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klausinamarink · 1 year ago

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One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 12)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 next: Part 13 | ao3

now the real shenanigans begin..

Jonathan never thought that in a million years he would be in a girl’s bedroom. Let alone a girl like Nancy Wheeler.

Usually the scenario would petrify him. But instead, he’s another anchor. A stable island in the raging sea that can only do provide the barest of comforts.

He’s not really good comforting anyone who’s not Will. He thinks he’s been doing good with Mom, but it hasn’t worked since she started fixating on the lights. He’s not sure he can comfort anybody else again.

All he does is putting his jacket around Nancy’s shoulders and sits close to her on the bed, their arms touching. Her head is down. Her eyes are looking at both something and nothing in the distance. She’s been like that since he had helped pull her and Jeff Endes out of that weird tree portal.

He should say something. But he’s not sure what. He could just mumble about anything really, but it might turn towards Will and Jonathan already shed tears over his baby brother.

To be honest, Jonathan’s not sure if he should even be with Nancy. He’s the one with who took photos of her, Steve Harrington, and his friends that night. He never realized it was even wrong until his camera was pointing at Harrington’s open window where Nancy stood exposed with her bra before his eyes. Reviewing that photo in the film had given Jonathan such vile guilt and disgust at himself that when he eventually printed it in the school’s red room, he tore it into shreds until there was nothing left to piece it back together.

As devastated and upset he was with Harrington breaking his camera, Jonathan is relieved with the karma. He’s not sure if he could hold that camera again without flashing back to that night and feel the shame all over him.

At least he’ll be the only one to carry that to his goddamn grave.

“It was cold.”

He startles at Nancy’s muttered voice. She’s still looking down at the floor. “It was cold. And dark. Darker than tonight. Or any night. It wasn’t…” She trails off, her eyes going more distant.

Jonathan only nods, looking away from her. Her bedside lamp flickers momentarily.

“There was some…” She pauses, pursing her lips, “I don’t know what it was, but it’s definitely not human or even an animal.”

“What did it look like?” Jonathan remembers the photograph with Barb at the pool. “Like, uh, that? The thing in the photo?”

Nancy doesn’t answer. He doesn’t push her. He gets it, he thinks. At least with the part when you’re quiet because you don’t know what to say. And wasn’t that something Lonnie hated about him.

The lamp flickers again. Jonathan’s eyes narrow at it, unsure how appropriate it is to point out a electric issue when someone had just came out of a some tree mirror world.

The bulb blinks several times. Then again in a way that Jonathan can’t help but have his brain read it as Morse code. That’s an H. An I.. oh it’s like saying hi. Now it’s doing it again.. now with a J, O, N-

He abruptly stands up, his heart jumping to his throat. He hears Nancy saying something, but it’s muffled in his ears. Jonathan’s focusing on the lamp, watching its flickering finish spelling his name. He steps closer and kneels down, goosebumps erupting from the back of his neck.

“Jon-” Nancy starts, but Jonathan shushes her. He feels a pressure in his chest and around his back, a vague memory of how Will always hugs him.

The lamp blinks again. It repeats the same message: H-I-J-O-N-A-T-H-A-N.

Jonathan swallows. Tries to breathe normally. He can’t be going as crazy as Mom. It can’t really be-

“W-Will?”

The lamp brightens more than it should be possible. A watery cry comes out of Jonathan’s mouth. He hugs the lamp, uncaring of how he almost tilts the frame off.

It feels just like Will.

Jonathan pulls away, his body shaking from the sudden shock of stomach-turning excitement. “Will, tell me you’re really okay? Are you alone? Where are you really?”

The lamp’s bulb starts losing its glow, before it brightens again and pulses in Morse code.

“What’s he saying?”

Jonathan startles at Nancy’s question. She’s sitting next to him, a pen in hand and just hovering above a notebook. Her eyes are no longer distant. They’re bright with determination and staring at her lamp. It’s almost terrifying to see Nancy switch like that in what must been a heartbeat.

Jonathan gapes at her before snapping back to the focus on hand. “Sorry, Will, can- can you repeat that?”

As the lamp blinks, Jonathan starts smiling, “He’s saying, ‘I’m okay. I’m not alone.’” He frowns at this, a new kind of worrying coming over him. “Wait, Will, who’s with you?”

There’s a pause. And then, much quicker, E-D-D-I-E-M-U-N-S-O-N.

Jonathan chokes on air. “Munson?!” Nancy makes a similar sound in her throat.

The lamp flickers in and out as if it’s laughing at him, followed by W-H-A-T-S-U-P.

—

Steve jumps out of the car, running down the road to the house while ignoring Tommy and Carol’s heckling behind him.

As he starts the climb up to Nancy’s room, he goes over the constructed words in his head. Hey, Nancy, are you doing okay? I know you’re having a rough time with Barb suddenly gone and your little brother’s best friend dying, but I just want to check on you. Even if you tell me you’re okay and don’t want me around, could I just stay with you. We don’t have to do anything, honest!

It’s not foolproof, but it’s the best he could come up with. He doesn’t want to leave Nancy by herself forever. If he abandoned her because he doesn’t understand the weird grief she going through, it would make him the worst boyfriend in the world.

Steve reaches to the window ledge. It’s closed shut. But before he knocks on it, he looks through it just in case Mrs. Wheeler or Mike are in there.

To his relief, it’s only Nancy. At least before he does a double take and also sees Jonathan Byers.

At first, Steve is baffled. Then anger and jealousy rushes through his veins. He grips the ledge so hard that it probably might snap. Just when he thought he’s having a serious relationship with a girl who actually loves him, Nancy turns around and cheats on him with fucking Byers.

Through his red vision, he watches Nancy and Byers sitting close to each other, just around a drawer with her lamp on it like they’re trying to do a fucking dinner date. Nancy’s scribbling notes on her notebook while Byers says something like how he loves her so much more than Steve ever will. The lamp between them flickers rapidly and Byers’ attention is strangely fixated on that instead of Nancy.

Steve blinks, the rage quickly ebbing away to confusion. He leans forward as if it’ll help him to get a more clearer look with what the hell is he looking at? Because Byers looks like he’s been crying while Nancy looks serious, her gaze moving from him to the lamp. Nancy seems to ask a question Steve can’t hear through the glass, to which Byers says something back that somehow makes Nancy’s lamp glow bright twice. Which… okay.

“What the…” Steve mutters, his nose pressing against the window as he leans closer-

And then his foot suddenly slips out under him and Steve falls to the ground.

—

The scream freezes Eddie on the spot. He snaps his head to the window where it came from. Next to him, Will gasps softly and doesn’t breathe.

It sounds human, nothing like the demogorgon. But Eddie would bite his own hand off if it turns out to be the demogorgon, trying to catch their attention again.

“What was that?” Byers asks aloud.

“Let me check.” Wheeler mutters and there’s the faint rustling of her getting up and hurrying to their window. Eddie almost reaches out in vain to stop her, but halts himself because he’s in an alternate dimension, duh.

Wheeler doesn’t say anything as the slide of the window opening echoes the room. And then-

“Steve?!”

Eddie perks up, feeling a grin come over his face. Ohohoh, the King of Hawkins is here? The need to witness (or hear, in this case) a worthy lover’s quarrel is almost overwhelming. Oh god, how he misses his mundane hobbies! He stands up, ushering to Will to just stay put, and skips over to the window where Wheeler and Harrington’s voices are the clearest.

“Oh, hey Nance-”

“What are you doing here?”

If Harrington’s taken back by Wheeler no-nonsense demands, he doesn’t sound like it. “Well, I- ow- I wanted to see you.”

Wheeler sighs, “Steve, I appreciate it, but I don’t want to see you right now.”

“Well-” Harrington gives out a pained hiss. Eddie frowns, wondering if he had hurt himself before thinking why the hell is he concerned for the King. “I swear it’s not like- I mean, we don’t have to do anything! I just want-”

“I don’t want to see you, Steve!”

Eddie flinches from Wheeler’s sudden shout. He almost laughs too because goddamn, when was the last time he saw a girlfriend stood up to Steve Harrington? That is until he looks over at Will and catches his haunted expression. Eddie’s stomach lurches, briefly debating about staying at the window or going back to Will. The latter wins, so Eddie returns to Will’s side, pulling the boy close.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

Will nods slowly, but his shoulders are hunched to his ears and his eyes are almost glossed over. Without a word, Eddie starts rocking him slowly, back and forth.

He glances over to Wheeler’s empty window reservation. Being this far now, he can’t hear what else Harrington says to her. If he’s even speaking. Eddie supposed he can’t blame the King into being in shocked silence. Then he looks the orange glow of the lamp. He bits his lip, wondering if the argument is reliving some bad memories for Will.

Either way, Eddie taps quickly on the warm glow.

“Uh, Nancy?” Byers speaks, somehow quieter than Harrington, “Can you, uh- Munson’s saying-”

“I got it.” Wheeler snaps tensely. Eddie hears her take a quick breath before continuing, “Steve, I really am not in the best mood to see you. I just want to be alone. And I swear we can hang out after I get over this, okay? It’ll be my treat, this time.”

Eddie strains to hear Harrington’s response but catches nothing. A few moments later, Wheeler’s footsteps return. “Steve’s gone now. I’m really sorry about that.”

Eddie ceases his rocking and nudges Will. The boy blinks once, twice, before the haunted expression fades away. He sniffs and rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers so softly it breaks Eddie’s heart. “It just- reminded me of my parents-”

“Hey, no need for an explanation, Little Byers.” Eddie rubs Will’s back in reassuring circles.

Will sniffs again. Then Wheeler’s voice interrupts them with a nervous laugh, “Huh, Will? Munson? You don’t have to make the other lights go crazy.”

What? Eddie furrows his brows, looking down at Will who mirrors his confusion.

Something crashes downstairs.

—

Lucas groans loud and long for the twelfth time, “Oh my god, can’t we just go home already?”

Mike scowls at him, “Then go home.”

“We should all go home!” Lucas waves his arms at the night sky that had fallen nearly an hour ago. After the funeral, they’ve been wandering around trying to follow any sign of their compasses failing in the woods, the junkyard, the edge of the cemetery, back to the woods, and now heading to Mike’s house at Maple Street.

Mike gets what Lucas is coming from. They’re all tired and Mike’s feet are sore. He probably doesn’t want to walk ever again. At least in these Converses.

“Let’s just face it!” Lucas crosses his arms, “There’s not even a gate and the weirdo’s lying to us!”

“El’s not lying!” Mike snaps back. El’s been doing her best to help them find Will and Eddie (whoever that is) even when she gets tired and scared. They’re so

It frustrates him that Lucas wants to make El a bad guy.

“Oh yeah?” Lucas stomps over to El and grabs her left wrist. The dark blue sleeve of her jacket is heavily stained with blood. “Explain this.”

Something pangs inside Mike’s chest. He looks up

El opens and closes her mouth. In his split-second in coming to her defence, Mike shoves Lucas on the chest. He stumbles back, catching himself while glaring at Mike with betrayal.

“Why would you keep being friends with the weirdo instead of looking for Will?” Lucas steps closer. “Aren’t you supposed to be his first best friend? A best friend should keep looking for Will instead of making goo-goo eyes at a weird girl!”

Mike punches him in the face.

This time, Lucas falls back. Dustin gasps and so does Mike. He stares at his clenched first, his knuckles stinging at the impact. The sight and feeling twists his stomach into knots. He remembers the first code of the Party, the one that Will had penned down because he knows too well what happens when someone gets hurt too much. Don’t hurt each other or be a bully like Troy.

Mike didn’t just broke the first code. He also broke Will’s promise

He looks back to Lucas, who picks himself back up with a groan and tenderly rubbing his face. Then he looks at Dustin and El. Dustin looks devastated and El is staring at him with the same haunted eyes whenever she spoke of the bad men.

Mike gasps lightly, turning back to Lucas with burning pressure behind his eyes. His friend glares at him, daring for Mike to say something.

Mike swallows and opens his mouth, hopefully to apologize and not in begging sobs-

“Hey, what’s up with this secret gathering, you little shits?”

The four of them whirl around, shrieking in various volumes of being startled. Now standing before them is Steve Harrington.

Sourness immediately floods over Mike, the heat behind his eyes becoming one of agitation instead. Great, Nancy’s perfect boyfriend of a douchebag is here. Behind him, he hears quick shuffling from Lucas and Dustin, presumably to hide El from Steve’s gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Mike crosses his arms, glaring up at the teen.

Steve frowns down at him, hands on hips. He looks such a mom it’s so gross. “What are you doing out of curfew and outside your house?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Mike shoots back.

This seems to take Steve aback because he doesn’t ask anything else for several seconds. Then his eyes flick over to the others, his eyes squinting. Mike follows it quick enough to see it land on El, who stares up at him with a mix of suspicion and.. wonder?

Oh no.

“Where are your parents?” Steve asks, sounding too concerned for someone sneaking into Nancy’s bedroom for gross kissing.

