks open loudly. Fucking finally.

Y/N scampers onto her feet, nearly breaking an ankle as she forgets her choice in shoes. She heads towards the washroom door with an attentive stride, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door lightly, voice tinged with irritation. “Are you done?”

Harry chimes back, tone full of airy, cocky humor. “Not quite. Still balls-naked, but I suppose I could go like that, if you want me to. Don’t mind it.”

“Just get dressed already, would you? You’re taking forever.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of being ‘fashionably late?’”

Y/N growls in exasperation, crossing her arms and pacing back and forth in front of their bed, trying to reign in her nerves. Going to a party where she barely knows anyone is bad enough, but Harry isn’t easing her woes any by being a little shit.

On the other side of the wooden door, Harry is finger-combing mousse through his hair as he harmonizes to Monster Mash, twirling strands here and there around his index finger to accentuate the ringlets just the way he likes. He flips his head over, mussing up the roots to ensure the soft volume and fullness he’s so known for. He always takes his hair seriously— a residual mannerism from when he had it shoulder-length for almost a decade.

Blow drying doesn’t take long and he’s buttoning up his top before he knows it, leaving the last three buttons undone to expose his swallow tattoos and upside down cross necklace, the antennas of his butterfly inking peeking out from the edge of the open shirt, along with the curved tips of its wings.

He fishes out a couple of products from Y/N’s cosmetics pouch as he wiggles his toes into his new shoes, zipping them up with finality and leaning in closer to the mirror for the makeup application.

Once he’s finished and everything has been returned to its rightful spot, he spritzes a few pumps of his Tom Ford cologne across his flexing necking and down his jaw, capping it and giving himself a thoughtful once-over in the mirror. He’s proud of what he’d achieved.

He murmurs a spell, retrieving the halo and wings from the magical storage facility he’d placed them in, fitting them onto his costume and humming in approval.

The door to the bathroom swings open, startling Y/N enough to trip up her angry loitering.

Harry steps through the frame of the door, completely decked out in his attire for her to witness in its fully glory. “Let the switching hour begin.”

Y/N can’t stop her jaw from dropping in astonishment.

Harry looks incredible— breath-takingly ethereal, to say the least. She scans the look from bottom to top, taking in every detail slowly, feeling almost as if time had slowed down around her.

It starts with the footwear. They’re a pair of glossy, bright white heeled boots, silver metal tips adorning the front of the shoes. She’s never seen anything like it and knowing how dramatic Harry can be, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’re custom.

The boots disappear under the flared cuffs of the off-white, wide-legged pants he is sporting, the fabric ironed and crisp, complimenting his height. They’re high-waisted, ending just above Harry’s navel, the front embellished with two parallel rows of gold buttons, each engraved with a capital, Roman-font letter G that glints under the soft, buttery low light of a single lamp.

His top is probably the statement piece of the layout. It’s a baby blue long-sleeved button-up blouse with a frilled collar and cuffs, the buttons decently-sized opal crystals that shimmer holographically with every movement. The fabric of the cloth presents a similar effect, the material frosty and see-through with reflective, multi-colored sparkling fibers sewn in. The shirt is tucked into the high waist of Harry’s pants, fitting loose and flouncy around his torso, the twinkling faintness of the thread juxtaposing the darkness of his tattoos in an unexpected yet flattering manner. It hugs his shoulders and back tightly, muscles rippling the cloth in a way similar to how a stone wrinkles the surface of a still lake.

The layers of the collar ornament Harry’s sharp jaw and grace the intricate pearl earring dangling from his right ear. She takes notice of the inversed cross necklace resting at the center of the valley that is his chest, glinting with a type of poetic irony. His fingers are garnished with his usual plethora of rings, his two blocky initials hugging his second middle finger and pinky amidst an array of gems and carvings.

Though the dazzling clothes and expensive jewelry are eye-catching, Y/N can confidently say Harry’s makeup is the real caviar of the entire look.

White liner runs across his waterline and over the crevices of his top lashes, opening up his eyes and making the olive tone of his irises pop more than usual. Glitter has been strewn across the curve of his cheekbones and faded up onto his temples, the holographic flecks of pastel blue, baby pink, and snow white glued down securely and glimmering under the flickering light-up halo. The lustery specks have also been combed into his fluffy, soft curls with a dash of gel, twinkling like a billion little stars. Evenly-spaced rhinestones decorate along the curve of Harry’s thick eyebrows— a final touch of grandeur that pairs adequately with the rest of the accessories.

Harry lifts the palms of his hands upward expectantly, giving a slow twirl and showing off the glitzy wings (which mold into the look effortlessly). “So, what d’you think?”

Y/N puts all of the pieces of the costume together in her brain, attempting to process it all at once and being rendered utterly speechless. The broadness of his body— the thickness of his chest, how his biceps and back muscles strain the dainty material of the top, his towering height with the heels, his sharp, defined features— contrast the delicateness of the fit, but it somehow it works. It somehow makes heat pool at the pit of her stomach and makes her ears crackle with spurts of electricity.

All she manages to croak out is a quiet, tender, “You look pretty.”

This sends Harry into a round of light-hearted giggling, his smile more blinding than any of the flashy props he carries. He glances down, zoning in on the metal tips of his boots to avoid her noticing the blush invading his cheeks. He pushes it down, scolding himself for being so mushy.

