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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years ago

Text

Thunderstruck

Character/Fandom: Austin Butler

Requested: no

Prompt: It rains on you and your dog, so you take refuge in your best friend, Austin's, apartment. The rain might have been cold, but it doesn't take much from Austin to warm you up.

TW: none!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3168

A/N: just a lil surprise to keep y'all fed while i'm out :) i also realize aus's mighty ducks top is a tank and not a t-shirt but shhh OH ALSO i put an easter egg in here lol can y'all find it or did it miss? 💀

🦋 mila

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Your grip tightens around the blue leash at the sound of sharp thunder in the distance. You look up just in time to see a huge flash of lightning and hear another clap of thunder following it. You groan, pulling your phone out to check the time. Your dog still needs about fifteen minutes of walking time and you would really hate to cheat her out of it. As another clap of thunder sounds, you wince and decide that it’s best for both of you if you just go home.

��Okay, Maple, time to go home,” you say, tugging her to the right.

Unfortunately, you only make it about halfway down the street before it begins to rain. You pull your hood up over your hair. Although it's cold, the small misty drops are sort of refreshing.

Until the clouds let loose, that is. Within a few minutes, the pavement is completely soaked and puddles are starting to form in the grass and the potholes on the road. You clutch your tightly hood onto your head as Maple pulls you forward and you take off sprinting. Another big clap of thunder sounds and the next lightning strike is so close that you can practically feel the vibration when it strikes the ground. You know it’s dangerous and that you should get inside immediately, but your house is only a ten-minute walk from the park. You think you can fight your way home if you sprint.

But when tiny balls of hail start clip-clopping all over the ground, you have to make a quick decision. At this point, it actually is life or death. You pause for a moment, squinting through the streaking rain to look for somewhere to take shelter. You glance up at the sky, a huge lightning bolt striking in the distance when you do. It's so clear that you can actually see the ragged Z shape it forms.

Luckily, fate is on your side and your eyes happen to land on a very familiar apartment building. You dash through the rain, Maple trotting alongside you, and under the blue and red striped awning hanging off of the building. Your eyes quickly scan the names on the door phone plate, searching for a specific one. You grin and press your finger firmly onto the button beside the plaque reading Austin Butler — 214.

While you wait for your best friend to answer, Maple shakes herself dry and then lies down at your feet, licking at your leg. Her soft pink tongue is warm and slimy on your skin.

“Hey, who is it?” Austin’s deep, raspy voice finally sounds through the intercom.

“Yo, Aus, it’s me, Y/N!" you shout over the torrential downpour. "I was walking Maple in the park but it started raining so we ran over here! Could we come up?"

“Oh, yeah, of course! Come on up."

You hear the short bzzz of the buzzer as the door to the lobby clicks unlocked. Once inside, you pull Maple into the elevator and press the second-floor button. As the elevator zooms to life, you kneel down and run your fingers through Maple’s wet curly brown fur. Her tail wags as she pants, her tongue laying lazily out the corner of her mouth. You smile and kiss her head when the elevator dings.

The doors slide open and you count fourteen doors down the hall. You wrap your knuckles loudly on the door and, a few seconds later, Austin answers. There's a huge grin resting on his face but it fades when he notices you dripping wet and shivering.

“Oh shit, come in please,” he says, standing back to make room for you both to walk through the door frame.

Once you're safely inside, Austin shuts the door and takes Maple's leash from you. You breathe a sigh of relief at the warmth that you feel just stepping inside. His apartment is cozy and pretty clean for a guy's bachelor pad.

“Here, I got Maple. Why don’t you go take a warm shower? I’ll take your clothes downstairs to the dryer and leave some clean ones outside the bathroom door.”

“Thanks, Boots,” you reply, using the nickname you've always called him.

You flash your teeth with an excited smile. He returns the expression and you think you notice a little blush on his cheeks. You smile to yourself as you waddle away to the bathroom and flip the shower on. The water feels so warm and good on your skin. The rain really had been freezing and the cold air conditioning of the lobby and hallway hadn't helped either.

Not wanting to waste Austin's water, you take a quick shower. And when you open the door, just as Austin said, you find a pair of black Nike sweatpants and a grey Mighty Ducks t-shirt.

You've always loved this shirt, and you know it’s one of Austin’s favorites. You put on the clothes, surprised by how warm they are. He must have just taken them out of the dryer or something. You dry off your wet hair as best as possible and step out into the living room to find Austin sitting with Maple, both of them wrapped in a blanket. A mug of something is sitting on the coffee table, steam rising up over the brim of the cup. Austin glances up from petting Maple.

“Oh hey! Here take this,” he says.

He stumbles as he tries to get out of the blanket, his foot caught in the fuzzy fabric. But once he breaks free, he trots over to you and grabs a different blanket off the chair by the hallway, throwing it around your shoulders. You both move to sit on the couch as Maple hops down and moseys over to lie in front of the fireplace.

"Oh, and I made you a cup of tea”

"Thanks. Oh and thanks for the clothes, too. You didn't have to give me this shirt. I know it's one of your favorites. You could have just left a plain white one or something."

“Well, I know you like it, too. And I couldn’t dress you in something ugly. I’d feel too bad.”

"Haha okay fair. But, in that case, you could have just given me something of Ashley's to wear."

Ashley, Austin's sister, is visiting him for a week or so. She stops in every so often and you happen to know for a fact that she sometimes leaves clothes to make packing lighter.

“Oh yeah...well, I, uh... just didn’t think about it. And also, you know, I, um, try not to mess around with her stuff. I’d feel a little weird if she noticed something was missing or...whatever," he stammers.

As he talks, he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, scratching at the nape of his hair nervously. You giggle, your eyes clocking the way his bicep flexes with his movements.

“Well, thanks anyway. For the tea, too.”

“No problem. So, what were you doing out there, anyway?”

“I...already told you that I was walking Maple? I feel like it's also pretty obvious what I was doing since I came in with my dog on a leash?" you respond with a chuckle.

“Oh…oh yeah, right," this time you're positive that you see a cherry-red blush gathering in his cheeks. "Haha, of course.”

You reach toward the table, lifting the tea cup to your lips. The ceramic is warm in your fingers and it sends a shiver down your spine. With the movement of your arms, one sleeve of the shirt falls down, exposing your bare shoulder. You don’t even notice until you hear Austin laugh breathily. You glance up to see your naked shoulder.

“Oh…oops,” you say with a nervous chuckle. You pull the sleeve up as heat creeps up into your face and ears.

“Haha it’s okay. I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t realize how small you are. I mean I know I'm tall, but damn. You’re kinda tiny compared to me."

You set the tea cup down and turn toward him, squinting your eyes accusingly.

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me like that, Boots."

"Again with the Boots...really? You know I hate that nickname," he responds with a smirk and raised eyebrows. You shrug, standing by your insult.

"But I like it, though."

Austin laughs, throwing his head back.

"That's totally lame but it's okay. Your ridiculous nicknames are one of the reasons I love you."

As soon as the words escape his lips, his smile fades and eyes go wide. You've stopped smiling as well. There is no chance in the world that you could have missed those words.

“What?”

“I just…" he stutters. "I said it’s one of the reasons that I like you as a friend, you know.”

He emphasizes the 'as a friend' portion, but you can tell by his frantic demeanor that he'd meant what he said.

“No, no, no," you reply holding up your pointer finger. "You used the word.”

“Um…what word?”

“The word.”

“Mmmm, I mean. I said a lot of words…”

“Love!” you shout, rolling your eyes. “You used the word love.”

“Um…no, no I…I don’t think I did? Cause that’d be crazy right? I mean...me loving you," you can see his blush deepening with every second. He snaps his fingers. "Oh, you know what would be even funnier and crazier, hahaha, if you said you loved me back. Then it’d be like, you know, a big joke or something. Like an inside joke. Uh, that'd be crazy, though. I really don’t-”

“Austin, please stop speaking.”

His lips clamp shut at your command and he sighs, dropping his eyes to stare at his socked feet.

"Good. Now when you speak again, I would like very much if you would be honest with me."

Austin heaves a deep breath before replying.

“Okay, fine. I may possibly be...maybe, kind of," his sea blue eyes flick up to gaze into yours, "in love with you.”

You say nothing for a second, trying to act calm, cool, and collected even though you feel like screaming and jumping for joy.

“How long have you felt like this?” you ask quietly.

“I don’t know…a couple years maybe.”

“A couple years?" you shout. "Boots! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was worried about rejection! I care about us too much to screw anything up in our friendship. Plus, the right time just...never came up, you know?”

You glance down at your hands in your lap and shake your head as the flicker from the fire casts shadows in the living room. When you glance back up at Austin, his face is turned away from you and his fingers are nervously fidgeting. You bite your lip and pull your legs up under you so that you're resting on your calves with your knees bent toward Austin.

You gulp as you reach under his chin and drag his face toward yours. His eyes reconnect with you, looking like a big doe's eyes filled with hope. You lean forward and gingerly brush your nose against his. He smells amazing, clean and warm. You watch as his lips part and his hot breath ghosts over your skin. His hands move to rest on your hips and he closes his eyes. Yours follow suit and you finally press your lips against his.