Mike gets his attention again just to quip, “Where are yours?”

Steve closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and mutters something under his breath. Then he walks right past them, limping occasionally. That gives Mike a sense of satisfaction. Take that, douchebag.

They watch him leave until his back disappears behind the fence. Lucas turns to Mike with a raised eyebrow, “This guy is dating your sister?”

Mike scoffs at Lucas’ excuse of a truce, but then El suddenly goes rigid like a tree.

“El?” Dustin asks. Instead of answering, she grabs Dustin’s walkie from where it hangs on his pant’s waist and scrunches her eyes shut as it shudders to life with static.

“Hey, don’t take that-!” Lucas tries to take the walkie, but Mike steps in front of him. Then a pair of too-familiar voices burst out of the radio.

“-die?”

“Stay where you are.”

Mike gasps. Beside him, Dustin cries, “It’s them! That’s Will and Eddie!”

Mike looks at El, “Where are they? El, where are they?”

Blood drops from her nose as she keeps her eyes shut. But her voice is quiet as she responds, “Upstairs. Here.”

Mike feels his heart leaping out of his chest.

On the radio, there’s a sudden slam of the door, followed by Eddie’s panicked screaming, “Get your bags! Go through the window! Now!”

A warped animalistic growl shudders out of the walkie.

El gasps aloud, jerking her head back. The porch lights start flickering.

Mike can’t take it anymore. He sprints around the house to the back door. He ignores Dustin’s shout of his name and gets inside. But he pauses just a bit at the sight of every lightbulb in the house malfunctioning, flashing in varying intensity. It hurts his eyes.

“Will!” Mike calls out, hurrying up the stairs. He hears his mom calling him urgently but he ignores her. El said Will was upstairs. He must be in Mike’s room, right?

He bursts into his room. Even the lights here are going crazy. But overall it’s empty.

“Will? Eddie?” Mike yells, searching under his bed. On his bed. Inside his closet. Next to the drawers. “Will! Where are you?!”

—

The door is already splintering. Will knows that the drawer holding it shut will do enough to hold the demogorgon back.

“Just go, Will!” Eddie shouts at him over the noise. He’s pointing the spear at the door. Will’s spear had already been thrown out the window.

Will peeks his head out. There’s one slated roof just below the window so he wouldn’t hurt himself if he fell to the ground.

“I’m not leaving-!” He says, but Eddie is already shoving him further.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

Will pulls himself out, his shoulders hitting the roof first. And then he slides down the slates. He tries to clamp his feet against the roof’s drainage at the last second to stop, but then he’s falling through air for a second.

He lands on the ground with an oof. Above him, he hears a deafening smashing of wood followed by the awful demogorgon’s growling.

“Eddie!” Will calls up, his spear ready.

But then he hears Eddie’s screams above the demogorgon’s and more crashing sounds.

“Eddie!”

Will runs around to reach the front door. But when his hand closes around the doorknob to open it, the door barely openes an inch. Will tries again, slamming his bruising shoulders against it. But there’s something heavy on the other side and it isn’t budging.

“Damn it!” Will curses. He runs back around, already stumbling on his feet with tears blinding him. Here he is, running back to danger when he should be fleeing. But if Will did that, then Eddie would be-

Eddie could be already-

Will trips again, this time landing on the ground. The grass feels cold and scrapes his chin instead of brushing it like normal grass. It almost destroys him into a mess of sobs. But with some stroke of luck, Will looks over and sees a small window perching right on top of the ground.

The basement.

Will gets up, using the broomstick handle of his spear to hit repeatedly against the glass. Through his tears, he almost misses the red glow inside.

—

Lucas runs down to the basement. Because if Mike is going to run around his house and not use his brain, then he should figure out that the weirdo is tricking him and that Will should be at the basement where they played their D&D and held countless sleepovers.

He stops at the last step, Dustin almost bumping him off from behind. “Ow, dude, what-?” Dustin starts before cutting himself off. Without looking at him, Lucas knows why.

There’s something red and glowing on the wall, just a couple feet away from the stairs.

“Woah…” Lucas mouths. It’s super memorizing to look at, but the last time Lukiel Bass the Ranger appeared close to a similar gate, a black dragon’s hand came out and pulled him in for lunch.

“What is that?” Dustin asks in wonder. Lucas takes his wrist rocket and the largest rock of his possession, aiming it at the-

“The gate!” He realizes, whirling to Dustin. It takes him a second before Dustin gets out the compass. They both huddle close, watching in amazement as the needle starts spinning. Just like what Mr. Clark had said would happen.

“Holy shit, we found it!” Dustin exclaims. Lucas can’t help but give a little victory screech of his own. They stumble towards the gate with their hands out. Then they immediately pull back.

“Ewww!” Lucas starts wiping the slime off on his jacket. Not only it’s gross but it feels very cold to the touch. Kinda like raw egg yolks.

“Awesome…” Dustins says in awe, staring at his slime-covered hands. He almost looks like he wants to eat it.

Lucas wrinkles his nose and smacks his arm, “Dude, clean that off!”

Something moves behind the gate. It’s too red and thick to see clearly, but Lucas catches a dark shape tumbling into his sight. He starts to panic, backing away with his wrist rocket ready as the shape slowly comes closer.

“Lucas?”

He drops his wrist rocket, rock and all.

He shares a wide-eyed, jaw-opened look with Dustin, who has more bug-out eyes.

“Will?!”

A pair of hands and a face press against the gate. Lucas’ heart leaps to his mouth. It is Will.

He and Dustin rush forward again, not caring about the slime back on their hands, each one landing on the same spot as Will’s hands. Will’s face breaks into full of joy.

“Holy shit, man, we thought you were dead!” Dustin yells.

“We’re gonna get you out of here! Mike’s going crazy around his house right now!” Lucas shouts even louder. Crap, they have to get Mike here too. But Will’s right there-

“Wait, hang on, hang on!” Dustin dips away for a second before he comes back with a wooden chair hoisted over him. “I got a chair!” Lucas falls his butt on the steps, watching Will pull away just as Dustin slams the chair into the gate. There’s some squishing sound that makes the gate shudder, but it stays solid. “Ah, shit! That was my best throw!”

“I got a spear! That’ll work!” Will cries out to them. Lucas and Dustin stare at each other. Will has a spear? Badass.

But then something growls from the top of the stairs.

Lucas whirls around, his panic spiking up to a hundred. But there’s nothing up there, just the view of the flickering hallway lights.

“What was that?” Dustin asks, his lip quivering.

“Run.” Will sounds more quiet. When Lucas stands up again to peer at him, Will’s slowly backing away, staring at something above at his side. “Get away as far as you can.”

“Will-” Lucas gets cut off by another growl, more closer this time. He feels Dustin wrapping his arms around him, to which Lucas does the same without protest. They move away from the gate, watching with shared anxiety as Will points his spear (that’s so cool) to where the growling gets louder. Will starts fumbling with a hand, pulling something else out that Lucas can’t make out.

Then a massive thing stalks past the gate, blocking his view of Will.

Lucas and Dustin scream, but neither of them are as loud as the monster’s own screams. It sounds like The Thing but so much worse.

Then, just as the monster - the demogorgon, it has to be the one El talked about - starts making its way to where Will fled, a bright light suddenly hits it on the head. It emits another screech and scrambles away.

“Come and get me!” Lucas watches in amazement as Will runs past the demogorgon, carrying a freaking torch in his hand. Will pauses at the gate just to look at Lucas and cry out, “Just go! I’ll be back!”

Then Will disappears. The demogorgon’s shadow blurs past with its terrible screaming.

Lucas’ legs are shaking so hard that he almost collapses. Dustin holds him tighter, sounding close to tears.

And then the gate starts to shrink.

“Shit!” Lucas breaks away from Dustin, grabbing the chair. He whacks it against the gate. It makes the same sound as before, but more subdued. It doesn’t even slow down.

“I got another chair!” Dustin’s back at his side. Together, they hit the gate, trying to break it open even though they hit more of the wooden walls than the glowing red slime.

Please, please, please. Lucas prays under the rapidly pulsing lights.

—

Once he reaches the top of the stairs, Will throws the torch and cries out, “Fireball!” The demogorgon catches it by the mouth, only to drop it with a painful shriek as the torch manages to burn it.

Will pulls out another torch, lights the oiled cloth with the Zippo underneath it, and brandishes the new burst of flames in front of him. He’s on his third so he better not waste it.

Will swings it side to side, the heat blazing past him. Out of the corner of his eye, the vines on the walls and ground subtly shrink back.

The demogorgon stands before him, growling. If it can open its face again, then maybe Will can aim it just right-

A claw shoots forwards and grabs him just around the neck, shoving him against the wall. Will instinctively grabs its wrist and lifts his torch up towards the demogorgon’s face. It snarls, cowering away from the flames, but it refuses to let go.

It lifts him up higher until Will’s head bumps against the ceiling. He kicks his legs, waves his torch, howls like he’s a werewolf. Anything to keep the demogorgon from closing in from the arm’s length and killing him.

The demogorgon makes a clicking noise like it’s laughing at him. Its claws start to pierce through Will’s vest-

There’s a loud human war cry as something shoves right into the demogorgon’s side. It screeches and loses its grip on Will. He falls back to the ground, yelping at the impact when he lands on his knees and hits his chin. Tears squeeze out from the corner of his eyes in response. He probably bites his tongue by accident.

There’s crashing noises in the kitchen.

Will looks up, blinking rapidly to fight off the black spots in his vision. The torch is on the ground, still ablaze. His heart leaps to his throat when he sees-

“Eddie!”

Clutching his spear in both hands, Eddie faces the demogorgon where it cowers on the other side. His face is twisted to such a feral expression that Will can’t tell if he’s mad at him again or at the demogorgon.

The demogorgon hisses and it stands up, cracking its claws. Its mouth opens up and Will is about to call out for Eddie to duck-

Eddie gives out another cry and stabs the spear right into the demogorgon’s mouth.

The demogorgon goes stock-still and makes a wretched choking sound. Eddie twists the spear deeper through sprays of dark blood until the knife disappears all the way down its throat.

“EAT METAL, YOU SON OF A BITCHHHHH!” Eddie screams.

Will picks up the torch, more than ready to burn the monster, when the demogorgon starts digging its claws down its neck. It gurgles like a draining bathtub. Then it starts flailing wildly. One of its arms hits Eddie on the side, sending back him across the floor.

Will watches in awed terror as the demogorgon violently thrashes around, slamming its head on the counter, the table, the wall, any hard surface. The broomstick of the spear snaps, but it only makes the demogorgon’s movement more erratic.

“Ted, for the love of god, get the generator!”

“Will, are you there?!”

“Michael-!”

The demogorgon retches out a waterlogged cry as it hits against the wall, smearing its blood on it. Then it throws itself right through the glass sliding doors, sending broken shards everywhere. And then all is silent.

Will hurries over, careful of his bruised knees and the glass. He looks down at the yard where the blood trail stains the dead grass, heading right into the trees. He holds his breath, waiting for the terrible cries to start again.

He only hears the commotion in the Wheeler house.

“Jesus Christ-”

“The lights are out?”

“Mom, Dad! Are you okay?”

“Holy cow, what just happened?!”

“WILL!”

“Mike, for god’s sake, quiet down and tell your friends to go home! Your little sister’s scared!”

“Holy cow…” Will whispers. He looks back at the kitchen, feeling his relief doubling in size as he sees Eddie propping himself up on the counter. Eddie winces before he catches Will’s gaze and gives him a wide, toothy grin.

“Has the demogorgon… been vanquished?” He asks in between breaths.

Will looks at the direction where the demogorgon disappeared and back at Eddie, nodding vigorously. He throws his arms up in the air, almost letting his torch slip. “We did it!”

“Hell yeah we did!” Eddie claps his hands together excitedly. “Holy shit, Will, you-”

When Eddie steps forward towards him, he suddenly cuts off, his face turning white. Then his leg buckles underneath him and he drops to the floor.

The excitement in Will’s chest turns cold. “Eddie!”

He stumbles forward, falling to his knees once he’s next to Eddie. The older boy is on his side, curling in himself and squeezing his eyes shut. Beads of sweat stick his bangs to his forehead.

“Fffffuck…” Eddie hisses through clenched teeth. Will is about to ask what’s wrong when his eyes trail down and his stomach turns.

His leg-

There’s so much blood. It stains through the rips of Eddie’s jeans, the tears on his skin large enough that Will can see more blood spurting out. There’s a few little chunks of muscles hanging out with little strings. Further down, Eddie’s ankle looks worse with the distorted ripples of puncture marks, stripping the flesh like he stepped through an old lawnmower.