He clears his throat lightly, giving a quick glimpse over her own costume. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Y/N instinctively looks down at her outfit, grabbing the excess fabric around her thighs and curtsying jokingly. “Thanks, my boyfriend picked it out.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip, eyebrows jolting knowingly. “He has great taste.”

Y/N steps closer to her boyfriend, draping her arms over his strong shoulders, the corners of her lips twitching. “Yeah, but he takes centuries to get ready. That’s kindof a trade-off.”

Harry’s hands coast onto his girlfriend’s hips, squeezing jestingly as he draws her body flushed against his, the golden buttons of his pants cold against the ombréd cloth of her pantsuit. “He sounds like an ass.”

She wobbles her head from side to side as if mulling over his comment, eventually nodding in agreement. “He is.”

His jaw falls open into a shocked smirk, raising his eyebrows in silent objection. “Is that so? Why do you stay with him, then?”

Y/N’s palms glide down the taut muscles of Harry’s arms, the pads of her fingers pressing into his skin suggestively. “He’s got a few redeeming qualities.”

Harry’s heavy lashes dust over the tops of his cheeks, catching a few stray particles of glitter that shimmer alluringly in the dim lighting. His forearms suddenly tighten harder around her waist, pulling her so close she can feel his groin pressing into her thigh. His tone is slathered with arrogant self-assurance, the ghosts of the words dancing across her stinging lips and her eyes nearly roll back as whiffs of his intoxicatingly delicious scent numbs her sinuses.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Y/N has a hard time swallowing, feeling her voice lodge in her throat as he begins brushing his lips up and down her jaw. “I’ll keep that to myself.”

Harry chuckles deeply and she can feel the vibrations down to her bones. “S’okay, I’ve got an idea of what you meant.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“I speak from experience.”

Y/N moves her face back a tad, noticing that her fingers had somehow ended up tangled in the chain of his necklace, tugging at it so hard it's bruising Harry’s throat. He doesn’t mind it— he liked the burn.

He ducks down further, wisping his mouth over her’s, groaning lowly in the back of his throat when he sees her lips are stained with the tempting red color he’d picked out. “Your mouth looks so pretty like that. Bet it’d look even better skimming down my chest and over my thighs.”

His hold has her leaning back so far she’s now balancing on the tips of her toes, her chest heaving slightly against his. “Bet it would.”

Harry reaches one hand up, cupping her jaw with his fingers, his thumb rubbing slowly over her bottom lip, watching the color transfer faintly. “Wouldn’t mind some of the glitter on my face ending up across your inner thighs, either.”

A small whine strains the back of Y/N’s throat at the image of Harry’s head ducking between her legs over and over, the white liner smudging under his eyes due to sweat while her damp skin rubs the glitter off his cheekbones, his ringed fingers clamping over her plush thighs as the light from the moon bounces off the glossy surface of the white nail polish.

Harry presses a warm, sloppy kiss to the center of her jugular, her knees quaking as heat surges through her veins. “Some of it on your fingers, too, from pulling at my hair.”

He slowly dips his thumb past her lips, it’s weight heavy on her tongue. She acts on impulse, closing her mouth around it and sucking drunkenly.

Harry’s teeth skim along the side of her neck, a breathy purr of, “That’s my good girl” simmering her nerves.

Her words are muffled and weak, but she manages to get them out into the open. “We’re gonna be late.”

It’s not that Y/N doesn’t want to because, fuck, she wants to, but she knows that Harry would leave her a disoriented mess for the rest of the night, and it’d be pretty obvious. The last thing she wants is his friends teasing her about it— the mortification would be eternal.

He sighs grandly against her throat— which nearly sends her crumpling to the floor— and reluctantly pulls away.

Harry knocks his forehead against her’s, his sparkly lashes dusting her eyelids as they barely conceal the puncturing sexual hunger glinting in the amber flecks around his pupils. “You’re lucky the pantsuit is a one-piece or I’d have you riding my face right about now.”

With that, he refixes her crooked demon horns atop her head, retrieving the cape, clip-on tail, and pitchfork from where she’d placed them on the bed. He tangles their fingers together and yanks a very hazy, unbalanced Y/N towards the door.

She stumbles after him in her heels, gaining enough footing to avoid rolling as they descended down the stairs, the sounds from both of their shoes pounding hard inside her temples. Harry hands her the rest of her costume, grabbing his favorite navy blue trench coat from it’s hook next to the entryway and shrugging it on, carefully working his hands through the sleeves to keep the frill detailing from bunching up. He pats down his pockets to make sure he has his keys, fishing them out with his index finger as he unlocks the front door.

He steps off to the side for Y/N to go through first, kissing her cheek chastely as she brushes past him with a tiny, soft, “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling.” Harry follows her lead, turning back to lock the door to their apartment, checking the knob the same way he’s done his entire life.

Y/N loops her arm around his as they walk towards his car, the chilly air rustling her velvet jacket and drying the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated across her hairline. The moon hangs calmly amongst the stars, illuminating the high points of Harry’s face in a very fitting heavenly manner, the soft sounds of chirping insects and hooting owls setting a comfortably spooky tone for the rest of the night. A few straggling trick-or-treaters are turning in for the night, exchanging happy halloween’s and heading towards their complexes.

The beeping of the car rings across the still air along with the quick flash of the headlights. Harry opens the door for Y/N, just as he’s always done, helping her get settled into the passenger’s seat. He then leans down a tad through the frame of the door, fingers tapping at the hood of the car, eyes half-lidded in a sly simper.