He sucks you completely into him, pulling you so close against his figure that it feels like your bodies are melding together as one. When you pull back, you're both breathless and flustered. Your breaths mix, filling the air between you with hot air. Austin's warm hand moves to cup your face and you slide yours onto his shoulders. He pulls you in again, snaking his arm behind your lower back. He moves his head to the side to access your mouth better. One of your hands slides up his hot skin onto his neck and then his jaw, relishing in the way it moves in perfect sync with his lips.

One of his hands slides between your thigh and calf, resting on the inside of your knee for a moment before he pulls your legs straight and guides your hips onto his lap. Once seated on him, your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging at the curly blonde roots. His hands fall to your waist, jerking you against him. You gasp into his mouth. You feel like a different person, full of desire for him.

You pull back to catch your breath and Austin moves to your neck, sucking and biting on the skin. You involuntarily tilt your head to the side so he can reach the skin under your jaw. His grip on your hips tightens and you shudder as his hand slides down your thigh and back up to the small of your back. He bites down hard on the skin between your neck and shoulder and you whimper.

He pulls away quickly, staring at you with a worried expression

“Shit, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no that was amazing," you chuckle breathily. "Please do it again.”

He smiles and kisses your cheek before moving back to your neck. You tug at his curls again as he sucks and bites at the spot. You can feel it growing sore and realize that you'll probably have something to show for it tomorrow. When Austin pulls back, you attack his lips again.

You want to thank him for making you feel so good, so you return the favor by slipping off his lips and moving to the sensitive skin on his neck. You nip at it, dragging your tongue up the veins. His neck falls back and he heaves ragged breaths. When you glance up at him, you see his eyes closed, mouth hanging open, and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He looks irresistible. When you nip hard at the skin right under his neck, he moans breathily.

“You’re literally a goddess," his seductive voice is low and deep. "Have you done this before?”

You giggle against his neck and he chuckles.

“Don’t do that, sugar," he whispers. "The vibration feels nice but it tickles.”

“Shut up and take your shirt off,” you command, biting your lip as you tug at the hem of his shirt.

He smirks and nods, reaching under the hem and lifting it over his head. You breathe deeply as you let your fingers slide down his toned stomach. When you ghost over his belly button, his stomach contracts and his muscles strain. You have to take another deep breath and bite your lip to control yourself. You flatten your palm on his abs and slide it back up his body to curl around the back of his neck.

His hands slide underneath your shirt to grip the skin of your waist. You kiss him, yanking his bottom lip out with your teeth. When you release it, he mutters a breathless 'damn'. You chuckle and bite your lip again, reaching up to cup his soft cheek. You pull his lips to yours as his hands slide down to your thighs. He moves his fingers toward your ass but pulls back.

“Can I, uh…put my hands here?”

“Please. Please dear god, put your hands there,” you whisper with a smile, resting your forehead on his.

He chuckles and kisses you again, curving his fingers around your ass and squeezing it. He groans into the kiss and you moan back against his lips. His body tips over, pushing you down onto the couch. You welcome the pressure of his body on yours and curl your legs around his waist. One of his hands slides onto your stomach and the other pins both of your wrists above your head.

He pulls at your bottom lip and your legs tighten around his hips. When he kisses you again, his tongue touches your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in. Just as his warm, calloused fingers begin to pull the bottom of the t-shirt from your skin, the door to the apartment opens with a bang. Austin's lips detach from yours and he sits up, wildly looking around. His hair is disheveled, the curls fluffed up in every direction.

“Hey Austin, I- oh! Oh god,” you hear Ashley's familiar voice from the kitchen.

You cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Ashley was dangerously close to catching you two in the act. You silently thank the stars that you haven't ripped the rest of your clothes off yet. That would have been truly embarrassing.

“Ashley…um hey. Hey! What’s uh…what’s up?” Austin says, trying to act as casual as possible.

“Oh I just…I forgot the gift card for that store,” she says.

Her voice goes up an octave toward the end of the sentence. She’s trying not to laugh. You can't blame her. She just walked in on her little brother about to have sex. Awkward

Thinking about Ashley trying not to break makes you want to laugh that much more. You lie completely still, not really sure what to do. You can see Austin motioning to his sister, telling her to get out of the apartment. You clamp your hand over your mouth again to stop the giggles from spilling out.

“Okay, well you kids have fun. Don’t do anything stupid or dangerous. Love you Aus. Nice to see you, Y/N,” she says and slams the door behind her.

You finally allow the remaining giggles to fall from your lips as you remove your hands from your face. Austin shakes his head with a handsome smile as he stares down at you. Suddenly, the door swings open again and Ashley peeks back inside.

“Oh, Austin, I forgot to ask. You know where the condoms are right?”

“Jesus, Ash!”

“Have fun!" she yells. "Don’t get any bodily fluids on the carpet, please. See ya later!”

You hear Ashley cackling as she shuts the door again. You just laugh harder, slipping into a fit of hissing wheezes as Austin folds his arms over his chest and waits for you to be finished. When your laughs are tame enough to open your eyes again, you look up to see a lobster-red-faced Austin.

“So…" you mumble, picking at your nail. "Are we like a thing now, or...?"

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he leans forward.

“Are we — like, can we be? Ah, what I mean is…Y/N, do you wanna be my girl? Officially, you know?”

You can't help but laugh at his somewhat awkward attempt to ask you to be his girlfriend. His expression is totally helpless as he shrugs with a pained smile. You grab onto his hands, pulling yourself up to a sitting position and gaze into his eyes.

“I would love to.”

“One condition though,” he says and you nod. “Ya have to stop calling me Boots and call me Austin.”

You giggle and shake your head, lacing your fingers into his.

“Deal. Austin.”

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt. You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours. But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to. You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did. Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints. Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does. Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it. But truthfully, you didn’t want to. You were worried about him—still are, actually. But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on. He’s been through way worse, and you know it. You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers. He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening. Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation. After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield. It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips. The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards. To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster. “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you. “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code. My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound. “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment. “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it? You blink. No, it doesn’t. You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name. You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever. “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not. “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show. Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here. Something could’ve happened. Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it. Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina. Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot. “They’re fodder. Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.” He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass. “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions. Tied specifically to Guild contracts.” Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare. “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties. Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him. “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace. “Not sure I’d care too much if you did. It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit. Shit. What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed. Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company. He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied. Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence. Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy. It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this. Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve. Karga is a nice guy, right? He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando. And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too. How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder? You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?” You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?” He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice. Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly. You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way. You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity. “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it. “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you. If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice. If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it. You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal. “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head. “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out. “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold. It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to. It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando. You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave. You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides. He said he wants to help you? This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?” He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head. The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?” You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours. “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously. “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances. You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment. “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away. He helped you out, you’re halfway through this. Now comes the exchange. Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you. “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far. Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late? He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face. “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table. There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task. “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…” Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it. This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here. He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it. “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you. “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay. Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much. Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again. Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.” You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you. “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay. Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly…

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it. Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck. It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward. You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?” You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs. “Of course you don’t. Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit. This is not at all how you expected any of this would go. You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request. There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary. Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum. “You said you’re here on his behalf. You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh. Oh, no. This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits. It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table. You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here. It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!” He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good. Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t. You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you. You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach. He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him? Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried. Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before. Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp. The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him. “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend. The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air. Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now. You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe. “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet. Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense. You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him. You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!” A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab. Right in fucking front of him. “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck. Great. Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t. You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out. Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now. You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it. Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

***

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried. You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual. You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing. Was there a confrontation, you wonder? Is he okay? He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though. As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you. Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view. The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace. He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?” He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down. “Are you alright? Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say. How are you going to tell him? He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say? You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh… I-I’m sorry, I just…” But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him. “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?” He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him. “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out. His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him. If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands. “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you. Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess. “It’s okay. You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak. He’s lying for your benefit, he must be. When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—” You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…” His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?” You have to think about it. Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already? You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility. “Um… no? I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?” He asks, taking a small step forward. “You don’t know? Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes. You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now. It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…” Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him. “I don’t know, I’m not like you. I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better. I think he was probably just being normal. He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb. This is what’s bothering him? Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work? It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played. He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them. How are you supposed to take that? Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning? You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?” You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest. It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason. He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you. Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.” He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly. Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him. “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.” His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention. “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?” You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm. In another weirdly stupid, primitive way. You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it. Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode. Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before. You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now. He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of. “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “Maybe. He could’ve just been trying to be friendly. What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit. “Did he scare you?”