His hand limply but urgently claps on Will’s chest. “H-Hey, Little Byers, Will. Look at me, Will, Will-”

Eddie cuts himself off with a low pained moan. Will looks away and back at Eddie, swallowing down his nausea. In between rapid breaths, Eddie speaks again, “I need- fuck! Tell me we have bandages…”

Will scrambles his backpack off him, opening it so fast it might’ve broke the zipper. His shaking hands tears through the tin cans and his books until he feels the soft gauze. When he pulls it out, it’s so small that it unrolls to almost four inches.

“Just this much...” Will says shakily. Eddie shudders out a horrible whine, clenching his hand to a fist and hitting it against the ground. And then Will remembers the portal.

“I’m gonna be right back!” Will hurriedly says, already rushing down to the basement. Maybe if he can get Lucas and Dustin for help-

All of the hope that had bloomed in his chest shrinks and withers away once he stumbles off the last step and turns to the wall.

The portal is gone. Not even a faded outline to prove that he had finally spoken to his best friends face to face.

—

Steve, Tommy, and Carol stare in bewildered silence at the Wheeler house, now the only house in the neighbourhood in a total blackout.

After a while, Carol says quietly, “What. The. Fuck?”

The three of them (along with a few other bemused neighbours) had been so captivated by the show of flashing lights that none of them had even noticed a girl in a pink dress running to the trees behind the house.

Tag list: @unclewaynemunson @hellion-child @steves-strapcollection @sidekick-hero @penny00dreadful @hbyrde36 @mmmmwaffles94 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringorinthopher @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

#eddie and will in the upside down au #eddie munson #will byers #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #el hopper #stranger things #klaus writes

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millenianthemums · 10 months ago

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Hopes and fears for legends z-a?

i feel like we still don’t know enough about it for me to have any real expectations… at this point i just really hope it’s good, fun to play, and not produced through worker abuse.

longer thought under the cut though, in case you want more rambling from me.

there’s the usual concerns i have with every new pokemon game. i hope they have new, good designs for pokemon, i hope they keep regional forms and bring back megas, i hope the region is fun to explore and the story is cool and compelling, etc. and also, as a sequel to PLA, i hope they keep the stuff that made that game so fun. maybe it’ll be totally different from PLA, it might not be a wilderness exploration thing at all. it might be set in the distant future instead of the past, or have some other wild story going on that gives it a totally unique vibe. but they wouldn’t have to change much of anything gameplay-wise and i’d still be happy tbh.

also some new pokemon wishes:

-Mega Flygon

-Regional Aipom and Ambipom (or a mega. or something. anything. something cool for aipom please)

-A fire/fairy pokemon

-A mantis shrimp pokemon that’s just really weird and wild looking like real mantis shrimps

i’d like them to make the controls easier to understand though? for some reason the control scheme for legends arceus ALWAYS throws me off so much, it’s not completely different from regular pokemon but there are some major differences that have really messed me up a few times. just moving around in the game was kinda stressful for me. but at the same time i don’t want them to lessen the difficulty of the game. in PLA, accidentally ending up in an encounter you can’t possibly survive and having to haul ass to get away is so fun. even when my clumsy autistic hands simply could not guide me out of the area, it was so exciting and cool to feel real FEAR in a pokemon game for the first time. so i hope they don’t dumb it down too much.

and one other thing. i really hope the city design thing isn’t the main focus. i like the idea of the franchise trying new gameplay directions, but i hope the game’s not just a pokemon-branded Sim Cities knockoff.

#pokemon #milleniasks #long post #thanks for the ask!

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mymoodwriting · 1 year ago

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Hiya this isn't rly a request or anything just a little random ask you can ignore if you want

Idk if you've heard about the new skz record with han and lee know because minsung shippers are going absolutely crazy saying it's a conformation on minsung. While most stays are saying their just friends and platonic soulmates the shippers are going bat shit crazy saying how those stays are jealous and lying to themselves.

I've been seeing a lot of stays who agree han and minho are dating. And I mean a surprising lot.

So yea I just wanted to know ur own opinion on this and dw you can ignore this if you want I don't mind. So yea I hope your having a lovely and ty if you did reply to my ask.

Oh this is great, I've always wanted to engage more with my readers on my stories and things kinda just going on in the kpop world. I do follow many artists although I'm shy and not super engaged within the big fandom of things. Although it's interesting to me you bring up the minsung shippers and the new song.

To me I think it's a typical song about love, either romantic or platonic since it can go either way. I'm sure 3racha made this song with a specific meaning in mind, but as it goes with art, once it's out into the world it is open to interpretation. We can still ask the creator what meaning they put into it without detracting from the meaning others found in it.

Now, obviously the choice of having minsung sing this song will get shippers excited, but I think the duo choice comes from a different reason. It seems that as of late, to me at least, Lee Know hasn't been getting much love or attention from Stays, or the company. And I know Han hasn't had it easy either. I could be wrong but it seems like Lee Know specifically has been very quiet and distant, and not getting lines or being center despite his amazing talent. These SKZ-Record songs to me come off as means to give the boys a spot light and a chance to show their talents on their own terms instead of doing as the company wants them to do.

A lot of these songs don't end up on official albums, and some baby Stays or casual Stays might not even know they exist. Only recently with the SKZ-Replay compilation album did a lot of these songs come to the forefront, but physical copies were only limited to being a goodie for the SKZ 3rd membership kit. Meaning the compilation album and songs on it weren't really promoted. I don't even think those songs get played at concerts.

Anyway, I'm sorry I rambled. Back to your main point. I don't necessarily think this song is minsung confessing their feelings to each other and confirming they're dating, cause honestly there is no way for us to know for certain unless they straight up say it. We can speculate all we want and hope for it, but unless they say it we are left in limbo. Truth is the industry is not there yet in accepting idols who are openly queer. It's homophobia but also kinda goes against the current foundations of the kpop industry. Most idols are not allowed to date cause they are advertised to us as our boyfriends/girlfriends. We all know the kind of backlash idols get for being caught dating, or just hearing rumors about it. Not to mention it's just as bad if a rumor floats around about a certain idol being queer.

So honestly, if they are dating, good for them, I support them and love them all the same. If they're just really great friends and platonic soulmates and super comfortable with each other I'm happy they have each other as support. We can really only speculate if this song is a confession/confirmation, but as long as Stays aren't being toxic and shitty to one another and SKZ over it I see no harm in believing they are a real couple. Clearly though there does seem to be a problem with it, so I kinda hope this doesn't get blown up to the point SKZ and minsung and the company have to make a statement refuting all this, and possibly limiting the interactions between minsung going forward, which can greatly mess with their own dynamic and irl friendship. These kinda of things have happened before within the kpop world and I don't wanna see that happen here. Overall, it's a wonderful song, and their vocals go well together, and it's awesome they gave us something so beautiful.

TLDR; I'm not certain the new minsung single is a confession/confirmation on their relationship status, but I think it's more of a song meant to give Lee Know a chance to show off, and perhaps practice, his vocals outside of the group. And Han is there as his support, and also working on his own vocals, and the song also gives them both a great chance to hang out and make some music together.

Thanks for the ask though, I loved it, and I hope you're having a wonderful day too!

#ask #cloudieclair

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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the martyrdom of st. valentine (and other romantic stories) || dark!Bucky & dark!(stepbrother?)Steve x reader

summary: you wanted to surprise your boyfriend on valentine's day, but he and your foster brother have a surprise of their own.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (heavy dubcon to the point of pretty much noncon), kinda stepcest (as per summary, steve is the reader's foster brother), bondage, a lil touch of degradation

2/14 to-do list

get waxed

get Steve out of the apartment

pick up chocolate-covered strawberries from bakery on 6th

blindfold and handcuff myself to the bed

be waiting for Bucky naked when he gets here

You sighed as you looked down at the paper, crossing the first and third items off the list. The second was going to be a bit harder, unfortunately; your foster brother had a habit of hanging around and cramping your style as much as he could manage. He felt like a real brother in that way… okay, maybe he felt like a real brother in most ways, a consequence of knowing him for most of your life, but he was definitely not your real brother. You remembered that each time you caught yourself staring too long when he was shirtless, or returning from the gym all veiny and glistening with sweat.

But you also remembered that he was still the closest thing to a real brother you'd ever had, and you scolded yourself internally for ever acting differently.

It didn’t matter now— you had Bucky, and he was the most amazing guy you’d ever met. No, Steve was definitely not happy that introducing his best friend to his sister led to a relationship forming, but he couldn’t stop either of you in spite of his efforts to keep you apart.

Bucky had once expressed his suspicions that it was at least in part due to jealousy, if subliminal. But you denied it unilaterally— he’s basically my brother, you told him, though it was more of a reminder to yourself than anything.

Perverted concerns about Steve’s motivations aside, Bucky was a great guy. A bit of a sweet-talker for sure, and not exactly known for his ability to keep a long-term, serious relationship, but he was adamant that you had changed that and for once you were beginning to believe him. You’d said from the beginning that you didn’t need this to be the proverbial ‘it’ for either of you but that you didn’t do hook-ups— especially with your brother’s friends, and extra especially with your brother’s closest and longest friend. It only took a brief speech and two shots to convince you, now six months later and you were still going strong.

Days like this made you so happy you’d given in to his advances. But they also made you regret giving in to Steve’s idea to be roommates in college.

“Stevie!” you yelped as he walked in, stuffing the to-do list into your backpocket. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“I doubt that,” he scoffed. “It’s Valentine’s Day, I bet you want to see Bucky. He’s coming over, right? And you want me to fuck off so my best friend can go to town on my sister?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “I wanted to see you because I have a gift for you.”

“... you do?” His eyebrow raised and you hoped your smirk looked just as smug as it felt.

“So do you want your gift or do you want to be an asshole?”

“Do I have to pick just one?” he joked.

“Just come over here,” you instructed, waving him closer. He seemed hesitant, but eventually did as you’d asked. From your other back pocket you pulled out two tickets.

“Rangers, center ice,” you beamed. “For you and a date.”

“And this isn’t just an excuse to get me out of the house?”

“No, it’s a thank you for being such a great brother.”

“So, if I wanted to take Bucky…” he trailed off, already calling your bluff as you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, that’s just sad. There’s no reason you can’t find a girl to take— god knows Bucky hasn’t spent a Valentine’s Day alone since the fucking eighth grade. And you’re just as cute as he is!”

“Well, if you could alert the rest of the female population to that, that would be great,” he scoffed, “but until then I’ll take the tickets,” he decided as he took them from your hand. “A Rangers game might be the only thing distracting enough to keep me from thinking about what you and Buck are gonna do while I’m gone.”

You were hoping for a little more enthusiasm considering how much the tickets had cost you, but at least he was going to go and give you the apartment to yourself for the evening. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

After stripping and sprinkling rose petals on the comforter, you'd actually found a YouTube tutorial on how to blindfold and handcuff oneself, and it was a little odd that enough people had this problem to merit its existence but it was still very helpful: turns out the secret is to blindfold yourself first but keep it folded up with one eye able to see until you do the handcuffs, then use your arm to slide the blindfold down into place.

It was tricky, and a little bit extra awkward while naked, but you figured it out and smiled proudly to yourself as you completed your last task on your to-do list.

Now, for likely the most difficult task of all: waiting in darkness and silence for Bucky to arrive.

Apparently it is, in fact, possible to be slightly bored yet titillated. The thought of what Bucky would do to you when he got here was exciting, but it only made you crave his presence more which enhanced your quiet loneliness. It wasn't like you could read a book or listen to music to kill the time, so you settled for humming to yourself as you waited.

Don't go changing, to try and please me, something something before, hmmm

I just want someone that I can talk to, I want you just the way you are...

But that grew tiresome quickly and you resorted instead to planning exacty how angry you would be if Bucky was late when you were waiting for him in such a compromising and inconvenient state. For a moment you imagined he'd really gone to the Rangers game with Steve and became briefly livid over a hypothetical situation.

The crackling roar of Bucky's motorcycle outside was distant but undeniable, making you smile in anticipation. You worried for a moment that you might have locked the top lock of the front door by instinct, but thankfully Bucky and to make it inside alright since next thing you knew, your bedroom door was opening.

The rattle of the doorknob made your breath catch; you opened your legs slowly in time with the quiet creak of the hinges. “I’ve been waiting for you…” you purred.

“Hi there, babydoll,” Bucky’s voice answered back huskily.

The heavy steps of his boots made it clear he hadn't taken his shoes off at the door, a habit that had driven you crazy since he was your annoying brother's also-annoying best friend. Was this the real reason he'd chained you up, so he could freely irritate you? What next, was he gonna put a cold drink on your nightstand without a coaster?

"You really went all out for me, sweetheart," he noticed, his voice closer than you'd expected; it was fun to not know exactly where he would be, it made you squirm under the gaze you couldn't see but could somehow feel.

How weight joining yours on the bed was a good sign to his location though, along with his hands sliding up your legs.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he cooed pridefully as he dove in suddenly and licked a thick stripe through your folds.

“Fuck,” you shivered, tugging on your handcuffs unintentionally.