“Just thought I’d tell you in advance, you might wanna get the situation between your thighs settled before we get to the party. I’d be able to smell how wet you are from a mile away.”

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toohardtoforgetcth · 4 years

Text

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Eight

5,082 words

A/N: evenin’ angels, pls enjoy - the second-last smol chapter of fluffiness basically but also swearing and sadness and death sorry love y’all

Requested: I added a lil scene at the beginning for anon who wanted a reunion between Parker and Gram, the chapter was already written so I had to tweak it a lil. Hope it turned out okay, anon! thank you for the ask <3

» » » » » »

When Calum woke up the following morning, it took his brain a split second to register that Parker laying in his bed was real and not just a fever dream. His mind played through the events of the night before, his body tingling from all the places Parker had left her mark on him. They hadn’t gone to sleep until past four in the morning, so he wasn’t surprised to read 11:47 on the clock on his bedside table. Calum absently dragged his finger back and forth over Parker’s upper arm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.

She stirred, blinking her eyes and lifting her head to stare up at him. He smiled down at her. “Mornin’ angel,” he rasped.

“Still the King of waking me up before I’m ready, I see,” she mumbled, smiling sleepily.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he shrugged. “I’ve missed you.”

Parker answered his confession with a press of her lips against his. “Any big plans today?” she asked him.

“Lunch plans with Gram, but other than that, I’m all yours,” he answered. “You can come if you like,” he suggested. “It’s been a while.”

• • • • • •

After a shower and a quick stop at Parker’s to change her clothes, Calum pulled the Charger into Gram’s driveway, cutting the engine.

Parker pushed down the uneasy feeling in her stomach. I’m nervous. Should I be nervous? She asked herself. She wasn’t sure why she felt nervous – the break-up was Calum’s idea, but still she felt weird about showing up uninvited at Grace’s house after sleeping in her grandson’s bed only a few hours after breaking up with her ex-boyfriend. She followed Calum up the steps, standing one step behind him as he knocked twice and pushed the door open.

“Gram?” he called out, shucking off his boots and ushering Parker inside.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

Calum grinned at Parker, guiding her through the kitchen door in front of him. “I found a stray.”

Gram turned around, gasping when she recognized Parker. Her face split into the warmest smile and she rushed over. Parker was surprised at the old woman’s strength, she was hugging her so tightly. “Parker, it’s so good to see you!”

All of Parker’s nerves melted away as she relaxed in Grace’s grip, hugging her back. “I missed you, Grace.”

Grace and Parker chatted over lunch, leaving very little room in the conversation for Calum to join in, which suited him fine – he was just happy to have the two loves of his life in the same room again.

“Calum, dear, I think the tap in my bathroom is leaking again. Could you take a look at it for me?” Gram asked Calum sweetly.

“Sure thing, pretty lady,” he replied as he disappeared into the garage to get some tools.

As soon as he was out of the room, Grace took Parker’s hand. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you two worked things out,” she beamed.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet," Parker started. “We only talked a little bit yesterday, and it was mostly just catching up,” she admitted.

“There’s lots to catch up on, I’m sure,” Grace winked, and Parker laughed. “But I know you two. There’s nothing in this world that could keep you apart. That boy loves you more than the sun and the stars, and he is never going to let you go.”

“I don’t know, Grace. He was so willing to give up last time. What happens next time when things get hard, and he tries to run away again?” It was a thought that had plagued Parker’s mind since her reunion with Calum, despite his efforts to reassure her that he was wrong and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She wanted to believe him, but he had hurt her and she didn’t want to go through that again.

Grace wore a sympathetic smile. “I know it must feel scary to let him in again, after what he did,” she squeezed Parker’s hand. “But let me tell you something about Calum. He has been through hell and back in his short life, and he is very good at putting up a barrier between him and other people, so he doesn’t get hurt. He pushes everyone away because it’s easier than fighting a losing battle. You know what happened with his mother, my Lina. She never fought for Calum, and he carries that hurt in his heart every day,” Grace wiped a tear from under her eye before continuing. “He’ll never tell you this himself, so I’ll do it for him – he needs someone like you, Parker. Someone who will fight for him. He deserves all the love in the world and I know you love him. He just needs someone who won’t give up, who won’t abandon him like his mother did. He will make mistakes, and sometimes he’ll try to push you away. I promise you that if you stick with him, and you don’t give up on him, he will give you everything you ever dreamed of. He has so much to offer, and when he opens up, there is no one in this world with a bigger heart. I’m so proud of how much he’s done for himself in the last year, but nothing makes him happier than you do. He just needs to know that he deserves you.”

Parker had tears welling up in her eyes by the end of Grace’s speech. She could have tried harder when Calum left. She called, but she could have done more. She was partly to blame in all this, too. She didn’t fight for him the way she should have. She could see that now, and she promised herself, for Calum, that she would always fight for him.

Parker leaned forward, hugging Grace tightly. “I promise I’ll take care of him,” she whispered.

“I know you will, honey,” Grace smiled. “Welcome home.”