“For me?” You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards. Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless. “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?” Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds. The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid. Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you. Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you. You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours. You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now. Achy. Hot. Needy. Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks you after a prolonged silence. His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained. Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you. “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice. Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards. He wants to do this here? Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word. Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?” You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck. You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought. Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to. It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker. You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it. Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long. You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you. You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?” Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner. You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him. He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss. Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this? Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?” Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you. Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull. Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment. You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you. “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet. This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest. Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling. “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need. Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point. You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?” Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him. You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing. Nothing. You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing. Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time. Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability. You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better. His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again. You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view. Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass. The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time. His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open. You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit. His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you. The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here. If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body. You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it. You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort. Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most. Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this. You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too. It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too. Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place. You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace. Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance. You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him. He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you. Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can. It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning. You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer. His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting. Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?” He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it. “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could. He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle. You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to. You could struggle. If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it. You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time. Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him. You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more. It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too. Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t. Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock. Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him. There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin. You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you. You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears. Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways. You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb. Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off. You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up. The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours. Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works. Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too. At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly. You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal. You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face. “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do. Easy. He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed. Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body. You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep. He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal. The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again. You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation. Come on, work. Move forward. Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly. Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled. Ran over by a truck. Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful. This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart. The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones. You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs. It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever. It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it. “Hey. Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know? You figured you’d be way ahead of him. You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here. The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over. You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point. It’s easy, you like it. Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back. Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway. It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin. Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine. He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin. His bar of soap, not yours. They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize. How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone. The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not. Hot water, not freezing cold. Standing upright and supporting you. Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue. You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again. Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this. Skin to skin contact. Someone to hold. Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar. Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest. You want to tell him not to leave. Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay. You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed. You don’t know. But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know. You know. From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection. But you know him. You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return. You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you. Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary. Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to. It wasn’t said so he could say it back. It just is. Some things don’t need explanations, they just are. You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it. You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word. It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels. There’s something hidden underneath. You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired. You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless. He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber. “I’m… not allowed to ask. I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense. Was that a translation? Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest. It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it. You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows. “You can.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader-insert #rough day #no-droids #smut

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cinnaminsvga · 3 years ago

Text

Compound Eyes | Taehyung

→ summary: After being declared the newest champion of the Hoenn region, it doesn’t take long until you are whisked away to participate in the annual Pokémon World Tournament and represent your hometown. Filled with the excitement of meeting strong trainers from all over the world, you don’t realize until it’s too late that a familiar face floats above the sea of participants. It’s none other than the newest Johto champion—who also happens to be your long-lost childhood rival.

→ genre: pokemon!au, childhood bff!au, fluff, humor → warnings: none! i guess there’s going to be a few pokémon terms thrown here and there but i don’t think it’s all that important in order to understand the story :D → words: 4.6K → a/n: this took FOREVER (literal years) and i am so sorry for keeping you waiting @breadoffoxy but thank you again for commissioning this piece!! pokemon will always be a fandom i don’t think i’ll ever leave (LEGENDS ARCEUS WAS SO GOOD) so combining that with bangtan is definitely a plus in my book!! i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy reading it!!

It is every young trainer’s dream to one day participate in the annual Pokémon World Tournament—a special event where the cream of the crop from every region gathers together to compete for the title of world’s strongest trainer. Not many ever get the chance to compete in this selective tournament, as each participant must have collected a specific minimum amount of wins under their belt in order to qualify for any of the divisions.

Among those divisions, there is one that is reserved for the best of the best, for the champion of each region. It is reserved for the last day, almost like an exhibition match to celebrate the end of the week-long festivities. And yet, the tension leading up to the Master Ball division is palpable—as if everyone’s hopes and dreams are causing the air to feel electric. Either that, or the electric-types are starting to get a little too excited.

Everyone is rooting for their homegrown champion to take the crown, and the pressure to succeed might have made any other trainer quake in fear.

But as a champion, there should be no need to feel concerned, right? There’s a reason why you managed to battle your way to the top of your own region’s Elite Four. Despite only having claimed the title of Champion last month, you are confident in your team and the hard work that got you this far.

All that experience didn’t stop you from getting starstruck, however.

“Oh my Arceus! Look over there, Gengie! I can’t believe the actual real-life Diantha is standing right over there!” You nudge the shadow Pokémon brusquely, who nearly topples over from your strength. Luckily, your Gengar is more than a little used to your excitement, so it quickly straightens up and nods enthusiastically with you.

“She’s even prettier in person! I wonder if it would be weird if I went over there and introduced myself...” you trail off, your feet already making their way towards her when you feel a small hand tug at your shirt to keep you still. You look down, finding Gengar with an uncharacteristic frown on its face.

“Oh, right. We don’t have time for that,” you mutter sheepishly, patting him on the head. You look at your watch, cringing at the time. “Guess we shouldn’t have messed around so much when we got here. Registration closes in an hour if I remember correctly.”

Gengar huffs in exasperation and licks your leg as if to admonish you. You yelp, pushing the mischievous Pokémon away from you with a loud laugh. “Stop that! You know I hate it when you do that.”

After flicking Gengar in retaliation, the two of you make your way through the busy streets of Driftveil City. Despite Gengar’s earlier scolding, it doesn’t take long until you’re distracted once more by the sight of many other famous trainers, mostly gym leaders and a few Elite Four trainers. You even catch a glimpse of Blue from Viridian City, his signature spiky orange hair unmistakable amidst the crowd.

Even more, there are all kinds of food stalls littered everywhere, most of them advertising local delicacies from Unova, as well as some visiting merchants from other distant regions. It takes all your willpower to keep yourself from buying everything in sight, and even your serious-natured companion finds it difficult to keep his eyes away.

“Oh shit, we’re really going to be late now,” you say after another ten minutes of wandering. You realize too late that you’ve gotten terribly lost along the way. The crowd in the area that you are in is significantly thinner than before, and all of the arrows pointing to the registration tents have disappeared. You and Gengar stare at your phone map in confusion, and anyone can see the imaginary question marks floating above your heads.

You’re just about to give up and approach a stranger for help when two heads of purple hair barrel their way towards you.

“Sorry, coming through!” The smaller of the two shouts in warning, but you don’t have enough time to move aside before their bodies slam into you, knocking you down to the ground. You groan in pain, the weight of two people causing it to sound more like a broken wheeze more than anything. Lucky for your Gengar, it manages to dodge in time. It pulls you from underneath the wreckage with a loud cackle, clearly amused by your injuries.

“Well, that’s one way to meet someone,” says the taller of the two. The man in question is still laying on the floor, but he doesn’t appear bothered by the sizable bruise forming on his forehead. Instead, he pulls himself up with a simple brush off his shoulder. With a large, dopey grin on his face, he extends a hand forward in greeting. “So sorry about that! My name is Leon, by the way! It’s nice to meet you!”

That’s a lot of exclamation points, you think drily to yourself. Before you can reply, his friend hoists herself up by clinging onto his pant leg. He yelps in shock, quickly latching onto the waistband of his sweats, lest he allows himself to get pantsed in the middle of a bustling metropolitan street.

“What the Arceus, Leon! And here I was, offering my time to help you find the registration desk, and you don’t even try to help me stand up? Did you forget all your manners when you bonked yourself in the head?” she seethes, eyebrows furrowed in irritation. When she turns towards you, however, her expression immediately morphs into a pleasant smile. “Oh, sorry about my friend! He can be a little bit of an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” The boy, Leon, exclaims. “I wasn’t the one who was running through the streets like a madwoman possessed!”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well. Whose fault is it for getting lost in the first place? If you hadn’t spent the last three hours battling anyone who can breathe, then you wouldn’t be scrambling to register before the cut-off time!”

Leon pouts, petulant. “Yeah well… I did offer to fly there with my Charizard…”

“Umm,” you interrupt, feeling a little disoriented by the two loud friends (siblings?) in front of you. “So sorry, but did you mention heading to the registration desk?”

The girl perks up at your voice, smiling brightly once again. “Yup! We’re supposed to be heading there right now. My name is Iris, by the way. I’m the champion of this region! And Leon over here,” she juts a thumb at the sheepish boy, “is the recently crowned champion of Galar. Well, new-ish. We both got our titles a little over a year ago, huh?”

“That’s right,” Leon says, nodding proudly. Then, his posture stiffens, grimacing in embarrassment. “And that’s why I’m still a little unfamiliar with the whole registration process. Yup. Totally.”

Iris snorts, leaning closer to you with a knowing look. “Which is utter Dunsparce, if you ask me,” she whispers with a smirk.

“Aha, right…” you say, clearing your throat. “Well, I guess that makes two of us. I’m also a bit lost, and I was just about to ask someone for directions to the registration desk, actually.”

Iris gasps, grasping your arm with a squeal. “Oh! Then we should totally go together! We can’t have both of you late!” Just as she’s about to tug you along, Iris pauses in her steps to give you a long, good look. “Wait a second. I don’t think I ever managed to get your name.”

“Oh, right.” You laugh, scratching your neck. “My name is Y/N. I’m the new champion of the H–”

“–of the Hoenn region!” Iris finishes, her eyes lighting up in excitement. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner! I am so sorry, by the way. I’m not really good with faces,” she says sheepishly.

You wave her off, embarrassment flooding your face. “No, no! That’s totally fine! I didn’t really expect anyone to recognize me at all.”

“Wait, now that you mention it…” Leon says, peering at you up and down. He slaps a hand to his mouth in shock. “Oh my Arceus—that’s right! You are the Hoenn champion! I watched your battle against Wallace the other week, but I admit that I wasn’t really focused on how you looked like, not when your Gengar kind of stole the show,” he jokes.

You giggle, patting your Gengar affectionately. “Yeah, this little bugger was truly the star of that battle. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him,” you say. Gengie snickers beside you, but the beaming smile on its face is telling enough. “Not gonna lie though, I thought I was a goner when Wallace Mega Evolved his Gyarados at the end there.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself! You were leagues ahead of him, which is saying something,” Iris says. “And believe me, I would know. I’ve fought the guy before, and he’s no pushover.”