“Feel good, babygirl?” he pressed, chuckling when you nodded. “You want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

He didn’t get back to it right away, the weight on the bed shifting slightly, and it made you fear that he planned to make you beg more before eating you out— but finally his lips returned to you as his tongue explored your sex.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your back arching of its own volition. It was a little different than he normally did this— less confident and measured, more cautious yet hungry. Typically he teased you a lot more, knowing exactly the spots that drove you wild and intentionally leaving them understimulated until you begged him to let you come, but now as soon as he found them he was targeting them— perhaps a rare show of mercy from the guy who was normally happy to leave you on edge for hours.

You could feel his moans vibrating into you when he slid his tongue inside and against your channel; it instantly made your back arch as the handcuffs quietly clinked above your head.

He stopped just a little too soon, pulling your hips up until the back of your legs were resting on the front of his. Being manhandled by him turned you on enough to make you bite your lip.

"Fuck, put your cock in me, wanna feel you," you moaned your plea as you heard the rustling of clothes; your mouth watered when you imagined Bucky stripping, with that insane body of his.

His thick head glided over your entrance and you were preparing to beg some more when he suddenly pushed in, giving you what you wanted so much faster than normal. Not that you were complaining!

He was also much quieter than normal, which you were actually willing to complain about but didn't.

"Oh god," you groaned at the feeling of him stretching you open, gasping when his cock brushed right over your spot— it made your body jolt each time he pulled back and hit it again.

"Feels good, huh?" Bucky asked and you nodded happily.

"So good," you whimpered.

"I wasn't asking you."

Before you could question it, Bucky’s calloused fingers pulled up your blindfold— but it was Steve’s face above you, Steve’s body on top of yours… and, much to your horror, Steve’s cock inside you.

“What the fuck?!” you yelped, trying to squirm away as you tugged at the cuffs but failing completely.

“Fuck,” Steve winced, “you get really tight when you struggle like that.”

“Don’t act so surprised, babygirl,” Bucky cooed playfully as you turned to stare at his devilish grin. “You wanted this… you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself. And Stevie here always wanted this, too, and aren’t you so glad he told me?”

You shuddered as Steve continued thrusting, pushing his cock so deep it made you feel a little nauseous. "Steve, you've gotta stop," you begged. "If you love me, you'll stop."

"That's the thing: I love you too much to stop."

He moved faster, paying no mind to your confused whimpers, holding your hips tight as his head fell back slightly which brandished his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple.

"There's no point in pretending," Bucky reminded you coldly, watching the whole thing with crossed arms and an expression that almost looked… bemused? "You already showed us how much you love it, so don't waste your time acting so disgusted now."

You regretted more than anything saying that it felt good, literally asking him to fuck you before you really understood what you were asking for: you thought it was Bucky, yes, but that didn't mean it was an act. It did feel good, and that must've been obvious to everyone since you were so wet already. You could hear it each time he pushed all the way in, that telltale squelching noise that was somehow disgusting and hot all at once.

Steve wasn't so quiet now that he didn't have to be. "God, you feel so good," he whispered, grabbing the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up. It forced his cock even deeper and you choked on your own suppressed moan.

You heard Bucky opening his belt, and turned your head to see him pull out and stroke his cock while he watched Steve fuck you. It was hard to imagine what he was getting out of this; he never seemed like the sharing type, if anything he sometimes became too possessive. But clearly there was a lot about him and Steve that you didn't understand.

"Play with her tits," Bucky instructed, voice a bit deeper as he pleasured himself, "makes her come so fast."

Steve dropped your legs to rest on his shoulders so his hands were free to grope your chest, thick fingers twisting and tugging your nipples. Annoyingly, Bucky knew his way around your body well by now, and so it was difficult to pretend that Steve's touches weren't sending shocks of pleasure right down your spine and to your core.

You had been biting on your lip so hard to stay quiet that you feared you would break the skin, until Bucky leaned down and gave you a little slap on the cheek— not very hard, but enough to make you gasp which in turn released the moan you'd been holding back.

"There it is, honey, don't be quiet for my benefit," Bucky encouraged. "It's okay to like it, I'm not gonna be jealous."

As if that was your concern; angering your boyfriend by enjoying being fucked by your foster brother.

"You really overestimate my interest in your— fuck— in your feelings," you panted as you glared up at Bucky where he was grinning down at you with a look that almost indicated pride.

"You're gonna come, aren't you?" he asked, ignoring your resistance entirely. Whatever chance you had at pretending he was wrong was lost when, just for a moment, your eyes widened at his question. "Yeah, thought so. I can tell by that dumb look on your face. I'm close too, babydoll, betcha wanna taste it…"

His free hand roughly held your jaw open as he stroked himself desperately, his weak groan coinciding with the moment you felt his hot seed spray into your open mouth, his taste familiar despite the entirely surreal circumstances.

It was purely coincidence that you came in that moment, your walls bearing down on Steve while you tried to stay silent so you wouldn't choke on Bucky's spend.

"Fuck, that's it, gonna fill this pretty mouth— god yes, you'd better swallow it all," he sighed as come painted your tongue and the inside of your cheek. Maybe it was more than normal or maybe it was just that he was tightening his hand around the head of his cock to get every drop in your mouth, but either way it was enough to give you quite a mouthful to swallow, which you did without much question due to force of habit.

"M’close too," Steve warned as Bucky stepped back, "I'm gonna come."

“No, Steve, not inside,” you whimpered, hearing the way your voice had weakened after your orgasm, “you can’t…”

“I can,” he disagreed, “Bucky said so.”

Once again, Bucky's will was more important than your own, and your desperate pulling at the handcuffs was only another reminder of the way you'd guided yourself into his trap.

"Don't," you stammered one more time, but it was hard to focus when he was filling you exactly how you needed, when his thick hands gripping your waist felt just as perfect as you'd secretly imagined so many times…

Denial is a powerful drug, but so is two orgasms in a row.

"Fuck!" you yelped as you felt a gush of warmth drip from your entrance, even further wetness spurring on Steve's fast and brutal thrusts into you.

"Knew you'd love it," Steve mumbled, growling slightly as he slammed into you. "Knew you'd take it so well, make a pretty mess all over my cock— fuck I can't wait anymore, gotta fill you up, oh my god... gotta give you my load, honey, you want it?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "Steve, yes, come in me…"

He didn't need much more encouragement than that, groaning loudly as you felt his cock flex and pulse against your walls, his release overwhelmingly hot inside you.

You sighed in time with Steve as he finally stilled, and it was hard to know where to look when Steve and Bucky were both staring down at you. “What happens now?” you found yourself asking, not so much a literal question about the next task but more about what the three of you were going to do with all the unfortunate truths that had come to light in less than half an hour.

“What happens now is I take my turn,” Bucky informed you sternly, pushing Steve aside. “Did you really think I wasn’t gonna fuck my girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?”

#dark!stucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes smut #dark!steve rogers smut

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 4 years ago

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The Road Less Travelled (Legolas x Reader) (Part 2)

A/N: A continuation of my Fellowship x Pregnant! Reader story, in which you ended up choosing Legolas to help raise your unplanned child. Part 2 can be read without reading part 1 first.

Synopsis: Life with Legolas, your two daughters and your treehouse is perfect, until one night, parental instincts go on ignored, and things go deeply awry.

Warnings: I watched The Conjuring before bed tonight and was unfortunately inspired. Enjoy. Also Legolas is a cute adoptive father send tweet.

Pairings: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 2610

Rain fell heavily outside, though yourself and your family did not feel said rain. Buried below glorious crowns of leaves, your treehouse was situated securely.

Built into the thick trunk of an Ithilien tree by Legolas’ own bare hands, your treehouse was set with two bedrooms, and resembled an elevated cottage more than anything else. Around the length of the cosy home, a rounded balcony lay.

Leading down from said balcony was an old rope your children used to climb to and from home. One broken ankle later from your youngest twin, however, and a winding set of stairs was built into the trunk below, too — leading up to your balcony.

And indeed, “twins” was right.

Learning on the Fellowship’s journey that you were pregnant with that no-good Brander’s child was shocking enough, let alone discovering at the actual birth that said little baby’s embryo had split into two, providing you with a set of beautiful daughters.

Fortunately, they were nothing alike their biological father in spirit — possessing kind hearts and noble souls instead. Even more fortunately, they garnered your looks. Regarding their appearances, although twins, they each held distinctive differences.

Perhaps the luckiest of all, your old Fellowship colleague, now turned husband, seemed to have the most influence on both Ivorwen and Tobrien — better known simply as “Ivy” and “Toby”.

Rabbit stew, a recipe sent from your Shire friends, was made for dinner that night, as the four of you sat around a wooden table and ate merrily, enjoying the lively atmosphere the warm candles provided.

“There is still hair on the meat!” Ivy insisted, though, the grin on her 9-year-old cheeks gave away her agenda.

“There is not!” Legolas urged back, sharing her grin.

You and Toby laughed brightly, passing a plate of rolls between one another. This argument had been going on since before any of you had even sat down.

Ivy made a show of stabbing a chunk of rabbit and holding it up. “Yes, there is! See? There’s hair on it! You’re a horrible cook after all!”

Legolas made a show of squinting his eyes and leaning across the table to inspect the chunk of rabbit, before settling back into his chair and pressing on.

“That’s most likely your own hair! How many times have I encouraged you to learn my version of braiding?” Legolas pointed out, gesturing to his own locks.

Your eyes crinkled with amusement and love, as you watched the dad and daughter exchange teasing words, even if none of those words were actually “dad”, “father” or even “ada”.

“You’re impossible, Varno,” Ivy shook her head, still smiling nonetheless. “Just admit your talent lies in hunting and not in cooking.”

“I resent that accusation,” Legolas playfully warned, pointing a fork at Ivy.

“Varno” was a name both you and Legolas had decided upon. “Ada” reminded him too much of his own father, and “uncle” simply felt too misplaced.

So, instead, “Varno” was decided upon — meaning “protector” in Legolas’ own language, which is exactly what he had been for you, ever since that fateful night by the campfire you’d learnt of your predicament.

Although many of your friends and colleagues that evening offered you their hand in marriage, you had felt a maternal stirring within you. Something told you to choose the best of the best for your unborn offspring, and who better than a steadfast elf to keep you safe?

You had been watching Legolas one night, a few evenings after learning of the life growing within you, with your hand over your stomach.

Although you still didn’t quite have the full comprehension of knowledge behind this, you truly believed, till this day, that both Ivy and Toby told you to “choose that one—he’s our dad”.

Resolute in your mind, you approached Legolas and accepted his offer of marriage. He was ecstatic and gleeful, and then a little boastful to the other suitors. Cockiness befell him for a short while, until your stomach grew and a paternal kick changed him.

He matured overnight and grew from a young archer into an awaiting father, despite the girls not being his. That never slowed him, though—he was a better father to Ivy and Toby than some real dads were to their own children.

He soon married you after the war, and the rest was history.

After you had to break Legolas and Ivy’s “fight” up with a laugh and a motherly warning, the table was cleared.

“All right, dishes to the kitchen, and then teeth,” Legolas announced, quirking a brow in Ivy’s direction as she walked past.

Legolas mouthed to her that their fight wasn’t over, and Ivy made a show of raising her brows once in challenge.

“She gets that from Gimli, I know it. Don’t ask me how,” Legolas whispered to you, as you too walked by.

“Intrusive visits and loud Yules,” you joked, grinning over your shoulder at your best friend.

Grimacing, Legolas winced his teeth with a hiss. “Do not speak of such holidays, let us just enjoy the autumn while it lasts.”

“You don’t want Yule to come soon?” Toby asked, appearing from behind Legolas, and peeking her head around his torso to gaze up in his direction. “What about toys?”

“Galadriel sends the best, and nothing has topped the bow she gave me in Lothlorien eight years ago,” Legolas replied. “Have you brushed your teeth yet, aranel?” (princess)

Toby made a prolonged noise, as she beamed brightly to show off her teeth.

“No, I don’t fall for pretty girls and pretty teeth, thank you very much,” said Legolas shaking his head. “Breath test.”

He bent down and allowed her to piggyback ride him. Standing swiftly, he looked over his shoulder and at her, where she then breathed loudly with an open mouth into his face.

Legolas scrunched his nose and recoiled. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell someone with stinky gums. And I’ve been to Mordor.”

Toby’s eyes grew bright with excitement. “Will you tell us another Fellowship story tonight?”

“Only if you brush your teeth,” Legolas answered, nuzzling his nose with hers.

Ivy walked past again, done with her dishes, and scoffed at Legolas. “Don’t listen to him, Toby. It’s bribery!”

Legolas gently kicked her ankle as she walked by, although, a feather could’ve done more damage—your “gentle giant”, you called him.

“Very well then, tonight I’ll tell you all about the Mouth of Sauron, and why brushing your teeth is important,” Legolas said again, turning around to watch the eldest twin head for the bathroom down the hall.