» » » » » »

Parker and Calum were getting ready to head to The Wildflower for one of Calum’s shows, and Parker was sitting on the floor, playing with Duke while she waited for Calum to get dressed. She thought back on her life over the last year, how much had changed. The first time she came over to Calum’s apartment, Duke turned his nose up at her attempt to pet him. Now, he greeted her before Calum when they came inside. She smiled as she thought about how this man had become her home, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Calum came out of the bedroom, buttoning his shirt. Parker stared at the stripe of skin showing on his chest until he buttoned it all the way, then finally lifted her gaze to his face. Chocolate brown eyes, full lips, dark curls messy but effortless. It annoyed Parker, how little effort he had to put in to look as incredible as he did every day, but her heart swelled with pride at the same time. This man was hers.

“I have something for you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pulling a chain out of his pocket. It was simple; silver, with an intricate key pendant hanging on the end. On the back of the key, the letter ‘C’ was engraved.

Parker smiled. It was simple and dainty—exactly something Parker would have picked out for herself. “I love it,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. “But what’s the occasion?”

“It’s metaphorical, since you don’t actually need a key for my apartment,” he grinned.

Parker just looked at him, puzzled.

Calum rolled his eyes at her lack of understanding—it was adorable. “I want you to move in with me.”

Parker just stared at him, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

Calum chuckled. “Of course I’m serious, love. You wanna?”

Parker threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a series of little kisses to his lips. She pulled back. “Are you really sure, Cal? I drive you crazy.”

Calum laughed. “I love you, angel. I want you with me all the time. Besides, you already stay over most nights. The boys love you, Duke loves you, I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t.”

Parker turned, lifting her hair so Calum could fasten the chain around her neck. She turned back to him, beaming. “Okay.”

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the pub, it was quiet; not as busy as it usually was, which gave Calum a good opportunity to play some new music.

“I’ve been working on this new one, think maybe I’ll try it out tonight, if that’s alright,” he spoke into the mic. “Less of you to disappoint,” he laughed lightly, and they laughed, too. These people had become like a little family—he felt so at home here. “It’s called Waste The Night.”

The crowd went wild for his new song. John caught up to Calum as he was packing up his equipment to tell him that he had another steady gig lined up for him at a restaurant on the West end if he wanted it.

It seemed that people were hearing about his music all across town, and Calum was elated. After so many years of feeling like he’d never amount to anything, he could finally say he was living a life he was proud of.

» » » » » »

“Michael, sit still. I can’t do this if you keep flinching.”

Parker was sitting on a stool in front of Michael, applying his makeup to complete his costume. Luke and Sierra, Luke’s new girlfriend, were throwing a Halloween party and Michael had begged Parker to do his makeup, but he had been sitting there for an hour and he was getting antsy.

“You’re getting it in my eyes,” he whined.

“It’s makeup. It’s literally meant to go on your eyes. You’re being a baby,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. She had grown very close to Michael in the time she’d been with Calum. She loved all the boys, but she spent almost as much time with Michael as she did with Calum. It drove him crazy sometimes, but in the end he was just happy his brothers loved Parker as much as he did.

Calum’s life had never been better. He played music for a bunch of different venues around town and the change in scenery kept things interesting, but it always felt like coming home when he played at The Wildflower. He and Parker had been living together for almost a year, and while it had been an adjustment for him at first, as it had just been him and Duke for over five years, his place felt like home with her there.

Parker’s parents seemed to warm up to Calum, too, after realizing that their daughter was head over heels for him and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Calum came into the living room and Parker did a double take at his costume. He was dressed as Danny from Grease—very little effort, considering the only difference from his day-to-day outfit of black boots, jeans and a leather jacket was the styled hair, but he still looked good—like, really good.

“Wow,” Parker breathed, almost forgetting that Michael was sitting there as she shamelessly ogled her boyfriend. “You look amazing.”

Calum gave her a sly grin and winked at her. “Thanks, doll. Where’s your costume?”

Parker looked down at herself, still dressed in lounge shorts and an oversized tee of Calum’s. “I’m not ready yet. I’ve been preoccupied with Michael’s makeup,” she said, gesturing to her handiwork, Michael smiling proudly. He did look amazing. He wore a black and white striped suit, and Parker had dyed his blonde hair neon green for the occasion. His costume was Beetlejuice, but she wanted to do her own less messy version of the classic character, so she did a purple smokey eye and added touches of green to the sides of his face and down his neck. He looked awesome.

The front door opened and Ashton walked in, carrying a backpack full of what was probably an assortment of booze. He was dressed almost identical to Calum—he was supposed to be Kenickie, also from Grease. Parker rolled her eyes at the boys’ complete lack of effort or originality.

Calum made the four of them a drink, Michael’s sitting untouched next to him while Parker finished his face.

“There,” she said finally. “Done.”

Michael stood up and walked over to the mirror on the wall by the front door. “Holy shit, P. I look amazing!” he gasped, a grin splitting his face. He lifted his fingers to inspect his face closer.

“Don’t touch!” Parker shrieked. “It’s not dry yet, you’ll ruin it!”

Michael jumped at her shrill tone, his hand recoiling. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” she announced, standing and collecting her assortment of special effects makeup from the table next to where Michael was sitting.

The last thing Parker wanted to dress as was Sandy—she felt like the costume was way overdone, but because of Calum’s costume, she decided it would make the most sense. She pulled on a pair of tight leather pants she had borrowed from Jenna, slipped into her red peep-toes, applied a red lip and draped her shoulders with a leather jacket to finish the look.

When she came out of the bedroom, all three of the boys stopped to look at her. Ashton whistled, and Michael’s response of “P, you look hot!” earned him a punch in the gut from Calum.