“Which makes me all the more excited to battle you! I hope we get paired against each other somewhere along the way,” Leon quips, his competitive drive palpable in his voice.

“Aha, right…” You laugh awkwardly, forcing out a smile. You won’t admit it to him, but you want to say the opposite—after all, there’s a reason they call him the unbeatable champion. You don’t exactly want to lose so early on in the competition if you’re pitted against him first. It’s not like you think you’d lose, but you definitely don’t want a difficult boss right out of the gate either.

He pumps his fist in the air, oblivious to your plight. “Oh, but I wouldn’t mind settling for the new Johto champion either. I haven’t gotten around to watching how he battles yet, but I’m sure he’ll be a beast on the field!”

“Oh, you’re right!” Iris gasps. “Now that’s another trainer who’s insanely strong.” She offers you a sly glance, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “But I’m sure you know all about the other newbie champion all too well, don’t ya? Especially since the media seem to have gotten excited over the star-crossed rivals, or something like that,” she says, giggling.

“S-star–crossed? What the fu—does that even mean?” you flush, choking on your spit. Beside you, Gengar stifles a snort, nudging you to get your wits together. You stare at the two champions in embarrassment, clearing your throat. “I-I mean, how can we be rivals when I’ve never even battled him before?”

“It’s not always about battling you know! It’s the vibes, darling!” Iris says, pointing at you knowingly. “You’re both within the same age range, you both chose Grass-types as your starter Pokémon, you’re both hot and eligible—”

“Hot and eligible?! Excuse me?!” you interject, but Iris continues on as if you hadn’t spoken.

“—and rumor has it, you guys aren’t even from your respective regions! I heard from someone that you guys might have grown up in the same sleepy town in Hoenn,” Iris smirks, wagging her finger. Her smirk only widens at your shell-shocked silence. “So whaddya say to that, newbie?”

“W-well… You see, I…” you start, racking your Mankey-brain for some sort of answer. As luck would have it, a large crowd (stampede?) of people rush past you in a blur, their stomping feet and excited squeals drowning out any hope of hearing your reply. A flurry of camera shutters accompanies the crowd as reporters quickly start to swarm as well, the horde of people seemingly circling a large purple tent near the tournament stadium.

“Oh! That’s the registration tent, isn’t it?” Leon shouts, his voice barely loud enough against the cacophony. “Are they all latecomers to register for the tournament like us?”

“No, you idiot,” Iris snaps. She stands on her tiptoes, her neck straining as she tries her best to look past the rows and rows of heads. “I can’t see over all these people—damn Arceus for being vertically challenged!—but I think there’s some celebrity trainer or something.”

“Huh? A celebrity? Who is it?” you ask, your interest piqued. You aren’t much for celebrity gossip, but if Cynthia happened to pass by and offered up some autographs… You can’t say that you wouldn’t be above groveling at her feet for a moment of her time.

Leon, for all his clumsiness, has the advantage of height in his repertoire. “I can see curly brown hair… I’m not sure but I think it’s… Oh! I think it’s the new Johto champion! Speaking of the devil,” he reports, a large grin on his face. “Blimey, I know he beat Lance a month ago, but he already has this large of a fan club? That’s insane!”

“Look who’s talking!” Iris scoffs, rolling her eyes. “If I hadn’t saved you a while ago, all those fangirls flocking around you might have directed you to their homes and you would have been none the wiser!”

“I can certainly see the appeal of being a fan of your hometown champion,” you quip, your gaze trained on the crowd. You can’t see the champion in question, but you can almost imagine him—brown hair, long eyelashes, lips that love to quirk up into a smirk…

You continue, shaking your head of your thoughts. “But even then, I don’t see how this many people would be going crazy over someone who only just got the title of champion. I’d understand Red or Cynthia, but him?”

“Something tells me it has less to do with his prowess as a champion, and more to do with how smoking hot he is,” Iris snickers, wiggling her eyebrows. “I mean, c’mon! Y/N, you’ve seen him, don’t you agree?”

You splutter, your cheeks quickly turning Cherubi pink. “What? I mean, he’s…” you hesitate, finding the right words. “He’s not bad, but it’s not like that! Besides, it’s just Ta—”

Just then, a loud screech cuts you off, causing the three of you to whip around in surprise. A large purple halo surrounds the crowd, an invisible psychic force parting them gently enough to form a path. From there, the Johto champion makes his escape, his trusty Gardevoir following closely behind as it keeps the crowd from getting in its trainer’s way.

In a flash, the champion takes his Gardevoir’s hand to teleport away, leaving his supporters groaning in disappointment.

Leon whistles lowly, impressed. “Well. That’s certainly one way to make a grand exit. Suppose that means we know who’s winning the popularity vote this year, huh?”

Soon enough, the mob of people quickly disperse, and the three of you manage to make your way to line up at the registration tent. At the table, the cheerful attendant informs your two new acquaintances that they have been coincidentally paired up in the preliminary rounds tomorrow. Meanwhile, your opponent would be none other than the legendary 5-minute champion himself, Blue Oak.

“Oh, that’s rough buddy,” Iris laughs, patting your shoulder sympathetically. “You really couldn’t have asked for a more stubborn opponent.”

Instead of being discouraged, hearing the news only makes you more excited for the tournament to start. After all, battling strong trainers has always given you a massive rush, and there is nothing quite like an adrenaline high than facing one of the most legendary trainers in the world from the getgo.

“I’m pumped as hell! I can’t wait for tomorrow to come,” Leon hoots, his body nearly vibrating from his excitement. “I don’t even think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight!”

Iris snorts beside him, shaking her head in exasperation. “What a kid,” she sighs, but the twinkle in her eye tells another story. “Well, it was nice talking to you guys! I’m heading to the park to put in some last-minute training. I gotta make sure I beat Leon until he cries.”

Leon laughs goodnaturedly. “I’d like to see you try, short stack! Well, I better get going myself. See you both tomorrow!” He waves his farewell, jogging off with a skip in his step.

The two of you stare after for a moment. Then:

“He’s going the wrong way, isn’t he?” you say.

In response, Iris only nods in defeat before slowly trailing after him.

Alone once more, you turn to Gengar with a soft smile. “I think we should take a page out of their book and do some practice, don’t you think?” However, your motivation to train gets dashed after the loud rumbling of your stomachs.

You both look sheepishly at each other. “Maybe after lunch?” you propose, and Gengar nods back enthusiastically.

“What are we feeling up to, bud? I say we head to that malasada food stall! I’ve always wanted to try it if we ever went to Alola,” you say, walking off excitedly with Gengar in tow. You are so caught up in your hurry to get over there and sink your teeth into some rich fried doughy goodness that you do not immediately notice when a harsh gust of wind knocks the cap off your head.

“Huh?” you startle, your hand flying to your hair in surprise. It is not supposed to be a particularly windy day, so you are more than a little confused to find that your hat had magically jumped off your scalp. With a perplexed frown, you bend down to pick it back up, only for another gust of wind to blow it farther away.

“H-hey!” you shriek, chasing after your cap. The wind finally makes sense, however, when a Butterfree descends right in front of you. It chirps cheerfully at you before its small arms grab your cap and it flies off in a rush.

You call after it, demanding that it return your well-worn hat. Disgruntled, you turn to Gengar. “Gengie! Use Shadow Ball!”

At your command, Gengar does its best to land the move on the rogue Butterfree, but misses by a fraction of an inch. The bug Pokémon had dodged the move, its reflexes almost miraculous. With another happy chirp, the Butterfree flutters away, moving faster than any Butterfree you had ever seen in your life.

With no choice but to give chase, you and your partner scramble after the Butterfree. You knock into some startled bystanders on the way, and you shout some hasty apologies as you try your best to keep your eyes on your cap.

It feels like you had been running for ages when the Butterfree suddenly decides to stop, landing delicately on a tree branch. As you stagger to a breathless stop, you vaguely notice that it had led you to the hotel you were staying at.

The hotel has a large sweeping garden outside its lobby, a perfect place for trainers to let out their Pokémon for a relaxing day out in the sun. You had seen a few hotel residents milling about when you first arrived this morning, but you suppose most of them have left to grab some lunch nearby.

One lone trainer stands nearby, his back facing you. He’s on his haunches, feeding what you assume is his Appletun and Venusaur some berries. He is humming a soft melody—a song that you had learned long ago, back when you were just a small girl from an even smaller town.

The Butterfree jumps from the tree and lands on the boy’s head, dropping your cap by his feet.

“What’s this, Butterfree? You got me a gift?” the boy asks softly, scratching its cheek tenderly. He turns to face you, but you already knew who he was the moment he’d even made a sound.

Taehyung smiles cheekily at you. “Took you long enough to say hello.”

You frown, swallowing thickly. Why had your throat gotten dry all of a sudden? “You took my hat,” you reply lamely.

He shrugs, his grin only growing wider. “I didn’t take your hat. Butterfree did.”

The little bugger chirps out what you think is a laugh. It nuzzles against Taehyung before retrieving your fallen hat off the ground. It flutters over back to you and places it gently back on your head. You pat it firmly back on, feeling strangely self-conscious with the boy as your audience.