She waved him off over her shoulder, before disappearing to brush her teeth.

Toby swiftly kissed Legolas’ cheek, before dismounting from the piggyback ride and skipping after her sister.

You watched from the kitchen sink with a warm smile, and wiped a bowl with a dry rag. You observed the ardent love in Legolas’ eyes, as he watched the hall for a minute, where Toby and Ivy could be heard giggling over their dad’s cooking skills.

He finally shook his head and turned to you, wearing a content smile of his own. Catching your warm expression, he walked towards you with a sly question on his tongue.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you replied, returning to the dishes. “But have I ever thanked you for marrying me and helping me to raise those two ladies?”

“Ladies is a stretching term,” said Legolas, coming up behind you with a wrapping of your torso and a burying of his cheek in your hair, as he hugged you from behind, “but no—I don’t think the few thousand times is enough. Could you perhaps tell me once more?”

You melted into his hug, laughed like bright bells, and turned around. Wrapping your own arms around him, you buried your head into his shoulder and embraced him tightly.

“Well, thank you,” you emphasised, teasing him slightly.

Rocking the hug a little, he kissed the top of your head, and responded after a moment. “Actually, it is you all the thanks is owed to—I never assumed a life like this would be possible for me, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” you agreed, squeezing the hug once more.

You both stayed like that for a moment, before he kissed the top of your head again and let go. “You can ready the girls for bed if you’d like, I’ll finish up here.”

You lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, before walking away. Your hands remained held until the distance you walked grew too much, and Legolas had to let go to stay in front of the sink.

He smiled after you, as you disappeared around the wall.

Sighing in tranquillity, as the rain grew outside, Legolas looked out the glass window to his side. All he could make out were tree trunks through the rain and moonlight, and the prince basked in the sense of home for a few seconds.

However, the placid state could only last for so long. Unsure if the girls teasing him all day on their rabbit hunt had just worn him down, or if his eyes were indeed working correctly, a sway of trees exposed a trunk in the distance, where Legolas could have sworn he saw a body scaling.

Narrowing his eyes and knitting his brows, the archer moved closer to the glass window. As his breath fogged up the glass, Legolas moved as close as he dared to the window, observing the distant trunk.

Peering harder and harder, Legolas prayed for the wind to sway the leaves again, so he could view the tree. However, before he had the chance to do so, a quick voice from behind startled him.

“C’mon, Varno!” Toby urged, waving her dad to follow. “Me and Ivy are ready for the bedtime story!”

Legolas jumped on his feet, most unlike an elf indeed, and snapped his eyes over his shoulder to his daughter. Meeting her young gaze, he calmed.

Although, with the odd anomaly on the distant trunk still on his mind, Legolas turned back to the window. The leaves swayed again, and Legolas saw the tree once more. However, this time, no beings scaled the side of it.

He swallowed his nerves and shook his head, as his daughter called him once more.

“Varno?” Her voice was slow and unsure.

Meeting her eyes again, he beamed brightly and ran forwards. Scooping her loudly laughing self into his arms, he spun around and lifted her high—all whilst heading down the hall.

Toby’s laughs and Legolas’ eagle noises alerted you first, as they flew into the bedroom. “Eagle Attack” was a game he’d played with the girls since birth, where he’d lift them high, making them “fly”, and screech obnoxiously.

It usually ended with him gently throwing them down onto a bed or couch, in an effort to tire them out before slumber. Tonight, apparently, was no different.

“Aren’t we a little too old for Eagle Attack, Varno?” Ivy taunted, already sitting cross-legged on her bed, as you brushed her hair beside her.

“I’m over two thousand-years-old, and I still find it fun,” Legolas taunted back. He collapsed onto Toby’s bed with her backwards, leaving the younger twin a laughing mess.

“I do not think that tires them out as much as you believe,” you advised, shaking your head with a smile in your husband and daughter’s direction, who asked for the ride again.

“That’s why I have stories hidden up my sleeve,” Legolas replied. He sat up on his elbows, and smirked at you.

You gave him a playful frown, before finishing Ivy’s hair. Kissing your daughter’s cheek, you began tucking her in.

Legolas readied one candle, and dimmed all the other lanterns, so sleep would find the girls swiftly. Soon, as you tended to Ivy and he to Toby, Legolas’ story began.

It was one you remembered well, and one you also didn’t want to. You appreciated how comical Legolas delivered the story, in a way accessible to children, for there was nothing child-friendly about that war.

It wasn’t long after that, that soft snores from the girls filled the room.

Bringing the woollen blanket up to each daughter’s chin, and kissing their temples, you and Legolas bid them a soft goodnight from the door.

Closing it behind yourselves, you both began the small journey down the hall back to your shared room. He wrapped one arm around your back, and led you safely to the door.

Upon entering the room, you each made your way to your own beds. You had only shared a few kisses on the lips throughout your marriage, usually in times of great emotion, like the birth of your daughters, or the wedding itself.

Yours and Legolas’ marriage was almost entirely platonic, but he loved you more than any other, and you him. Only Ivy and Toby were counted among his other greatest loves, with you sitting safe right beside them.

Although nothing physical or lustful of nature took place between you, your relationship was one of deep devotion, and you had, in your own way, each pledged yourselves entirely to one another.

It was simply the most beautiful friendship, and one neither of you forsook.

Fluffing up your pillow, you rearranged your bed, which was only a metre away from Legolas’ own. He did the same, and hummed to himself slightly over the rain outside.

“This weather is a little intense, isn’t it?” you spoke up, looking at the roof above once in gesture.

He followed your gaze and agreed from behind his concerned frown. “I was almost worried earlier that the roof would collapse, with the leaves now falling and such.”

“For its seventh autumn, it isn’t doing too bad,” you decided, now sliding into bed.

“Agreed,” Legolas smiled, commending himself and his handiwork.

As he slipped into his own sheets, Legolas thought of what he saw earlier scaling the trunk. You were just about to reach over, wish your best friend a goodnight, before turning the candle out, until Legolas’ voice stopped you.

“Actually, meleth nîn—” he called, earning a blinking back of your eyes.

Conflicted over his own words, that same paternal feeling that kicked within him eight years ago drove his instincts. Sucking on his lower lip in thought, Legolas decided to trust whatever his gut was telling him, and lifted his blankets over to the side.

He beckoned you to slide into the covers with him. It was nothing unusual for you both, for many nights you had spent sleeping in the same bed with him. It first started in those early winter days, when your teeth chattered and your bones shivered.

His body warmth provided both solace and security, until you each grew so comfortable around one another that hugging in your sleep seemed as casual as a pat on the shoulder.

You almost went to tease him about being touch-starved or something of the likes, until you saw the look behind his eyes. They were the eyes of a concerned patriarch, and you knew better than to disagree with him.

After all, you knew to trust your own maternal instincts. His were no different.

Without saying a word, you slipped out from your bed and climbed into his, relishing in the warmth of his arms. He kissed the top of your head goodnight, before turning the candle off.

Only a small percentage of the fear within his stomach subsided, but he tried hard to fight it away. Nonetheless, the rain lulled him to sleep, where he then fell into a light slumber alongside you.

That is, until the bloodcurdling screaming of the girls started.

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make-me-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

Late Night Admissions

Prompts: 'As you begin to fall asleep, you feel a gentle kiss pressed to your temple and a blanket draped over you' + 'Fingertips brushing hair from your face' and 'Body warmth as someone holds you against them' Requested by: @twisted-monster

Pairing: Loki x Gen!Neutral Reader

Triggers: None

Words: I wanted to make this longer, but I was only able to get it to 1.9k

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000 Marvel Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovyfluxie, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy

*An alternate timeline in which Loki survived Thanos and ended up helping the Avengers defeat him, because why not.

**Little angst, mostly fluff

Part of you hated how your entire being reacted when you so much as heard his name. Heart beat increased to an annoying rate, your hands get sweaty, and you feel a jolt of excitement rocket through your body as butterflies rampage in your stomach.

The other part of you was glad for it. Because it proved to you that the way you felt about him, that the way he made you feel, was real. Whether it was for him or not, still haunted your thoughts.

You wiped your sweaty hands on your pants as you looked around the room, hoping that no one noticed your sudden change in demeanor at the mention of the mischievous God. He and Thor were coming for a visit. It had been just over two weeks since you last saw Loki. His last visit was only known to you, and only for you.

Ever since Loki had helped to fight Thanos with the rest of you, he was now welcome on Earth. Many of the Avengers were cautious around him, just in case he resorted back to wanting to take over Earth. You had been cautious at first as well. But at some point, you and Loki had developed a friendship, which then developed into more. And for the last couple of months, you secretly had been "together". You tried not to think of it as a relationship, because sometimes you doubted how he really felt about you.

Loki was the one who acted secretive around you, as though he wanted no one to know you had something between you. At first you had been unsure of whether you wanted the others to know, but the longer you were with him, you no longer cared how they would react. But still, Loki refused. You often wondered if he was dissatisfied with being with someone from Midgard, maybe he was ashamed of the thought.

At times he would be gentle and kind, funny and generous. And sometimes he would be distant, as though you were only acquaintances, or less. The last time he had been here, he came in secret, and you spent the whole night watching the night sky and talking, his arms wrapped around you from behind as he told you stories of Asgard. And in the moment you felt like he might really care deeply about you, just as deeply as you felt for him. You fell asleep in his arms, and when you woke up, he was gone.

"Tony! Pepper!" Thor bellowed as he entered, greeting the two as they walked towards him. You jumped slightly as you were shaken from your thoughts at his boisterous entry.

"Thor, back so soon?" Tony asked as Pepper nudged his shoulder and smiled at Thor.

"Hello Thor, It's good to see you too, where's Loki?" She asked as she peaked behind Thor.

As she asked this, part of you was afraid he had decided not to come at all. But just as you began to feel disappointed Loki entered the room. His eyes scanned the room, over the others and on to you, where his eyes barely held for a second. Your small faltered before it even graced your face. He at least usually nods his head in acknowledgement to you, or even says your name in greeting with a polite smile, but that was barely more than nothing. You shouldn't have been hurt by that, but you were.

Pushing the thought down, you walked across the room and towards the brothers. Thor grinned at you "Hello Y/n."

"Hi Thor, Loki." You smiled as you greeted them.

When Loki did nothing but hold your gaze casually, you looked back to Thor "Your message never said why you were coming back, nothing's wrong I hope."

"No, no. Well...I'm not quite sure. We are here to speak to Strange. Apparently he has something he wants to discuss with us, a possible Asgardian causing trouble I think."

"And he needs you to deal with it?" You asked curiously.

"We'll see I suppose." He said casually with a slight grudge "We're going there now, but I wanted to say hello. We will return later." He said his voice now merry again, turning he began to leave, Loki followed with no word and barely a look at you, sending a sinking feeling in your stomach.

Feeling Pepper staring at you, you looked at her "What?" You asked cautiously, gaining Tony's attention.

"Was it just me or was Loki acting odd?" She asked.

"Now that you mention it-" Tony broke in "He was much more silent than he normally is, though that's not saying much." He said before turning and walking away.

You met Peppers eyes again and shrugged and she eyed you almost suspiciously before turning "Okay." She said unconvinced "I'll talk to you later then."

"Bye" You said as she began to follow Tony. Looking back at where Loki had been standing you felt a uneasy feeling flowing through your entire being.

- - - - -

After Thor and Loki's departure, you couldn't help but worry something had happened since the last time you and Loki were together. Had he gotten tired of you? Of pretending that he felt anything for you? Was it all just a game?

Countless thoughts troubled your mind, and only a few of them were defending his actions. Defending his disregard of you.

"Y/n." A gentle voice greeted from close behind you making you spin around in alarm at the sudden intrusion of your thoughts.

Seeing Loki standing there, a faint smile on his face, your usual butterflies were replaced with an anxious tightening of your stomach "Loki." You greeted simply.

Walking up to you, he stopped only a few inches away. Reaching down he took your hands gently in his own before bringing them up and pressing a kiss to the back of each of them.

You frowned in confusion at his sudden change, and as he looked at you he saw it clearly "What's wrong?" He asked.

Scoffing lightly you pulled your hands away from him, and you saw a small reaction on his face that seemed to be hurt. But pushing past it you tried to speak boldly "What do you mean? Isn't it obvious? I don't understand how you can move so smoothly from total disregard to- to...this?" You motioned your hands at him. "You acted as though you didn't even care I was in the room earlier, did you seriously think that I wouldn't notice? Or care?"

Loki stared at you with his mouth ajar "I- didn't think about it. I just assumed that you knew I would act...casual around you, as to not show our connection. If they knew." He chuckled lightly under his breath "They would think me....weaker, I think."

You scoffed again and Loki rose his brow at you "Love is not a weakness Loki." You said with obvious hurt in your voice. But as the words left your mouth, and you saw Loki's face change to surprise, you realized what you had said, what you had unintentionally admitted to him, and yourself in part. Quickly you stepped back from him and felt yourself become awkward "I need to go." You said as you quickly walked past him and left the room, leaving behind a somewhat astounded God behind you.