Calum walked over to her, spinning her around once and admiring her. “You do look hot,” he grinned. “You wanna forget about this party?” he whispered, pressing the softest of kisses to the spot just below her ear. “I could think of a better way to spend the night.”

Parker blushed, but there was no way she was missing out on this party, no matter how good he looked.

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the party, it was already chaos. Some people Parker knew through the boys, but most of them were strangers. Luke pulled Parker in for a hug and took her hand, leading her into the kitchen where he had set up a variation of liquor bottles.

“Take your pick, babe!” he exclaimed excitedly.

The rest of the boys joined them shortly after, where Luke and Parker had already downed three shots each. As Luke was pouring them all another one, Parker noticed Sierra hugging a petite girl at the front door, who had seemingly arrived alone. She was wearing an unmistakable Lydia costume. Parker leaned over to Luke. “Who’s that girl that Sierra is talking to?” she asked curiously.

Luke glanced over to his girlfriend at the door. “Oh, that’s Crystal. One of Sierra’s friends.”

Parker flashed a wry smile, and Luke looked immediately concerned. “Oh, God, I know that look. What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Parker waved her hand casually. “Just that she happens to be here all by herself, and that she’s wearing the other half to Michael’s costume.”

It seemed Parker was not the only one who noticed the similarity, because the girl’s eyes lit up in recognition as soon as she saw Michael, and she followed Sierra as she made her way back to the group of them in the kitchen. Sierra introduced her to everyone. She was really sweet, and Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I love your costume!” he said excitedly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “Your makeup looks awesome,” she added, “did you do it yourself?”

Michael choked out a laugh. “No,” he shook his head, then turned and pointed at Parker. “Parker did.”

“How come you guys don’t have matching costumes?” Crystal asked curiously.

“Me and Parker?” Michael looked confused, then his face softened as he realized what she meant. “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he shook his head, and Crystal’s face brightened immediately. “More like my sister, honestly. She’s with Cal. I’m flying solo.”

Parker watched their entire interaction with the biggest smile on her face. Michael was the kindest person she knew—it was about time he met someone as sweet as he was.

Calum snapped her out of her distracted staring when he held out his hand in front of her. “Care to dance, angel?”

» » » » » »

Christmas that year was different for Calum. He always spent Christmas Eve with the boys. They usually went out for dinner and had a couple drinks before making their way back to one of their houses to exchange gifts and watch a movie or two. Then on Christmas Day he went over to Gram’s for the afternoon and she made a big dinner for just the two of them.

This year, their circle had grown by four additional people, so it made sense to have a whole celebration with everyone there. They held it on Christmas Eve so the boys could spend Christmas Day with their own families, and everyone gathered at Gram’s house.

Gram was delighted to have a whole house full of people to cook for, since the last time she had a big holiday party was when Calum’s granddad was still alive. The boys would come over periodically for dinner, but that didn’t really count. All the girls—Crystal, Sierra, Ashton’s girlfriend KayKay and Parker helped Gram in the kitchen while the boys goofed off and relaxed by the Christmas tree. When they all sat down for dinner, Gram at the head of the table, Calum looked around at all his friends, his girl, and he was so thankful that he could call these people his family. After a lifetime spent hating the world and everyone in it, his life was good, and Calum was happy.

» » » » » »

Calum was at home working on some new music at the end of February when his phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen before Calum answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr. Calum Hood,” replied a voice that Calum didn’t recognize.

“This is Calum.”

“Hello, Mr. Hood, this is Dr. Schilling from Blue Cross Regional Hospital. I’m calling regarding Grace Hood.”

Calum’s mouth went dry as his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Mr. Hood, I’m afraid we need you to come down right away.”

Calum’s hands were shaking, gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Is she—what happened?” he managed to reply, voice cracking.

Parker came down the hall from the bedroom, immediately noticing Calum’s rigid posture.

“It’s difficult to discuss over the phone—”

“What happened!” he demanded, voice rising to an angry yell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood. She passed away.”

The phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Calum slid to his knees, fingers tugging on his hair as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t breathe—he felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, gasping for air as he tried to breathe in deeply. Parker ran over, dropping to her knees in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Calum! Calum, what happened?”

He said nothing as she shook him frantically, trying to get him to answer.

Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes glassy and tears pooling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “She’s gone,” he choked out.

“No,” Parker leaned back, shaking her head. Her eyes filled with tears, too. “No, she can’t be.”

“She's gone,” he whispered again.

And then his body shook violently, tears escaping as he sobbed, and Parker cried too, holding him, trying to comfort him while he mourned the loss of the only family he had. Grace was the most important thing in his life, and just like that, she was gone. Parker’s heart shattered into a million pieces as she watched the man she loved crumble in front of her.

• • • • • •

When he was sure he had no tears left to cry, Calum stood, eyes red and swollen, the sleeves of his sweater soaked with tears. “We need to go,” he said, voice thick and scratchy from crying. “We have to go to the hospital.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur—Parker didn’t really even remember getting there. She remembered calling Michael in a daze, telling him what happened before hanging up and letting him deal with telling Ashton and Luke. She remembered sitting with Calum in the waiting room for the doctor that called him. She remembered what the doctor told her—that she had a sudden heart attack, likely resulting from her head injury and there was nothing that could have been done. Grace’s neighbour called an ambulance but she was gone before she even made it to the hospital. Parker remembered walking with her hand firmly clasped in Calum’s as they entered the room that Gram was in, her body covered with a sheet.