“Is that all you do? Train your Pokémon to steal from other people? I’d reckon you were part of Team Rocket or something,” you joke, pout still present on your face. But you both know it’s all for show—neither of you are sure of how to act around the other just yet.

“You caught me red-handed. I even got a Gardevoir just to get me out of sticky situations,” he jokes.

“I saw that little display by the registration tent a little while ago. The last time I saw you, you were barely taller than a Pikachu. Never knew you became such a superstar since the years have gone by,” you say, amused.

At your comment, Taehyung’s cheeks turn a soft pink. “Don’t even go there. It’s a mystery why they keep following me around,” he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. He sighs, gesturing to the empty hotel training grounds. “Good thing this hotel is only for the participants of the tournament. I don’t know how much longer I can take the sound of reporters asking me to look their way.”

He pauses to squint at you. “Hey. We’re both champions—”

“Thanks for noticing,” you say drily.

“No, I mean—” Taehyung laughs nervously. “We both became champions at around the same! Shouldn’t you be surrounded as well?”

“Ouch, way to rub salt on the wound,” you huff. “Not all of us can be dangerously good-looking, you know.”

Taehyung’s ears perk up. “You think I’m good-looking?” he says, his grin turning box-like. Just like when you were kids, you think to yourself unhelpfully.

“Enough! If you brought me here to lower my morale or something, it isn’t going to work. I have better things to do than suck up to the media,” you grouse, crossing your arms.

“No, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Taehyung says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just thought that… since everyone on social media has been pitting us against each other and all, you’d also be in the same boat.”

You shrug, unperturbed. “I guess not, but I don’t really care either way. My Pokémon will make them see that I’m definitely the better trainer anyway.” You beam proudly at your Gengar, who gives you a confident grin in return.

Taehyung lets out a snort, wiping away a faux tear. “You’re just as cute as I remember! But trust me, I have the advantage in that department as well.”

You force your brain to selectively ignore the first part of his declaration. “Just because you started on your journey one year earlier does not mean you’re better! Hell, we haven’t even battled each other since we were both 15!” You point an accusatory finger at him. “All because you decided to move away to Johto, by the way!”

“I did ask you to come with me, if I remember correctly,” Taehyung mentions with a pout. “Even begged on my knees,” he mutters to himself and you barely miss it.

“Whatever. I guess it makes it all the better that we finally meet again, both champions of our respective regions,” you say. A few streets away, the large city center bell chimes loudly, ringing across the Unovan air. In the corner of your mind, an old memory resurfaces.

“Do you believe in destiny?” Jungkook, your other rival, had asked you one day. He’d always been a breath of fresh air to battle with, but as competitive as he was, you still seemed to always yearn for someone better.

“Destiny?” you repeated, returning Gengar to its Pokéball. You hummed, shrugging your shoulders. “Not really. I think you should always have some control of your life.”

“My dad told me once that when you meet your soulmate, a bell will ring,” he said, sighing. He stared wistfully at the sky, a lovelorn look on his face. “Isn’t that a beautiful thing to wish for?”

You huffed out a laugh, ruffling his hair with a fond smile. “Well then. I hope a bell rings for you, one day.”

The city center bell falls quiet once more. The two of you stare at each other, a blanket of something enveloping you with unknown emotion.

Taehyung winks. “I always knew that our paths would cross again, one way or another.”

“I don’t know… I think I’d be a lot more nervous if I were you. I’ve grown a lot since we last saw each other.”

Taehyung gives you an unsubtle once over. “Oh, believe me. I can see that all too clearly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” You squawk, punching his shoulder indignantly. Taehyung only laughs, backing away and hiding behind his Butterfree.

Coward, you think snidely.

“Just… don’t think I’ll be going easy on you just because you’re cute okay?” He smirks, blatantly enjoying the way your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Why do you keep saying shit like that?” you whine, not even caring how petulant you sound. To your ire, your Gengar only laughs at your misery, encouraging your so-called rival further.

“Oh, you know me. I’m just truthful to a fault,” he snickers. But in an instant, his expression sobers as he focuses his gaze slyly towards you. You unconsciously feel your nerves stand on end, the tension increasing tenfold when the naturally goofy boy turns serious.

“Say, Y/N. Let’s make a bet for the tournament, shall we?”

“A bet?” you parrot, but you can’t say you’re not intrigued. You straighten your back with a haughty smirk. “I wouldn’t bother with a bet if I were you. I don’t like taking candy from babies.”

Taehyung ignores your attempts to taunt him. He continues to stare at you with stone-cold eyes, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you might have thought he was being genuine. You just needed to wait another couple of seconds, and eventually, he’ll break. After all, you’ve known him pretty much your whole life—

“How about… we bet that whoever loses has to ask the other person on a date! How ‘bout that?” Taehyung exclaims, his expression lighting up once again.

—Okay, scratch that. You have no idea who this dude is. Never seen him in your fucking life.

“Excuse me? What the hell did you say?” You screech in response, completely dumbfounded by what you think was an out-of-the-blue suggestion. “Are you fucking out of your mind? Where the hell did that come from?”

“Geng…” your Gengar groans beside you. To translate, that was Pokémon for “My trainer is dense as hell.”

Taehyung blinks innocently. He taps his chin, pretending to think. “I mean, I understand if you’re scared of losing. If you don’t want to, then that’s fine. Or, we can lower the stakes and settle for a kiss instead?”

“You’re fucking DEAD if you think I’m afraid of you,” you seethe, hands on your hips. “I’m going to make you eat your words, pretty boy! I’m going to get free food and squeeze your wallet dry!”

“I’ve always loved you for your confidence, did you know that?” Taehyung admits with a dreamy smile. “Too bad you’ve got your head in the clouds, though.”

You’re still shocked and enraged by everything to even process his admission. “And your overconfidence will be the death of you! I’ll fucking show you! This battle is going to be so easy if this is how stupid you are! I’ll see you at the arena, dumbass!”

After one last resounding huff, you stomp away with a cloud of smoke puffing out your ears. Taehyung watches on in endearment, the giddiness in his chest full to the brim. He can feel his heart pounding in his veins, and he knows the next few days are going to be the ones he’ll tell his (i.e. your) grandchildren about in the future.

He turns to his Butterfree. “I think that went well, don’t you?” It chirps happily in response.

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spideytingle616 · 4 years ago

Text

Laundry Day | P.P.

18+ only

Main Masterlist // Ao3 Version

Pairing: Roommate!Peter Parker x Female Reader

Summary: Pink, lacy, and in his pile… how could he not be curious?

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: swearing, snoopy Peter, underwear, overuse of italics, and overall smutty themes/situations (Peter and reader are both 18+ and in college)

A/N: Why… do I do the things I do? I remember seeing either a dark Chris Evans or Steve Rogers blurb with a similar idea, but Tumblr crashed before I saw the user :((( I’ll tag it if I ever see it again (or if someone finds it for me), but until then enjoy. Cheers to my first smutty fic ever lol, maybe there’ll be a part two…

Alright, so maybe getting an apartment with his best friend and secret crush was a bad idea, but at the time he didn’t think much of it. Before college, you were always at one another’s places, and the two of you were always sleeping over. He really didn’t think sharing a place would be all that different.

But having a place that you considered actually yours, and not your family’s, has made you much more comfortable and relaxed.

More specifically, you’ve been much more comfortable wearing less.

Obviously, Peter didn’t mind. It was your place just as much as his, and you have been more than accommodating toward his hectic Spider-Man schedule. And if you were okay with wearing some boy shorts or just a bra on top, he was okay with admitting he rather enjoyed the view.

Not that he was always looking. He only lets himself check you out less than half of the time.

… okay maybe a little more than half. The point is, it’s not all the time.

The day started off normal, with the sun peeking out between the clouds. Peter was out in the living room doing homework, more or less confident in his answers. Who knew organic chemistry was such a bitch?

“I’m going out to study with MJ,” you announce, entering from the hallway. “I should be back later tonight. If you want, I could grab some Thai on my way back.”

Peter shrugs. “I could do Thai. Might make this work a little more bearable, to be honest,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I need some comfort food too. Maybe if I flirt with them, they’ll give us some extra noodles.” You slip your jacket on. “Oh, by the way, could you do me a favor?”

The question where it all went wrong. It was too dangerous; he should have said no. There were too many risks.

“Could you pick up my clothes from the dryer? I didn’t get a chance to yet and I don’t wanna keep MJ waiting.”

He nods. “Sure, mine should be done soon anyway.”

“Thanks a ton, dude. You’re the best. I’ll see you later.”

Peter sends you a wave as he continues to stare into his laptop’s blue-lighted abyss. He does this for another two hours before he realizes that he’s done absolutely nothing. He shuts his laptop with a groan, closing his eyes as he slumps back on the couch. If he looked at one more carbon molecule, he swears his brain will explode.

Maybe he should just do something else instead, something productive that’ll keep his head (somewhat) straight.

Might as well do the laundry, because what can go wrong with that?

Peter heads to the basement and unloads his clothes into the laundry basket. It only fills up about two-thirds of the way, so he decides to just throw your stuff on top of his to save a trip.

Smart idea, right?