- - - - -

You stared at your curtain covered window, the white lacy fabric allowing you to see the silhouettes and faded lights of the city outside your window. Your last interaction with Loki replaced in your head on a loop. 'I really said "Love" didn't I?' You thought to yourself. You had been afraid to admit it to yourself, that you had fallen in love with him. But it came out so naturally, you must have meant it. You did mean it. You loved him. And that's why his casual disregard of your feelings hurt you so much. Surely he would not feel the same for you.

The more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself finally begin drifting to sleep. You didn't hear your door open and close, but you were aware of the footsteps coming towards your bed. Purposefully soft as they approached. If you were not in such a safe place, you'd be on guard. But even in you tired minded state, you knew who it was.

Instead of waking yourself up to deal with what might come with his presence, you continued to let yourself be taken by your sleepiness. But as you did, you felt a kiss pressed to your temple, and you blanket brought up and draped over you. The soft action caused your heart to beat rapidly, and the sleep you were fighting to take was fading away as his presence became too overpowering.

Finally, you let out a small breath and turned your head a bit further into your pillow, causing a bit of your hair to fall across your face. Speaking quietly out into the darkness of your room "What are you doing here?"

He remained silent for a moment as he reached over, and gently brushed the stray hands of hair from your face and back behind your ears. "You were right-" he began "love is not a weakness." Your heart began to beat heavier in your chest as he spoke gently from behind you, his hand rested gentle on your side. "But I became scared, of...your mortality. Of loving someone I can lose so easily and in what feels like, such a short amount of time. And that scared me more than I wish to think about." So I pushed it away a bit, never letting the others see it. Hoping that I..could stop it, I could take it back. But those were lies I told myself. I don't really want to stop it. I want to cherish it.So I have decided, it is much better to be with you while I can, rather than run from it and not have you at all. So I promise I will no longer run from it, or from you. I will make it my strength. My love. For you."

You never realized they built up, but a tear streamed from your cheek as he spoke. Remaining still you let the fabric of your pillow soak it up. "I was afraid you didn't feel anything for me." You admitted, ad you felt his hand grip your side a bit "I've thought about it too you know. You being immortal, and me not. But I more thought it was because I was human that you did not want me."

Loki brought his face beside yours "No. I want you. And...your humanity is what makes me love you more. You are so kind, and loving and strong, and so...human. I couldn't help but fall for you."

You smiled at this, and Loki pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, and you could feel the smile he had as well. Leaning back, he adjusted himself so that he was holding you now, his arms wrapped around you and his head resting just above yours. His body heat made you sink into the comfort of your bed easier, and you felt yourself drifting away again.

A sudden thought popped back into your mind just as you were losing yourself to sleep. You mumbled out quietly to him "Will you be gone when I wake up?"

Loki smiled to himself, pressing a kiss to the back of your head he then rested it on the pillow "Not this time."

No, not this time. He would no longer flee. He would no longer run from him desire to be with you. From this point on, he would cherish every moment. He would love you as you deserved.

xx End xx

Hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please consider reblogging! :)

If you want to be added to my Loki or Avengers/Marvel taglist let me know! (I also have taglists available for any other character and fandom)

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki x y/n #marvel #avengers #oneshot #one shot #marvel reader insert #loki x reader oneshot #loki odinson/reader #loki/reader #loki laufeyson/reader #loki fluff #loki x gender neutral reader #avengers reader insert

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Note

91 from prompt list one with Din? Thank you!

91. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

Some angst and softness with Din? Say no more!

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader ; warnings: pregnant reader

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sighed lightly as you looked at yourself in the mirror, a hand subconsciously running over the growing bump. You were excited, very excited if you were being honest, about your upcoming arrival but still...you wished things were different. You wished you weren’t just pregnant, or knocked up, as plenty of people not so lovingly put it...but here you were. You wanted, craved even, everything that went hand in hand with it. You wanted the domesticity, the relationship, the shared excitement of welcoming your child with your husband.

But no. You had none of that.

Just an awkward relationship with the father of your child, aka your work partner but also kind of your employer that had culminated in a one night stand that ended with you getting pregnant.

Yeah - things weren’t exactly typical.

And ever since your little discovery, something neither of you expected since one - you had the implant and two - it was just a one night stand. It had occurred at the end of a long and stressful mission, close brushes with death for both of you and something just snapped. It had become a Herculean task to stay from each other, to keep your hands and lips from one another, and eventually you both just...gave in. If you were being honest, it had been a long time coming, and neither of you could deny the feelings that had developed and blossomed between the two of you.

But now there was...nothing. It was like as soon as it was over, he had turned cold. Not cold…just colder. You wondered if he regretted what happened; now with you almost halfway through an unexpected pregnancy you really wondered if he regretted that night...you...your baby. He’d never said anything in the negative, reminding you constantly that he supported whatever decision you wanted to make. It might have been unexpected and unplanned, but he wasn’t about to turn his back from your or your child.

And yet...things felt different. Gone were the days filled with light and laughter, of simplicity and happiness, and instead everything felt off. You’d worried for a moment that he’d think you did this on purpose, but he knew and you knew he knew that he didn’t think you would stoop to something like this. Besides, it had been a night filled with passion for the both of you, not just one of you. Maybe...maybe once the baby was born things would be different.

You scoffed at yourself as soon as the idea entered your head. Things weren’t going back to how they were; if anything he’d grow more distant and closed off. You hoped he would at least love your son or daughter; he was such a good father to Grogu, you wanted the same for the new addition.

As you stood there, trying to keep yourself from crying and to calm down, you paused and wondered what your baby would look like. Then it hit you - you’d still never seen his face. You had no real clue as to what he looked like; you knew his features were dark, that much you could decipher even in the darkness, but the rest was...a mystery. Kriffing hell; you were having a child with a man who wanted nothing to do with you anymore and you had no clue what he looked like. It might as well have been a stranger.

It would work out one way or another, you supposed. Scared and nervous didn't matter - the baby would be here no matter. That part was inevitable by now.

"It will be okay, my love," you whispered tightly to your bump, pulling your tunic back down over it.

The silence on the Crest was almost deafening and slowly driving you crazy. You needed to get out and do something, even if it was just for a walk to stretch your legs. Din hadn't said a word to you all morning and besides breaking your heart it had sent an awkward air over the whole place.

Snapping you out of your daze, you heard some tiny footsteps and gentle cooing. Look at the door, you found the little green bean coming and smiling at you. Your heart softened as you beamed back at him; there was something so reassuring and calming about his presence that instantly made you feel so much lighter and happier.

"Hello my little love," you sang at him as he toddled over to you, reaching up towards you with his small arms. Grinning, you tried to bend over, realizing that was too much of a challenge and opting to awkwardly squat down and pick him up. He didn't seem to mind, a smile on his face as he tried to wrap his arms around your neck and cuddled against your chest.

Something about the tender moment caught up with you as emotion overwhelmed you, pregnancy you decided, with the small bean on your chest and the tears just started to flow down your cheeks. You stood there and sniffled, deciding to get it all out before leaving the room and possibly seeing the Mandalorian. Little did you know, the man in question was just down the small hall, his heart breaking at the sound of your soft cries.

Rocking back and forth on your heels, you held Grogu closely, feeling more comforted by his presence than you had in days. He cooed lightly at you as he tried to hold onto you as tightly as you did him.

"I know," you acknowledged with a small, despondent laugh, as he reached up and attempted to wipe your tears away, "I know it will work out, right now it just feels...all wrong. I love him you know. You and him and the baby - more than anything. And now he hates me."

He looked at you, attempted to get you to understand just how much he loved you too. Even if without words, you knew what it meant. Kissing the top of his fuzzy little head, you let out a long breath, "you're right. I shouldn't worry like this. Let's go outside and at least get some sun and fresh air. Clear my head anyway."

He seemed to nod in agreement as you started towards the door. Din had already stepped out of the way and pretended to be unaware of what had been going on. As you needed you towards the exit of the ship, baby and silence in tow, he gathered up...courage? Something and called out to you.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you spun on your heel and gave him a curious look. After so much silence that's all he was going to say? The nerve. You scoffed at him lightly before shrugging your shoulders and turning to leave again, "wait!"

"Why?" you didn’t have enough energy left to full fight or argue so you just gave him a despondent look, “what does it matter, Din? I didn’t realize I needed your permission!”

“At least tell me where you’re going,” he took a step closer but stopped immediately when he noticed how you flinched, “y-you have the bab...ies.”

“And what about it?” you huffed, “it doesn’t seem to matter other times, but now it does? Hot and cold, hot and cold, what do you want? I know you hate me, you don’t need to pretend to care!”

“I don’t hate you,” his voice cracked at the insinuation and he felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. Is that really how you felt? He hadn’t realized he’d fucked up to this extent; he’d just panicked and been nervous and...well. Apparently pushed you away more than he had realized, “I just…”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” you insisted meekly, “I know this isn’t what either of us wanted or planned on it, but it’s happening. And I don’t care if you hate me or whatever, but don’t blame the baby when they come. It’s not their fault.”

“Listen, I...we need to talk-”

“There’s nothing left to say Din,” you felt another tear run down your cheek, “I don’t know what to even say...I just...I have to go right now. I’ll be back.”

“It’s dangerous out there,” he called after you, running to the door as you walked away without another look back, “the baby! Please be careful...mesh’la!”

But you didn’t turn back and he didn’t chase after you. He stood there silently, cursing himself a million different ways as he watched your retreating form.

“Kriff,” he hissed at himself. He had fucked up, totally and completely. He pushed away the only woman he’d ever loved all because he was scared and didn’t know what to do in a moment of panic. Ever since you’d told him you were pregnant, it was like he gone into a panicked frenzy as he tried to figure out what to do, tried to figure out how to tell you he loved you fully and completely, tried to figure out how to be his best for you, Grogu, and your baby - his baby.

But instead of doing anything of the sort, he had shut down completely and pushed you away.

Pushed you away to the point where you believed he hated you. To the point where you believed anything but the fact that he loved you.

And he did. He’d loved you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you when you threatened to “kick his ass to hell and back” and then had fallen a little more every single day.

All because he was scared and couldn’t face the truth. And now?

He was afraid he might have ruined everything. He might never get the chance to love you like he wanted to. He might never get to have his family with you. He might…

No. He was going to make this right. Even if you didn’t believe him or didn’t want to hear it.

He was going to tell you everything.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’d finally found a quiet place to rest, a small little hidden spot in the forest that he’d landed the Crest by. It wasn’t much, but it was better than being stuck on the ship in the tense atmosphere. Once you’d found the spot, you plopped down in the soft earth and leaned up against the large tree. The little one had found some butterflies and was instantly fascinated by them, running after them as fast as his little legs would carry him.

It was a sweet sight - so pure and innocent as you watched him play. If only everything was so easy and tender. Unfortunately, you know the harsh and cruel realities of the world. But even for just a moment, you decided to push away your worries and get lost in the sanctity of this moment.

Eventually Grogu tired himself out and toddled over to you. He grinned at you sweetly before climbing onto your outstretched and clambered for you to hold him. When he reached your belly, making it a challenge for him to cuddle up like he wanted to, he stared in wonder at it, inky eyes wide and curious.

“That’s your brother or sister, my love,” you told him, a hand gently running over the bump, “they’ll be here soon…ish. I know they’ll love you so much. Just like I do.”

He looked at you excitedly before blabbing a string of sounds you couldn’t make quite interrupt. He reached a hand slowly up to replace yours, a little smile on his face. At his gentle touch, you immediately felt warm and light, like some happiness had managed to seep into your bones. Grogu kept a small hand on your bump as he curled around it and made himself comfortable. You looked down at the sight, wishing you could capture this forever.

Closing your eyes, you gently stroked his ear as you tried to clear your mind. It was calm and quiet for a few moments, nothing but the woodland sounds around you meeting your ears. Finally a moment of peace and tranquility to rest and ground yourself. After a few moments, you heard the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs. Opening your eyes, you studied your surroundings and quickly spied the Mandalorian. Your eyes widened as you swallowed the lump in your throat at the sight of him.

“Mesh’la,” he said softly as he came over. You thought about jumping up (as fast as you could in your current state) and running away, but couldn’t force yourself to move, or disturb either of your babies, “can we talk? We need to talk - I need to talk.”

“If you’ve come to punish me or yell at me,” you sighed softly, “please spare your breath. It is no use, I already know how you feel.”

“No, that’s not what I need to say,” he insisted as he came over, “I know you know you don’t want to hear this or think I hate you, but I need to talk to you. First of all...I just...I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you looked at him with wide eyes as he sat down near, all decorum out the window as he flopped onto the ground, “what in the galaxy are you sorry for?”