Calum sucked in a breath, stopping at the door.

Parker stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the room. “You don’t have to see her,” she told him, cupping his face in her hands. “You don’t have to remember her like this.” She spoke calmly, though she felt anything but.

Calum shook his head. “No,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I have to.” It sounded more like he was convincing himself than anyone else.

Parker nodded and grasped his hand, holding tight as she walked with him to the bed.

“Can—can you—”

Parker nodded. She lifted the corner of the sheet, pulling it back slowly to reveal Grace’s face and upper body. She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping, but Calum and Parker both knew she wasn’t.

Calum’s resolve broke again, and the tears streamed down his face as he reached out slowly to touch her. He touched her hand, and it wasn’t warm like it usually was. He crouched down, body shaking with silent sobs as he rested his head on the bed next to the woman who raised him.

“I’m so sorry, Gram,” he choked, over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Parker just stood there behind him, helpless, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to calm him down, but she was crying, too.

After a while he stood, and he hugged Parker tightly, as if he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she just held him while he cried.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, sliding her hands up the back of his hoodie and rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

She looked out the window of the room, seeing Michael, Luke and Ashton standing there with somber expressions on their faces.

“The boys are here,” Parker whispered.

Calum lifted his head, wiping his eyes. “Thanks for calling them.”

She followed behind him as he joined his brothers outside the room, the four of them coming together in a hug, comforting each other. Gram wasn’t just Calum’s family—she was all of theirs.

• • • • • •

Parker decided to take some time off work to be with Calum after Gram’s death. The night he got the call, Calum tossed and turned all night. Parker woke up in the middle of the night and found Calum gone. She got out of bed and went out into the living room, seeing him out on the balcony having a cigarette. She wrapped her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. He was silent for a few minutes, then he finally spoke. “Go back to bed, angel,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m gonna have another smoke.”

The next morning, Parker woke, still alone. She wasn’t sure if Calum had come back to bed or if he stayed in the living room the rest of the night, but he was already awake. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Duke was asleep on Calum’s side of the bed, and Loki was sleeping in his tree by their bedroom window. She rolled over, careful not to disturb Duke, and climbed out of bed. As she stood, she heard a loud crash from the living room, making her jump. This jolted Duke awake, his ears down and shoulders hunched from being startled, and Loki jumped off his tree and skirted under the bed. Parker heard another loud bang, followed by a third, all accompanied by Calum cursing loudly.

“Fuck!” she heard him yell, and she ran down the hall as she continued to hear the sound of smashing glass. She stopped in her tracks when she took in the sight of the living room—there were shards everywhere. The coffee table had been upturned, a large crack in the center, and several vases and picture frames were littered on the floor, a fine dusting of glass shards spanning from the entrance of the hallway where Parker stood, all the way through the kitchen and to the front door.

Calum stood in the middle of the room in nothing but a pair of sweats, his feet bare, hands laced behind his head as he looked down. She could hear him incoherently mumbling to himself, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She retreated back into the bedroom, quickly grabbing a pair of slippers and putting them on before closing the door to prevent their pets from walking through the glass.

She made her way over to him slowly, walking carefully over the glass. It was then that she noticed three large holes in the drywall, dust and blood covering the knuckles on Calum’s right hand.

“Baby,” Parker whispered. “What happened?” she asked stupidly, regretting her question as soon as it left her lips. She knew what happened, obviously. He was angry, and he took it out in the only way he felt could give him control.

“I should have been there,” he muttered. “I should have been with her,” he said as he finally looked up, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Cal, there’s nothing you could have done. It was a heart attack. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her.”

“But she was alone,” he sniffed. “I should have been with her. She shouldn’t even have been living alone. I haven’t seen her since last Friday. We were supposed to have lunch on Wednesday afternoon, and I bailed ‘cause I wasn’t feeling good. The last time I talked to her was to cancel plans, and now I’m never going to see her again.”

If Parker’s heart hadn’t already broken yesterday, it was definitely broken now. Calum carried so much on his shoulders, and now he blamed himself for Gram’s death.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Parker whispered. Calum ignored her. She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. “This wasn’t your fault. And she loved you. And she knew how much you loved her. You didn’t let her down. She was so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered, shaking his head. He seemed to just notice all the glass all over the floor. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he cursed, inspecting her to make sure she wasn’t cut anywhere. His eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Where are the boys?” he asked, thinking of Duke and Loki. “Fuck, I’m so stupid, I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, taking in the state of the living room.

“They’re fine. I locked them in the bedroom,” she assured him. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up and then I can draw you a bath,” she suggested, knowing how Calum liked to relax in a hot bath when he had a shitty day.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, angel. This was reckless. I could have hurt you.”

Parker shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she promised him, but he didn’t seem satisfied.

“I just got so angry. At myself, at everything.”

Parker nodded. “I know, baby,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his bare torso and holding him tight. She lifted his right hand to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to his bleeding knuckles.

Calum swept up the glass while Parker righted the coffee table and picked up all the broken picture frames. She followed him with the vacuum, cleaning up all the tiny shards of glass he missed until they were sure it was safe for Duke and Loki to come out.

Once everything was cleaned up, Parker drew a bath for Calum and lit some candles, adding a lavender bath bomb to the tub.