He takes the basket to his room, still not motivated enough to do his homework. At this point, he should just keep going and put his clothes away. And with yours at the top, along with the fact that you’re bringing home takeout, he’ll just fold your clothes too. It’s the nice thing to do.

Peter sits down on his bed and begins folding your sweaters. He makes sure to be extra neat with them, folding it exactly like May showed him all those years ago. She’d probably cry if she saw him right now: he hated doing laundry as a kid.

He sets them into a nice stack and turns back toward the rest of the clothes, grabbing the shirt that was now on top.

And that’s when Peter sees it.

A thong. A baby pink, lace thong, right on top of the basket.

Peter’s eyes widen. For a small amount of fabric, it sure got his attention. A wave of guilt floods his head. Hopefully, you remembered that you had such skimpy underwear in the wash before you asked him to grab your laundry.

He continues to stare, which makes Peter feel even more guilty. Even if you were okay with him grabbing your clothes, you probably didn’t mean it was okay for him to gawk at it.

He thinks for a moment; should he just… leave it there? It seems like the right thing to do, but his all of his clothes are beneath your underwear, so he’ll have to touch it eventually. And who knows if that’s the only one.

Fuck, is most of your underwear like this?

The thought makes him spiral. Guilt no longer clouded his mind, too busy thinking of what you looked like in your underwear. Peter pictures you wearing the lace under all those pretty sundresses you loved to wear in the summer, and beneath those short skirts that you wore in the fall.

He wonders if it was a matching set as he thinks of how you would look with a dainty, pink push up bra. As if your chest needed any help to look as amazing as it did. He could see the outline of them under those old t-shirts you wear to bed, and that was enough for the boy to get his radioactive blood going.

Oh shit.

Peter looks down to check- yep, he’s rock hard under his sweats.

It only comes as a slight shock to him; even when you walked around in those tight boy shorts that gave him the exact shape of your ass, he would only get a semi at most. And after five or so minutes, he was able to focus away from your butt and be fine for the rest of the night.

But this isn’t going away anytime soon, he’s fucking throbbing.

The guilt tries to resurface as he decides what to do. He checks the time; he still had another hour or so before you came back. If he did do anything, he would be good and done well before you returned. It’s not like you’d find out.

Plus, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought of you.

The door was already closed, and it was now or never. He lays down on his bed and blinks a few extra times, each one a quick reality check.

This was harmless. Private.

Peter bucks his hips up as he tugs his pants down to his mid-thigh. He keeps his boxers on, not quite ready to go all in. He’s got to ease in, and not in that way (well actually, kind of in that way).

His eyes close as he sucks in a slow breath. He rests his left hand on his leg as his right trails down on his stomach and to the elastic band of his underwear. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, still fiddling with the stretchy material.

After a moment or two, Peter’s hand finally sinks lower and cups his member, and fuck, it already feels good. He continues to palm himself through his underwear and lets out a sigh of relief. His thumb pokes out to touch his tip, and immediately his hips thrust forward to meet the subtle pressure.

He slows himself down as his mind came back to you and those goddamn panties. Were they for special occasions only? How often did you wear them?

Have you ever touched yourself when you wore them?

The idea causes a low groan from his chest, making him ditch his boxers. Pulling them down to meet his sweats, his cock springs straight to his stomach, red and needy. With a deep sigh, his pace speeds up as he continued his fantasy.

Peter pictures you on your bed, with nothing but that on. You bite your lips before they part, now wet and shiny with your spit. Your hair was slightly messy, and he could see your eyes were wide and glassy, desperate for a release.

Your hand trails down to your pubic bone, and just like Peter you play with the lace. Maybe you twiddle with the pink bow at the top too; he’d like to think you did.

The other hand paths around your chest and stops between your breasts. You cup one of your boobs gently and brush your thumb against your hardening nipple, eliciting a breathless moan before quickly switching to the other one.

His hand tugs harder. Your moans probably sounded like a melody; he’d do anything to hear them right in his ears. Needy noises that begged for more. Something harder, faster, rougher.

Eventually, you wouldn’t be able to handle the teasing. You were always impatient, the idea of waiting killing you every time. It was amusing to watch, but if you were his, he would be merciless. He’d purposely deny your pleas just to teach you a lesson.

He imagines you tugging and kicking your underwear off in a hurry, ready to fuck yourself into pure bliss.

That’s when Peter stops himself, a naughty idea developing. He props himself up with his elbows and stares at the laundry basket, your underwear still on top, clear as day.

No… no he couldn’t do that. That was too far.

But when your dick was as angry and hungry as Peter’s right now, your morality starts to crack a little. Enough to make a bad decision or two.

People lose socks in the wash all the time… surely it could happen to a thong too.

He quickly sits up and snatches your underwear. If he went any slower, he would have surely stopped himself and regretted even thinking of such an idea. Yet right now, he so badly wanted to do this, even if it was extremely perverted.

It was a lot softer than Peter expected, the non-lace areas feeling almost silky to the touch. With his heightened scenes, the scent of your lavender detergent envelops his nose and calms his rapid heartbeat.

He tries to cover as much of his hand as he could, but with the shape and limited fabric, it only covers half of it. Still, it’s more than enough for him and his dirty thoughts as he starts to rub himself again, tending to his aching member.

The feeling is slightly strange at first. He could tell where his soft hand met the rougher lace and cotton. It doesn’t glide as easily as usual, but it’s nothing problematic. At least not for a pathetically horny Peter.

His head lulls back in pleasure, turning his fantasy back on. Your chest is lifting off your bed as your fingers rubbed against your clit feverishly. You were absolutely soaking at this point, your core clenching down hard. You desperately wanted to be filled up with something, or someone, but you weren’t going to waste time with that. Fingers were enough to get you where you needed to be, collecting the slick from your needy hole before touching yourself again.

Your legs started to draw closer together, a sign that you were about to come. The circular movements on your clit become rougher and sloppier as your jaw goes slack. Fuck, you were so close.

Peter was too. His breaths became shallow as his muscles became tighter. He can feel the lace furiously rubbing against him and it drives him fucking crazy. The idea of coming all over your nice panties was sending him over the edge.

He hears you moaning his name as you finish, legs shaking at the wave of euphoria.

“Peter, Peter, Peter…”

“-Peter?!”

He stops, eyes wide and hand still on his cock.

That last one was not in his head.

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

��No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers. But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn’t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn’t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules. Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N’s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

- All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

part 2

5K notes · View notes

jameui · 3 years ago

Text

GUILTY MISTAKE

PAIRING: Kang Yeosang x M!Reader

GENRE: Angst, Fluff

WARNINGS: M!reader bullying sweet baby Yeosang, bad friends

SUMMARY: You've made a huge mistake once when you were a child and it's been in your head for the rest of your life, haunting you unless you've done something about it.

Just last month, you had turned six years old and you couldn't be more happier. For some unknown reasons, you liked how you grew older after every year, mostly because you receive gifts from your mom and dad and, of course, your friends who were about a year older than you.

Every year, on your birthday, you'd get expensive items and presents that you have been wanting for so long and foods that you get to eat with your family and friends. Loud music booming through the speakers, giggling while you made jokes with your friends laughing at almost everything due to the excitement and adrenaline that rushed through your bodies.

But, once everything was over and you know that everyone had to leave, you just keep on wishing that it was your birthday everyday. That way, everyone could still have fun and be happy with you, but then again, where's the thrill in that? They'd probably grow tired of it.

Right now, you were playing with your toys that you received creating specific sounds that corresponds to the action you controlled them to do, when you heard the doorbell ring making you gasp with joy at the thought of having a guest paying a visit.

You stood up from your position, your short legs running towards the door as you reached for the knob and turned it to open the door for the person behind it. The door moves wide open and reveals a woman who didn't look quite older than your mother, while you smiled and looked up at her. "Good morning!" You greeted her.

The woman's eyes fell down to you, beaming with glee at your politeness. "A very good morning to you, too, deary." She replied. "Is your mom or dad around? We're actually new to the neighborhood. We just moved from Busan."

You nod your head to answer her as you walked up to your mother who was in the kitchen cooking lunch. "Mom, someone's at the door for you."

"Really? Who is it?" Your mother asked you, wiping her newly washed hands on her apron.

You shrugged your shoulder, holding onto your mom's hand. "Neighbor said she was new." You and your mom was now in front of the door and the two women greeted each other as the other woman handed out a basket to your mom while you waited patiently for your mom to give it to you.

As soon as she did, you waggled your small feet towards the table before you caught a glimpse of a kid, not much taller than you, peeking from behind his mother's pants. He looked scared and shy, but it seemed to you that he wanted to approach you, but he was just too timid to do so.

You gave him your million dollar smile that made the small boy giggle at your friendliness, you jumping down from where you sat with a small groan when you hit the floor. You ran back towards the door, now seeing the chubby boy whose tummy was curving like a small hill on his stomach.

He wore a blue tiny jumper that fit perfectly onto his body, with a striped long sleeves under his jumper, white socks and shoes that almost looked worn out. You approached the boy a comfortable distance away and looked behind the woman that looked to be like his mother, a wide smile still present on your face as you waved a hand at him hello.