“For how I’ve treated you,” he admitted and your heart stilled instantly, “for how I’ve acted ever since you - we - found you’re pregnant. I’ve...it’s bad enough to the point where you think I don’t care about you, that I hate you. I don’t...I could never hate you.”

“It sure feels like that right about now,” you laughed, a small little bitter thing, “I know this wasn’t ever what we expected or wanted, but...I’m scared too. Terrified and I don’t even have my best friend anymore. It’s like there’s a wall between us now and I’m afraid that it’s never going to get better. That it will always be this way.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you,” he insisted, letting out a long sigh, “it’s me. When we...I’d wanted that for a long, long time. And then it happened, and I panicked because I didn’t know if you wanted that too, and things seemed different, and instead of asking, I closed myself off. And it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. And then when you found out about the baby...I just...I couldn’t handle it.”

“It was scary for me too,” you laughed lightly as you wiped away the tears that had started to well up, “how do you think it feels to be the one that’s pregnant and alone?”

“I was scared and thought you wouldn’t forgive me, or hate me, or think I’m a horrible father or partner,” he confessed as you watched him closely. That wasn’t what you had in mind at all, “I completely shut down and pushed you away when that wasn’t what I wanted at all.”

“You...I would never think that, Din. I know you’re a wonderful father already, to Grogu, and you will be to one this one as well. I’m not mad at you for what happened, nor do I regret...our time together. The only thing I regret is...how we’ve drifted apart,” you admittedly softly, “even if we’re never more than this, I just want us to be friends. For our sake and this baby…”

“I...want this - more than this,” he whispered, finally getting out what he wanted to say, “I...kriff - I’m in love with you, Mesh’la. I have been for so long, and that night...I wanted to tell you then, I just couldn’t figure out how. And that’s when I panicked.”

“You - you love me?” you looked at him with the sweetest, most confused expression he had ever seen as he could only manage to nod, “me? Like you’re not just saying that because of the baby? You don’t need to just say it…”

“I have loved you since before the baby, now, and always will,” he promised, “I just happen to also be a huge fool. Do you remember the first day we met?”

“Of course I do,” you said through a few tears, but unlike your previous ones, these were not of sadness or grief, “you scared me and I freaked out and threatened-”

“To kick my ass to hell and back,” he said as you laughed, “that’s when I fell in love with you. And it’s never changed. I just never knew what to say or do.”

“Din...maybe it’s obvious or I don’t know anything anymore, but I’m in love with you too,” you sighed contentedly as he reached over and delicately wiped away your tears, “I always have been too. When we...that night together was everything, but afterwards I thought you regretted it because of what happened and I didn’t know what to do either.

“I know, and I am so sorry for how I acted,” he whispered as you nodded slightly, “I wish I could take it all back and have you understand how much I love you from the beginning. But I can’t…”

“I know now,” you laughed lightly, “and you’re here. That’s what counts. This.”

“I know nothing can change what happened,” he scooted closer to you, reaching over and touching your cheek, “but I promise it won’t ever happen again. Things won’t go back to what they’ve been or what they were. I want this...with you. Everything - I want us to be a real family, not just as friends or work partners but…as my riduur.”

“Really?” you asked softly, unable to keep the smile off your features as he nodded, “I want that too...truly. I want everything with you.”

“And you will have it I will give it all to you,” he promised softly, “I know we have a lot to figure out still, but I love you - I’m in love with you, our baby, the little green menace - our family.”

“Din,” you leaned over, trying not to disturb the little one as you pressed your forehead against his, “I love you. We’ll figure this all out. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Please don’t shut me out again,” you whispered softly, “we’ll get through anything - together.”

“I won’t,” he promised, “I love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you too, Din - you and our little family. Always.”

“Always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

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A Wife for Thor Pt.16

No One

02/04/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,025

Warnings: angst, jealousy, crying, infertility, talk of pregnancy, trouble conceiving, smut, LOTS of fluff

A/N: I’m sorry this one took me a bit to get out. I know y’all tell me not to be sorry but I am still sorry lol I stopped taking my endo meds since I can no longer afford them with no healthcare, I got my period and my endo said FUCK YOU! I was in bed for the entirety of my period with no energy to do anything but lay there and do nothing. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I’ve been excited to get to this chapter and I hope it’s worth the wait. Thank you for any comments or reblogs! xoxo

Thor has never been so eager to get back to New Asgard. Even back in the beginning when Jane had been living with him in those first small houses that they’d built when his new Kingdom was nothing but a distant dream.

Even then, this sensation of yearning had not been so strong.

Every moment away from you has been unbearable. The detour he’d taken after just arriving only increased his desire because if seeing Jane has shown him anything it’s that he has indeed made the right choice.

He really hadn’t doubted it, but it’s nice to know that even with Jane standing inches away from him, his heart had not pounded. His breath had not caught. His fingers had not tingled as they once had in their wish to touch.

Her brown eyes, once beyond beautiful, are indeed still pretty. However, they aren’t yours. Yours that look at him with an innocent admiration. Love pours from them so freely. Eagerly.

You’re not afraid to show him how you feel and it takes his breath away how much you’ve given into loving him.

All he can do is try to return your love with the same fervor. So far he thinks he has been doing the job well.

As he struts forward towards your shared bedroom, he reaches into his cloak, down along his left hip to unhook a small leather satchel bulging with its contents.

Smiling down at what he hopes will be a welcome and pleasing gesture, he makes to open the doors to the room but finds them thrust out towards him.

Instinctively his hand twitches around the satchel, almost throwing his palm out to call his remade hammer, but he resists.

From his bedroom spill two beings. One Asgardian, one human. The doors swing shut behind them.

“Doctor Wilson? Alric?” Thor teeters back onto his right foot, completely surprised to see them. “What brings-?”

Both of them look grave and Thor’s heart hits the pit of his stomach. All of the strength in the universe leaves him in one terrifying instant.

“Is Y/N alright? Is she hurt? Injured? Has something happened?”

In his panic he begins to push through them and they move aside for him but before he can open the doors to get in to see you, Alric reaches out to place his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Just our monthly visit, nothing to fret about Your Majesty,” Alric assures him and yet, Thor’s squirming nerves are not put at ease. “Unfortunately things do not look well for an heir as of now.”

“They don’t exactly look bad either, Alric,” Doctor Wilson interjects. “We’re in uncharted territory, Your Majesty. We have to play this as it comes at us. I’m sure with Alric’s help we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Their words at the moment aren’t making any sense to Thor. All he wants is to see you.

“Right…” he says on reflex, but his voice is weak.

His mind on you and only you.

“She is a little melancholy after our news so, perhaps it’s best we let you go see her. Until next month, Your Majesty,” Doctor Wilson gives him a curtsy. “If you need us before then, you have our numbers.”

Alric gives Thor a bow and the two of them march off, Alric lugging a strange metal case along with him.

With nothing to hold him back now, Thor pulls the doors open and hurries inside.

He scans the room from the left to the right, expecting you in the bathroom but you aren’t there. Several of the doors to the balcony are open letting in a much warmer breeze than this morning but still very cool.

Thor finally spots you sitting at your vanity, your hand pressed to the inside of your elbow as you hold a small cotton ball against the point at which one of your doctors probably drew some blood.

Even that tiny sting of a needle piercing your beautiful skin makes his heart ache. Any pain you feel is his own and he can’t believe he forgot what today was.

“Cherub?”

You don’t look at him and instead keep your hand pressed tightly, fingers moving in slow and small circles.

He can’t see your face from here. You’re turned away, sitting with your gaze trained on the balcony doors closest to your vanity.

Thor can’t take you not looking at him. He sets his satchel on the chaise at the end of the bed and when he reaches your left side, he squats down so that he can look up at you, his right hand taking gentle hold under your left bicep. His left hand he places over your right one, pressed against the inside of your left elbow.

“I’m sorry about today. I forgot they were coming for your tests,” Thor confesses, feeling so guilty he could leap from the balcony and welcome the pain of any bones he might break.

The silence is heavy and he thinks he might really be in for it and opens his mouth to plead for your forgiveness when you give him relief, “So did I.”

He breathes in deeply and with a wave of relief releases his worries in a gust of air.

“Alric said that things did not look good. You’re not with child?”

Even though he knows, he still needs to hear you say it. He wants to know what you’re thinking to make whatever is making your face look so sad go away.

He takes his right hand and runs it along your lower back instead, rubbing in what he hopes is a soothing way.

Finally, you turn your head towards your vanity and he can see more of your heartbreaking expression. He hasn’t seen that loss of hope in your beautiful face since the night you begged him not to make a fool of you just before dinner on a night that feels a lifetime away.

“No, it-it wasn’t a no. The test was inconclusive.”

“Inconclusive? So, what does that mean? Does that mean they don’t know?” Thor asks, confusion twisting his handsome face.

“No, it just means that the test didn’t come back in any way that they could read it. We’re not exactly the same species even if we are compatible physically, we don’t know if we can even get pregnant. They took more of my blood and are going to do the test with more reliable equipment.

“They’ll call when they know something,” you sigh heavily, leaning back against your seat and trapping his hand between it and your body.

Thor tries to think of what he can say to make you feel better. What can he do?

And then what he has to say doesn’t matter as you turn to meet his gaze with your own full of betrayal and suspicion.

When your mouth parts, your words freeze him and his brain short circuits.

“I saw you with Jane earlier on the tower, Thor. I’m sorry but I-I thought you were going to come find me as soon as you got back, not your ex.”

You take a deep breath and Thor watches as your nerves spill forward, your lips trembling as you slowly exhale and all of your fears shine out through the depths of your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you crying, cherub?” Thor gushes, pulling his hand from your back to turn your seat to face him.

He cups both sides of your face, his large thumbs wiping away at the tears that spring forward.

It had seriously messed with you to see him and Jane so happy and close earlier. And then the tests and Doctor Alric and Doctor Wilson had no idea what was wrong with them so that was stressing you out.

All of your jealousy and frustration pours out of you suddenly. So fast and so unrelenting that with just this small bit of affection from Thor makes you shut your eyes tight as you sob two-three times.

“Y/N...no, my love, please. Don’t cry,” Thor begs, his own throat tight as he pulls you towards him.

You let him hold you because as insecure as you feel, as upset as this morning has made you, his love still feels real. The softness in his voice doesn’t sound fake and as much as he is the source of one of the aches in your chest, he’s your comfort now too.

How fucked up is that?!

He caresses the back of your head as you bury it against his shoulder, slumped down a little because of how low he is in his squat.

His other arm is wrapped all the way around you, firm. Possessive and eager to make you feel better. Can you trust this display?

Until this morning you had no reason to doubt it.

“We will have our baby soon, I know it. I can feel it. I’m not only the God of Thunder, you know? Trust me, cherub. I know these things. We’ll have our little one before you know it.”

He sounds so confident, so sure. He’s lost that tightness in his throat a little and he pushes you back so that he can look into your eyes, quickly wiping away at the saltwater stains on your cheeks.

“As for your former worry, I went to the tower because the lights were on. I wasn’t sure who was there so I simply went to check. I wasn’t expecting Jane out of all the people it could have possibly been.

“I’d hoped it was you, finally making use of the tower for your own office to write or perhaps your own personal library?” Thor’s instincts on what you might want a private space to be.

You suddenly feel foolish for doubting him for even a second. It makes you cry again, and you bury your face in your hands.

“No, my love, please don’t cry anymore,” he continues to beg. “Look, I’ve brought you a gift.”

He gets up suddenly and moves towards the package he’d been carrying when he came in. It wasn’t large. About the size of a shoebox.

“I thought of you when I was passing over Paris on my way home. You can eat them all at once or slowly, whichever you prefer,” He flips open the leather satchel and from inside pulls a thick and shiny rust colored box with a satin brown ribbon that delicately holds it closed.

It looks expensive and he doesn’t wait for you to take it since you’re too busy wiping at your cheeks and sniffling to grab it. He pushes the ribbon off of the box then removes the lid and places it underneath while tossing the ribbon onto your vanity.

“I’m not sure what each of them is, but you don’t have to eat the ones you don’t like. I’ll eat them for you,” he pushes fancy gold tissue paper aside to expose the contents within.

Inside the box is a tray of twenty-four chocolate pieces. Some of them have designs painted on them with what is more likely more chocolate in bright colors and patterns. Other pieces look to be decorated in plain chocolate with small embossed hearts, triangles, or teeny tiny bows.

The box is too thick for this to be all there is, so you’re pretty sure there are two trays of chocolates.

“Do you like them?” Thor checks, his voice light and rising at the end gently almost as if he’s talking to a small child which maybe should offend you?

But it doesn’t because you know that’s not what he means by the tone he’s using. He’s being as gentle with you as he can in your moment of sad anxiety and you love him so much for it.

“They’re so pretty…” you hiccup, wishing you weren’t so emotional and crying all over his lovely gift.

“That’s not all,” he tells you, putting the chocolates on your vanity to free up his hands to reach into his satchel again.

You quickly cover the chocolates, pushing the ribbon around the sleek container before they can be ruined.