She went out into the living room to tell him that the bath was ready, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, angel,” he stood, kissing her forehead and heading into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he always did.

A few seconds later, Parker heard him calling for her. When she entered the bathroom, he was standing next to the tub, naked.

“Get in with me,” he gestured to the tub with a nod of his head. He didn’t mean it in a sexual way at all, he just needed to be close to her. Calum moved to where Parker stood, lifting her shirt over her head, sliding her sweats down and discarding them both next to his own. He got in first, leaning against the back of the tub before holding his hand out for her to step in. She settled in between his legs, resting her head in the space between his head and his shoulder. Calum wrapped his arms around her, his hands folded and resting on her stomach. They lay like that for a while, letting the hot water warm their skin, the smell of lavender relaxing them.

Finally, Calum broke their silence. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, you know,” he murmured. “More than I ever thought I would be capable of.”

Parker’s insides melted, and it wasn’t due to the hot water. She lifted one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I love you, too, Cal.”

Even though losing Gram had turned his world upside down, he knew things would be okay again, as long as Parker was by his side.

taglist: @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23 @tunnnelvision @wildflower-mmr @crazytarotanon

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hey-hamlet · 5 years

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BNHA AU Ideas: Alleycat

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TL;DR:

The story of the Erasure villain: Alley Cat and his heroic kittens. Aizawa, a rather nomadic villain, accidentally acquires two teenagers and a four-year-old. It's not the most conventional family, but it'll do.

villain aizawa: hes incredibly brutal and efficient, kind of an antihero type. he shuts down some things the heroes dont see, patrols the sketchy areas, looks out for children

he kinda,,, accidentally adopted some children

shinsou and izuku were runaways from a terrible foster home that tracked down the 'villain' alleycat and basically said

"are we worth anything to anyone?" and aizawa sees these kids hurt by heroics and takes them under his wing

eri is a kid izuku stumbled upon while out with shinsou before they met aizawa, and izuku basically adopted her straight out, came back to shinsou like "hi we have a little sister now" they are like 12, eri is 4

so aizawa accidentally gets 2 teens and a lil kid and he finds out they lowkey wanna be villains like him bc they wanna help and heroes dont help people like them. aizawa's heart breaks bc he doesn't want these kids to have the life he's had, so he promises to train hitoshi and izuku only if they try for the hero course

they agree. a villain begins to train heroes to enter the very thing that hurt them, with hopes of changing it from the inside out

ok also: in this au whatever horrible thing happened to shirakumo,,,, didnt. and he's 1A's homeroom teacher. hes bright, bubbly and cheerful, with the same expulsion rate aizawa has

so, shirakumo's hero name is cloud nine, hizashi's is feedback, not present mic. they both think aizawa is dead, and separately have to deal with the villain 'alleycat' as his territory intersects w ua's zone

aizawa, as alleycat, is a lot gentler to shirakumo and hizashi, more polite when speaking to them, less brutal with his takedowns. hizashi notices, but says nothing

hitoshi and izuku, with their baby sister eri, end up living with aizawa, training to be heroes to improve them fucked up society that taught them they were worthless in the first place

he takes them on parkour routes in the early morning, teaches them how to disarm people with knives, to use an opponents size against them.

izuku hones his ability to analyse, hitoshi learns how to push peoples buttons. there is no such thing as a fair fight for them. they break each others noses, chip a tooth or two, get black eyes. there are no hard feelings, they are together through everything

the 4 of them live pretty rough, only on what aizawa can get as a villain/working day shifts in a dodgy bar. aizawa pretends to be their dad for anything legal, says they had two different mothers. it works, somehow.

Some minor cosmetic changes:

Izuku, Hitoshi and Eri all dye their hair black. It started as them quietly wanting to look like their ‘dad’ for sentimental reasons, but they quickly worked out that it made the lie a lot easier for others to swallow.

They all take the surname Aizawa

Eri’s hair is cut into a messy bob – she loves getting Izuku to give her pigtails with the little sparkly hair ties Shouta stole for her. Izuku’s hair is shorter at the back and longer at the front, obscuring his eyes a bit. Hitoshi’s hair is shoulder length and growing, he ties it back in a low bun.

All three of the kids have scars. Eri’s are like canon but a less extreme because her quirk only just showed up. Izuku and Hitoshi have some from bullies, horrible foster parents and reckless sparing. Izuku has a few more little ones because he developed his not-dad’s love of cats and is unafraid of getting bitten – on top of his lack of self-preservation.

they go to aldera middle school, bakugo is still a little shit. to be honest, izuku hates it the most when bakugo burns his uniform - they cant afford to buy extra. there have been a few weeks hes just had to where shinsou's spare and roll the sleeves up

izuku and shinsou have a bit of a spat the afternoon of the sludge villain. it's nothing either of them remembers in a weeks time, but it means shinsou leaves school first, without izuku

bakugo corners him, notebook, allmight, etc

izuku has to ask

all might says no

izuku crumbles, such a dramatic shift from the calm but nice boy he'd been before. you can see the moment his heart breaks. all might feels terrible, but izuku has jumped down the fire escape before he can say anything.

to be honest, izuku is moments away from a full-fledged breakdown. He shoots shinsou a quick text about the villain, but pauses when he hears explosions. He knows the chances its Katsuki are tiny but he’s never been a lucky guy, so he runs towards them

basically the rest of the episode plays out like canon, izuku goes home and meets with his whole ass family panicking because he sent a vague text about a villain then was totally AWOL for 2 hours

hitoshi hugs him really tight while aizawa mumbles something about a tracking chip.