The boy bashfully hid, only leaving his arm to be left seen while waving back at you hesitantly. You could see how much the boy struggled to make friends with you so you decided to close in on the distance leading your feet towards the boy and poked your head out that made the boy flinch. "Heya there!" You said, now standing in front of him as the little boy hid his eyes away from you. "Don't be scared. People tell me I'm kind." You giggled softly, the other boy glancing up at you before quickly looking away once again. "I'm M/n, by the way. How about you? What's your name?"

He looked up at you shyly and stammered. "I-I'm Yeothang."

"Yeothang? What a unique name." You beamed, but he shook his head to correct you.

"No, no. Yeothang."

"Oh, you got a lisp." You said at the sudden realization and he nodded his head. "So, Yeosang?" He nodded again. "Yeosang. You have a pretty name." You said, finally noticing the birth mark that decorated the side of his left eye. You gasped and pointed at it. "Wowza! You have a cool looking tattoo!"

"It'th... It'th not a tattoo, M/n." Small Yeosang said, hesitating to call you by your name. "Mommy told me it'th a birth mark."

"Ooh, a birth mark. I wish I had one just like yours." You pouted. "I've got nothing."

Yeosang giggles at you making you smile. "That'th okay, M/n." He said and looks at you with his small brown orbs. "You look great even without them." He said, before he sniffed due to his runny nose that caused a snot to fall from his nose.

You were able to see this and pulled the hem of your shirt to wipe it from his nose and smiled brightly at him, which in turn, earned you a face of shock from Yeosang. "There."

"But, I dirtied your shirt." He furrowed his brows.

You waved it off and gave him assurance. "Don't you worry. My clothes get cleaned pretty well, so it's alright." You told him. "Oh, hey, wanna eat the snack your mom gave us? I saw cookies there. I bet you love cookies."

He nods his head once and immediately, you took his wrist into your small hands that barely closed around it as you pulled him inside and to your kitchen table. You let Yeosang take a seat first, since he needed a little help from his small size. You were next to take seat, settling on the seat beside him. You opened the basket that was wrapped with a cling wrap to secure it properly.

You let yourself drool at the sight of all the delicious delicacies that was inside the basket. "That is a lot." You chuckled cutely, unable to decide which baked goods to eat first. Throughout your process of thinking, your mother and Yeosang's mother had finished their conversation and the latter was called over. Yeosang gave his mother a small 'coming', before climbing down the seat as you pouted. "You're leaving already."

"I'm afraid tho, M/n." Yeosang replied sadly as you thought.

You pondered for a moment before you hastily took a bunch of the delicacies from the basket and went down to give it to Yeosang. "Here. I want you to take this with you. Eat them, or else."

Yeosang nodded and gave you a look of delight at your kind and cute gesture. "I will, M/n." He said before he jogged off to his mother showing her what you gave to him.

"Bye, Sangie!"

"Bye, M/n."

The following day, you were with your friends by the children's playground playing a round of tag, you being the tagger. "Tag, you're it!" You yelled on top of your lungs once you were able to catch up with the smallest of your group of friends, who whined in protest and stomped his foot.

"I'm always 'it'! Why can't it be—"

"Can I play, too?" That all too familiar sweet, honey like voice came from behind him, taking all of your attentions as your head all turned to him and revealed the very shy Yeosang. "I know how to play the game. We uthed to play that back at home."

"Yeosang, of cour—" You were about to reply, but your friends' rejection to his action of joining cut you off.

"Ew, no way. We don't want your boogers and sticky green nose liquid on us. Get away!"

"Yeah, go away! We don't want you playing with us."

"Booger boy!"

"Go play in another playground!"

Those were the words that your friends threw at him that got you shocked from hearing what your friends were saying to Yeosang. Your eyes had widened in shock while you could clearly see the hurt in his eyes that was now glossy with his forming tears from the mean comments he received from your friends. You clearly didn't know there was something going on with your friends and Yeosang.

Yeosang's pleading eyes was placed onto you as he waited for your answer, fiddling with his fingers. Your friends were the best people you could ever have and losing them never crossed your thought, so to avoid this situation from happening, you did what you thought was going to keep them as your friends. "Sure. You can play with us." You said, which made Yeosang hopefully smile, but he immediately took it back from what he heard next from you. "If you weren't so disgusting."

At that, you smirked and all your friends bursted out laughing giving you a clap at the back, the dejected Yeosang hanging his head low, feeling embarrassed. Although he was shamed upon, he still knew you had that kindness inside you and guessed you might have done that for a reason, so he gleamed and looked back at you. "Alright. Maybe next time? When I'm not snot booger rocket anymore." He snorted while laughing that made you all look at him like he's a weirdo.

"Go away! We never want to play with you, again."

And what you thought was just a one time thing, became a permanent bullying towards the poor little boy who only wanted to make friends and play with you. Before they left Busan, he had promised his mom that he wouldn't be the shy boy his parents knew him as, and become friends with the children at their new home, but it looked it was 'friends' that didn't want him.

Their first day, the day he met you, he was so excited and happy that he was able to make a friend, even if it were you who was the first one to approach him. He admired how you were so brave to befriend him and your politeness was one of the things he praised you for. He also thought you were a really kind and friendly kid, but looking at it now, it looked like he was wrong as he was once again rejected to play with you, seating on one of the swings that were a far distance away from where you and your friends played tag.

He sighed, but he didn't want to give up that easily so he ran to you while giggling repeating the words, 'I wanna play' over and over again which got to your friends' nerves, to the point where one of them pushed Yeosang to the ground which got your mouth gaping at the shock, while Yeosang stared up the person who pushed him, eyes starting to swell with tears. As though the fact that he was pushed to the ground wasn't enough, the same person kicked him by the leg which got Yeosang shouting in pain, before standing back up crying and ran home.

You made your way to your friends and glared at them. "Hey, that was too much."

"Why do you care so much?" He sassed at you. "He deserved it."

Your glare didn't falter, but softened when your eyes caught sight of a crying Yeosang. While your friends started to pile up in the middle of the place, you were still caught up in your thoughts, wishing you had just been nice to Yeosang and left your friends for treating Yeosang like that.

Yeosang didn't deserve it. He was a sweet, innocent and kind-hearted boy. He was too pure for this world. He didn't even give up once on trying to be friends with you, but all you ever did was tease him and mock him, call him names like 'booger boy' as you all called him as, 'weirdo', and all sorts of things. Finally realizing your fault, you sighed and regretted the treatment you gave Yeosang. "Sangie..."

A month or so after, you heard about the Kang family moving to another neighborhood which made you feel so bad and hate yourself totally. You didn't even get to say your sorry to Yeosang properly. The little boy never again showed up at the playground and only did when he was asked to throw the trash, all bundled up under so much clothings, since it was winter. That was the only moment you could ever see him.

You rushed out of your house and saw that they were now entering their car, you zoomed across the street and called Yeosang. "Yeosag, Yeosang! Wait!"

This got his attention, snapping his head towards you with a big smile. "M/n! You came to thee me off?" He giggled, making you feel guilty.

You shook your head and knitted your brows. "Why are you leaving? Where are you going?" You asked all in one go.

"We're moving back to Buthan, thince mom wath able to find a plathe there where it'th rent free and could all fit uth in." Then, he leaned in close to your ear to whisper. "Don't worry. I never told mom that your friendth hated me." He giggled secretly.

"Sangie... I also did bad things to you.." You told him sadly.

"I know." Yeosang smiled. "But, I know you didn't do it on purpothe."

"Yeosang, the car's about to leave."

"Oh, I gotta go now. Bye, M/n." He said and waved you goodbye while entering the cab and rolled the windows down while he smiled up at you. "Hope to thee you thoon again, M/n." He said one last time before the car drove off to their destination.

And there it goes. Your last chance to say sorry. Lost. Now, you're left with a lingering feeling of pure guilt and regret.

-------

Years after and you have disbanded with your friends, you are still living with the regret that you made from when you were young. You had just turned 18 years old last month and you were even sadder than the last. Instead of wishing gifts and presents from your new found friends and families, you were only wishing for Yeosang to come back so you could just tell him how much you were sorry and hug him so tightly that he wouldn't be able to breathe.

Your sullen look was noticed by your mother, who by the way, already knew your sin towards Yeosang since you had told her about it already. The first time you told her, she was aggravated with you for not being the child she had raised you to be. You told her the purpose of your action, thus the reason why you left your friend group and boy was your mom right to have let you leave them. What once was playful, turned harsh and violent and you didn't want to be a part of that. "What's wrong, honey? Don't you like your gifts?" Your mother asked you in concern.

You shook your head and sighed. "It's not that. I'm just... feeling like a total jerk."

Your mother sighed at you sadly and sat down beside you, patting you lightly on the back. "Honey, what you've done was wrong, but trust me when I say that Yeosang has a kind heart and if you ever tell him you're sorry, he'd forgive you right away."

"Thanks, mom." You said. "But, people change as they grow."

"Not Yeosang."

You rolled your eyes at your mom with a smirk. "Sure mom. Not Yeosang." You shook your head in disbelief. "I just wish you're right, mom."