Izuku tells hitoshi about all might, but just tells aizawa vaguely that hes getting a quirk, no he isn’t in any danger, yes he’ll be safe, no he can’t tell you how.

Izuku and Hitoshi both pass the entrance exam with a mix of hero and villain points.

Izuku still doesn’t his whole bone breaky routine but he also manages to take out a few robots by himself before that. He ends up with the highest score.

Hitoshi takes out a few more robots but spends a fair bit of time pushing people out of the way of robots, yelling at people to be more careful about the others around them, and controlling people to get them out of the way of debris. He gets into the top 10.

Nezu is very very interested in the two ‘brothers’ with very different quirks that both did so well. He resolves to keep and eye on them.

Shirakumo is a riot as a teacher but boy is he stressful to be in a class with. The first insult out of Bakugo’s mouth and hes kicked him out of his class, telling him to try class B or get out of the school. (Blood King takes him. Bakugo is a little less horrible to izuku, at least where others can see)

Izukus having a quiet panic attack because Bakugo is going to kill him, and Hitoshi is caught between respecting the balls on their teacher and being pissed at the guy for putting izuku in a terrible position.

No quirk test, they do actually go see the opening ceremony. Hizashi and Shirakumo chat in sign while the principal’s speech drags on. Hitoshi and Izuku watch on, trying not to laugh when they start signing that they want to go to sleep.

Then they do the quirk test bc shirakumo’s a bastard. They end the day with Bakugo kicked out and Hagekure hanging onto her place by a thread. Izuku and Hitoshi come 4th and 5th respectively, despite not being able to use their quirks in the test. Shirakumo is interested.

Skipping to the interesting bits:

The USJ is just as terrible as canon, with the added fact that some of the thugs totally recognise izuku and hitoshi. Izuku works out how to use one for all at 1% during the attack. Hitoshi ends up with a scar on his eyebrow from a person with a claw quirk, Izuku gets a broken arm. Hitoshi sees all might in his skinny form for the first time and is suitably surprized

The sports festival goes a lot like canon in the first round, the second round features a team-up of just Hitoshi as the horse and Izuku as the rider bc they are so used to working with each other they felt it’d be more trouble to have extra team members. They arent exactly wrong and that round ends with them still in control of the 1’000’000 points band – along with a fair few teams just sitting on the sidelines with no idea how they got there.

Tournament round has izuku fighting Todoroki in the second round like canon, but in this universe, he wins (after helping him because whats izuku without a saviour complex). Hitoshi beats Tokoyami and Sero, but loses to Bakugo. The final round is Izuku vs Bakugo, they tie.

The stain arc is a riot. Izuku is interning w Gran, Hitoshi is with Nighteye who happens to be looking for ‘Alley Cat’. Hitoshi is so done with this.

Izuku finds Iida about to be attacked by stain and swoops in. Stain recognises him instantly

“Oh, you’re one of the cat’s kids, aren’t you? Let me deal with this fake hero and you can show me what your dad's taught you.”

Iida is confused – resolves to ask about it later

“You step away from him.”

“What?”

“I said. Step away from Iida. He’s – We’re going to be heroes. We’re both going to be heroes and I won’t let you hurt him!”

Stain pauses, then smiles.

“Lets see if the apple falls far from the tree, hm?” And he launches himself at Izuku

Izuku can dodge with the best of them, but he can’t get close enough to hit stain while protecting Iida. He manages to escape paralysis, but by the time Todoroki arrives stain has barely taken damage.

Todoroki isn’t the only person that responded to that warning. 1 city over, Hitoshi is franticly begging Nighteye to do something, because his brother is in danger. Nighteye is shocked at the fear in the previously apathetic child’s voice. He alerts heroes in the area, and makes his way over with a nervous Hitoshi in tow. On the other end of the city, where he’d been trying to keep an ear out for his kids, Aizawa gets the text and his heart drops. He begins running over.

Stain is taken out before any more help arrives. Without ropes, Todoroki freezes him solid in a block of ice. Endeavour arrives, as does Nighteye with a panicked Hitoshi. Aizawa arrives soon after, perched on a nearby rooftop, ready to whisk his kids away to safety should they need it.

The nomu swoops down, grabbing Izuku. Stain can’t help – trapped in his block of ice. Aizawa runs after Izuku. The nomu drops Izuku off at Shirgiraki’s feet, who is rather delighted to have the annoying boy from the USJ delivered to him out of the blue. He’s not, however, so happy with the knives he finds flying towards him. Kurogiri redirects them and the portal fades just in time for them to come face to face with the villain ‘Alley Cat”

“Well that was a cheap shot Alley Cat, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Aizawa places himself in front of Izuku, teeth bared. Izuku is clutching the leg of his costume. “Don’t hurt him and you won't lose a hand.” Kurogiri goes to attack, but Shigiraki waves him off, letting Aizawa take back Izuku.

“Sir?”

“Don’t you see? There are villains in the hero course. I smell a side quest, don’t you? We might even get some new party members out of it.

#bnha #bnha au #alleycat au #dadzawa #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #midoriya izuku #shinsou hitoshi #eri #bnha eri #Midoriya #shinsou #izuku #shirakumo oboro #shirakumo #present mic #yamada hizashi

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