You stood up from your seat, as your mother did and walked your way out the door taking in the fresh air of the morning during spring season, when all the trees stood straight and tall, the flowers blooming with all their beauty. You smiled at the sight and took the camera that was hanging by your neck, over a sling and took a picture of the ethereal scenery.

You walked past your porch and started heading to the park to get some takes on your camera to post on your Instagram to entertain your million followers. As you did, you were able to pass by an ice cream stall, so you took a quick stop and bought three scoops of (favorite ice cream flavor) with chocolate syrup and sprinkles to top it off.

You were wearing a smile, happily licking your ice cream away. You let your eyes explore the world around you, finding everything interesting. All these years, the place had been making a lot of changes. From buildings to parks and work towers, everything just felt new, as if you never got to spend time, at least once visiting these places throughout you're whole eighteen years of existence.

You finally arrived at the park, everything from your childhood flashing back through your head. The once only a children's playground is now a family park, but rather than being reminded by the joyous memories, you were able to remember the memory that's been haunting you for life.

You couldn't believe yourself that you had the ability to bully such an innocent kid, while you kept blaming yourself for their sudden moving away. If you had the power to turn back time, you'd make things right with Yeosang and be a better friend to him, which you couldn't do because you wanted to be with the 'cool kids' when all they ever did was make a person's life miserable.

You found a bench to seat on and checked through the pictures you took on your camera, laughing at a video of Mingi getting drunk with Yunho, carrying him like he was a puppy. You just missed those two so bad. You never got another chance to meet them, not even once, since they're both now busy with their job and you're still here trying to find a way to pass the college entrance examination.

Whenever they're around, you three would always be loud as fuck and wouldn't care a thing about the world, just as long as you three are happy. Of course, you didn't go too far just to be happy, unlike the friends you once had.

You still had the smile on as you sighed satisfied and rested your camera back down to let it hang on your neck. You looked around you and saw children playing by the fountain, their parents watching with glee at the sight of their children playing happily. You grabbed your camera and took a picture of the wonderful scene.

You took a few more shots, satisfied, you were finally about to leave with not much else to do, when in a distance you heard a gruff voice call out to you. "M/n? Didn't expect to see you here."

You looked behind you to see Mingi who was in his suit holding a case, his golden wrist watch shining brightly under the sun's light. You smirked and scoffed. "I could tell you the same thing." You said all the while crossing your arms over your chest. "Mingi, are you slacking off?"

Mingi rolled his eyes at your teasing. "I take my job seriously, M/n. I'm not the same person who cuts classes."

"Sure. Sure." You mocked him, while he glared at you. "Anyways, how are you and Yunho doing?"

The brown haired male smiled at the thought of the taller male and sighed. "Oh, you know. The usual. Us missing you and wanting to baby you."

This time, it was you who rolled your eyes, the smirk on your face growing wider, if possible. "You both still on that?"

"Well, you're pretty much the reason how we got together. So, it's just a way of us showing our gratitude for having you in our life." Mingi patted your head making you giggle at the simple contact.

"I just hated how you two were so dense with all the signs you both tried so hard to make the other notice. I had to do something, at least." You said.

"But, weren't you the one who told me you had feelings for Yunho?" He teasingly wiggled his brows at you, making you blush profusely.

"Shut up. There are pasts that should be forgotten and it includes that." You huffed, puffing up your cheeks making you look like a little squirrel. "And you promised we would never speak of this ever again." You pulled your brows in disappointment, looking up at him. "All you do is lie."

"Hey, hey. I don't go that far." Mingi defended himself, before pulling you into his arms to hug you. "But, if you're so embarrassed about it, it'll be just our little secret."

"Don't even promise me if you're just going to break them in the end." You deadpanned making Mingi let out a deep voiced chuckle.

"Alright."

Soon, the two of you parted ways, waving your hands to each other to say goodbye. You were making your way back home, when you noticed a moving truck from the house next door. A new neighbor? You walked up to the truck driver to greet her and do some important interview. "Good morning, ma'am. Did someone just move in?"

"Oh, nice to see friendly faces up in here." She chuckled. "It's not everyday you get the luck to meet one." She sighs from her aching back, before exhaling deeply. "Yeah. Rich families, to be exact. Paid me a good tip." She said making you giggle.

"I see." You laughed lightly. "Well, have a great day, ma'am. Hope to see you, again." You waved her goodbye, the woman doing the same to you.

You hummed to a song as you finished your walk, now in front of your porch, your mom tending with her flowers. "Had a good day, honey?"

"Better than great." You replied. "I met Mingi on his way to his job. Thought he was slacking off like he usually does." You chortled, earning a playful slap on the back from your mom.

"Oh, you." She told you before she led you inside and went straight to the kitchen. "Oh, by the way, have you met the new neighbors next door?"

"Nope." You answered, popping the 'p' with a purse of your lips at the end, then sat down on a seat excited to eat the apple pie your mother made while you were away. Once, it got placed down on the table, you hurriedly dug in with your barehands, but before you could, your mother slapped your hand making you pout as she folded her gardening apron.

"That's for the neighbors." She informed you, your mouth opening in understanding while nodding your head. "And I'm letting you do the honors to give this to them, since I believe, the new neighbors' son was a friend of yours."

"A friend? Who?" You asked with a raised brow, but your mother only gave you a wink and carefully hands you the apple pie. With no other choice, you stood up and wore your bunny slippers, too lazy to put your shoes back on, as you headed to the house next door.

You walked up the small stairs that led up to the house's front door and knocked three times. You waited for a reply, but you received nothing, so you waited before knocking on the door, once again just in case they didn't hear you.

Alas, a male's voice was heard, shouting a loud 'coming' to inform you that someone was finally coming for the door. You stood there patiently with a smile, practicing in your head what you will have to say to the male. The door soon flew open and appeared a tall man, who looked freakishly handsome, his features flawless that it's making it hard for you to look away. He was so surreal. Like a character pulled straight out from a comic.

You tried to utter a word, but the lines you prepared in your head was long forgotten. "Uh..." Was the only word you could ever stable.

"Er.. Is that for us?" The male asked you, snapping you from your thoughts and nodding your head, taking notice of the small lisp he had with the letter 's'.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. It's for you and your family." You said. "It's actually a tradition, so we make the new neighbors feel welcome." You added and slowly gave it to the male infront of you, a smile gracing upon his features. Goodness, his smile is so stunning.

He accepted the gift and took it into his hands. You bowed curtly and had decided to make your way back, when the male had caught your attention. "Wait, don't go just yet. Why don't you come inside and have a bite?"

And who were you to turn down an offer from a cute guy? "Uhm, er, sure. Yeah, I'd love to." He lets you walk inside first as he closes the door, a small creak and click coming from it.

"Hol'up, you're not a pedophile, are you?" You suddenly asked out of fear. "There's been a lot of news going on around the world and I've prepared my whole life, so I can fight you."

"No, no. For sure, I'm not." He said as he walked by past you, leading the way to the kitchen to guide you. Once you two made it to the kitchen, the things on the table were cleared, the car keys hiding it in his pockets. "Take a seat. I'll go grab some plates."

"Your mom and dad?" You asked out of the blue, making him chuckle.

"You're so full of questions." He told you. "They're buying groceries."

"Oh." You let out silently, sitting down while fiddling with your fingers since you got nothing else to do.

The male came back with what he intended to get and placed one on your side, then one on his, moving to the kitchen isle to get a knife to cut the pie. "So, how's your life going?"

You thought for while taking a long deep breathe. "Well, I guess you could pretty much say, complicated." You answered and when he didn't speak back to let you keep on talking, you continued. "There's days where I feel so happy, then there are days where I feel miserable." You looked up at him while he cuts the pie. "I just wish... I..." You trailed off once you were able to catch a glimpse of the discoloration of a certain area on the side of his head. Wait a minute. That birthmark...

The moment you were able to figure it out, you jumped up from your seat and widened your eyes in shock. "Yeo.. Yeosang..?"

He let out a small chuckle, before stopping his actions and looking up at you. "So, you saw my tattoo, huh?"

You couldn't believe it. He was back, but different. He's no longer the chubby little boy with snot running down his nose, he's now a total hottie and he's even taller than you already. "O-oh my gosh.. Yeosang.. You look so.. different."

"Well, I wanted to be your friend badly, I decided to change for you, but it was also a self-decision, so don't feel so bad, M/n." Yeosang said. He did change, but his personality is still the same old Yeosang.

"Yeosang, I was your friend. I was just a coward." You sadly said, your guilt even growing bigger. "I'm so sorry."

Yeosang moved to your side and pulled you into his arms, the strong scent of something sweet and musky all at the same time, tickling your nose. His embrace was so warm and caring that you never wanted him to pull away. "M/n, I have forgiven you a long time ago, already. You don't have to say sorry, anymore."

"Just let me do it, Sang. The thought of not being able to see you again keeps plaguing me for days." You admitted. "I kept on blaming myself that I was the reason why you moved away."

"No, M/n, you're not. Please, don't be hard on yourself." He said, caressing your hair. "It was a family business, so we had to move to a place near dad's work place."

You gave him a light punch and stifled a laugh. "You should have told me sooner."

You both got into a comfortable silence, before Yeosang decided to break it. "Well, how about we eat and catch up on each others' lives, yeah?"

"That sounds lovely."

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