Thor tosses the satchel onto the chaise with a flick of his wrist but draws your attention to him when he places another box on your lap. This one is much smaller, but wide and square.

“Happy two months of marriage, cherub,” Thor says softly, then carefully lifts the lid of his second gift.

Nestled within lush purple velvet is a beautiful platinum chain, thin, short so that the gorgeous lotus flower with your birthstone gem settled at its very center will sit just below your collarbone.

“It’s so beautiful, Thor.”

All of a sudden you’re crying again.

Thor smiles and rises again, taking the necklace from inside the box which he tosses onto the chaise too before moving around behind you to slip the necklace around your neck.

You reach up to place your fingers on the pretty flower, sniffling and trying not to make your crying too vocal but a sob or two slips out.

Thor moves back around you and takes a long look at your mess of a face before he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, “Come here, love.”

He waits for you to stand then takes your spot on your seat but then leads you down onto his lap.

Reaching up with his hand, he gives the back of your neck a squeeze while his other hand finds a resting spot on your thigh.

“Is it Jane still upsetting you?” he guesses.

You nod, unwilling to say it aloud.

“Why? What exactly is it that’s troubling you?”

He genuinely doesn’t seem to understand. While he might understand your nerves about her, the reason you’re still crying is lost on him.

You don’t want to say, but Thor bounces you a little in his lap, taking his hand to caress the side of your face and hold your gaze.

“Nothing you can say will make me love you any less.” A promise.

“When I saw you two this morning, you just looked so h-happy,” your lip quivers. “You looked happy. Pleased. You were smiling that one smile that’s only supposed to be mine.”

For some reason Thor’s chest puffs up a little, a proud fix to his chin as he reaches up to grab yours and give your head a little shake.

“It is all yours, cherub. I am completely yours. I was so happy when I was with Jane this morning because I felt nothing of what I’d once felt for her. I had no stuttering in my heart, no butterflies in my belly. I wasn’t taken by her eyes or tempted by her lips.”

“Alright, I get the picture,” you grumble, hating everything he’s describing even though you know he’s telling you that he wasn’t feeling any of it.

He chuckles, bringing his hand down to rest on your hip.

“I was happy because Jane is no longer the source of all of that for me. You are. All meeting her so unexpectedly proved is that I am more in love with you than I ever thought I could be. You were my arranged match. The most I had ever expected was friendship. And when that turned into more, I wondered if it could really be more than what I ever felt for Jane and it is.

“Jane was always a dear love but you are family. It’s only been a short time since we married but you are more my love than Jane ever was. You’re my cherub!”

He doesn’t wait for you to recover from his little speech. He hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you down for a kiss.

It quickly changes and shifts and the lonely night you’d spent tense and worried, missing him, explodes you onto him. You’re both a frenzy of movement, Thor ripping away at his armor until he’s in the plain dark undershirt and a very small pair of black briefs.

You’re about to push him onto your bed when he suddenly grabs you and tosses you around his massive body and onto the bed to bounce as you land with a gasp.

He shoves his briefs down, still kicking them away as he steps towards you and gathers the long skirts of your dress higher and higher around your hips.

“Thor…” you whisper, a gasp of anticipation which drives him a little wild as he yanks you closer to the edge of the bed and thrusts into you with a shaky groan.

He goes still for a moment, hooking his hands around your thighs more securely. He bottoms out, sheathing his cock within you until you reach down to scratch at the bottom of his shirt then his hands as you fall back against the bed.

“Please,” you plead and he quickly obliges.

He pumps into you, filling you to the brim with no intention of ever stopping.

~~~~~~~~~~

You and Thor eventually come out of your room. You dressed in your carefully chosen dress and Thor a little less regal in a pair of crisp dark jeans, and layered up in a green sweater over a blue button up collar shirt over a plain white t-shirt.

Honestly though, even in his slightly more casual ensemble, Thor screams royalty. He’s so beautiful.

Both of you giggling like giddy kids, he pulls you closer and loops your arm through his.

It makes you happy that he likes you close by. He proves it now as he leans down to whisper so that only you can hear him as the palace staff moves about cleaning and fixing up the rooms that have been used throughout the day.

“I’m a little glad you’ve decided not to use the tower for a workspace.” Thor confesses.

“How come?” you wonder, turning your face to look at him, genuinely curious as to the change of mind. He’d been so insistent before about you having your own personal space to work in peace where no one could bother you and you didn’t have to give up writing your stories even if you were now Queen of New Asgard.

“I don’t know if I could stand having you that far away from me. Our night apart has only driven that home for me. I want you always at my side.”

His sentiment is sweet and you stop to turn and face him, reaching up to place your hands on his bearded cheeks to smoosh them because he’s so damn adorable. He’s massive so you have to push yourself up, lifting your heels a little to do so comfortably.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly lovable that makes you?” you ask.

He smiles despite you morphing his face, beaming down at you with a look that must mean he loves you. Everything he says has to be true. The more you think about it, the more you realize that your jealousy, while founded, doesn’t make any sense now that you’re married.

Not after everything the two of you have shared and been through. Not after all the time you’ve spent building this foundation with him.

“Quite a lot more than I was before?” he guesses. “Only, maybe not when I go to the bathroom?”

Through your smile you tilt your head to the side a little, confused by his amendment to his desires.

“Why?” What difference does it make?

He drops his voice to a whisper and leans down a little closer to you, “Sometimes I have smelly poops.”

You’re not expecting that and throw your head back as a loud unfiltered laugh rips through you. The movement pulls you down flat onto your feet but Thor catches you with one arm around your waist to pull you back up onto your toes and against his hard body.

He’s laughing too as he dips down and kisses your laughing mouth, silencing you a little so that it’s only air slipping through your lips as you kiss him back.

It’s just a long held peck. He’s relishing in the feel of your lips against his as your body shakes with more laughter.

Still laughing with you, Thor pulls back and gripes, “Stop laughing and kiss me!”

You drop your head against his chest as you keep laughing, unable to help it because the cuteness of him being self-conscious about his smelly poops is too much for you to handle.

Especially considering that you’ve both already been in the bathroom together when the other is using the toilet.

He loosens his arm around your waist so that you fall down a little further but keeps his hand resting on the small of your back while the other hand he places on the back of your head, caressing it as you chuckle weakly from laughing so much.

The sound of a clearing throat brings both your heads turning to the end of the hallway.

Your visiting trio stand there, Tony smirking, Bruce smiling shyly, Jane averts her eyes.

“Uh, get a room?” Tony suggests, but you can tell from his tone that he’s only teasing.

“Where do you think we’ve been all morning?” Thor grins, readjusting with you to hook your arm on his elbow before leading you towards your guests.

“So that’s what those screams were,” Tony counters.

Thor wiggles his eyebrows at them but your neck burns and your mouth pops open in surprise and embarrassment.

You start to fret, hands fluttering up towards your new necklace as you look from Tony to Jane, who’s looking at her shoes, to Bruce who is smiling with his own laughter in his eyes.

“Was I-? I didn’t mean to-! Thor, I didn’t know that I was being-” your panic is real and your heart is thrumming a million miles an hour.

“He’s teasing you, cherub, don’t worry,” Thor assures you, dropping your arm from his elbow to wrap his own arm around your waist to pull you into his side again.

You turn to Tony and he’s laughing a little. Not maliciously, just purely entertained by your reaction.

“I-a joke?” you ask him, still uncertain.

“Sorry,” Tony says, nodding. “Just a joke.”

You swallow hard, trying to settle your heartbeat.

Thor kisses your head and like a switch is flipped, all of them shift into work mode.

“Have you started installing the security system?” Thor asks Tony and all together the five of you move down into the lowest level of the palace which actually happens to be a dungeon?

You’re not really listening to their conversation as you move with them, still flustered about you possibly letting all of your sex noises reverberate through the halls of the palace for everyone to hear, but when you reach a large vault-like door, you start to focus again.

As the heavy door slides open like part of some futuristic spaceship, you’re thrown into a large room about the size of the throne room where you’d had your wedding reception only it looks nothing like the rest of the palace.

This place looks more like the Avengers compound. High-tech stations line the walls, large monitors with readings you don’t understand and camera footage from places you recognize from around New Asgard and the palace itself.

There’s a full crew working all of the stations, Asgardians and humans, all of them wearing the same charcoal gray uniforms, splashes of gold and red like Thor’s cape on their shoulders and chests.

As you and Thor enter, they stop what they’re doing to stand at attention, bowing to both of you as Thor leads you to the center of the room where a large stone table is set with schematics of plans that you don’t understand.

Tony moves over to them and starts to sift through the many scrolls all laid out for viewing while Thor nods to the crew.

“At ease, my friends.”

He’s so nice. The crew fall back into their respective jobs.

One of them moves towards a large screen against the wall, a TV you realize, playing different news footage from all over the world.

He flips to another channel and you pull away from Thor to walk and stand beside the crewman who stands taller once you’re beside him.

He turns to you and gives you a quick bow, “Your Majesty.”

Turning to him, you smile and then look back at the screen, “To monitor any weird things happening around Earth?”

“Yes, m’am,” he asserts then flips the channel again.

This time it’s a documentary style report, you see a familiar scene. New York in shambles as Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, the Hulk, Captain America, and your Thor fight off the invading Chitauri.

Slowly another body settles beside you, its warmth drawing your attention to it.

“I still remember that day, sort of,” Bruce says gently, his voice always so easy and calm.

It’s hard to believe he can turn into the giant Hulk in seconds.

“Was it scary?”

“Sort of. I think for me, I was just worried that Hulk would hurt someone other than the aliens. But by then I think he understood what side we were on.” Bruce nods.

“But, aren’t you the Hulk?” His words confuse you a little.

“Well, yeah, but also no. He’s like another half of me? If that makes sense? I haven’t worked out how to combine both sides yet. I’m there, I’m just...it’s like someone takes who you are and reduces you to your most basic instincts.

“We’re almost like two different people but we’re also the same person. I’m working on understanding our connection better. Underneath the Hulk, I’m still me. I’m still there I think. I’m just trapped for some reason.”

The two of you watch the screen in silence for a moment then Thor shows up, blasting the Chitauri with his lightning. He looks a little different because he has both eyes and his hair!

“Thor had long hair,” you realize, gushing a little.

“Did I look better with long hair?” his deep voice slips into your right ear and you jump not having been expecting it.

“Not better,” you promise him, smiling at him before turning your eyes back on the TV. “Just different. It suits you.”

“Should I grow it back?”

With excitement, you turn to face him and he chuckles at whatever look you have in your eyes, “Would you? Wouldn’t it bother you?”

“If it will make you look at me the way you’ve been staring at me on that television, I will go out and buy a wig.”

You laugh and Thor leans down to give you a quick peck.

“It’s that time of year I guess,” Tony says, sliding over to stand on Bruce’s other side where Jane is already standing having moved over at some point.

She still hasn’t said anything.

“What time of year?” You wonder.

“Oh, in Spring they always start to play footage on some of the news channels about Loki’s party days in New York. Some type of anniversary celebration or something? Only it’s more like a wake.”

“It’s a memorium,” you realize, then look at Thor who seems to sense your upset.

He wraps his arm around you and settles in beside you, kissing the top of your head again.

“Where is Loki?” you ask him, frowning with worry and wondering if it must upset him to have one of his biggest mistakes thrown in his face for weeks.

“He’s tending to business with the guard. He’ll come find us when he’s finished,” Thor promises.

After a tense moment, Tony claps his hands and then pats Bruce’s shoulder, “Shall we? Pepper wants me home by Friday so that we can explore the wonderful art of tantric massage.”

As Bruce turns to follow Tony back to the center table where a new console computer has come from a panel at the center you hadn’t noticed, he gives him a skeptical look.

“Pepper? Are you sure it isn’t you pushing the tantric massage?” Bruce sounds like he already knows the answer.

Tony shrugs, “I’m not the bossy anymore.”

You look back at the TV, your worry only spiking at the thought of Loki coming down here and finding all of you watching.

“Change it to something else,” you tell the crewman. “Make sure no one puts it on that channel again.”

“Yes, m’am,” he bows his head in obedience and quickly changes the channel while moving to a small box hooked up to it where a small screen comes out and he quickly goes about pressing buttons hopefully blocking any and all sources of that footage so that Loki doesn’t accidentally have his face shoved into his past.

“Don’t worry, my cherub. Loki is well aware of what the Earth grieves at this time of year. He won’t be blindsided by it.”

“I still don’t like it,” you insist, unable to shake the frown from your face.

“Thor?” Jane’s voice interrupts you both softly.

He looks at her and you give her a glance before turning to look at the news reports on the TV.

“I’m gonna need one of these mainframes for the telescope. Which one can I take?”

“Right,” Thor nods, “Of course. Let’s find you a place to work.”

Before he leaves you he leans in and kisses the side of your head again, squeezing your hip before he moves with Jane away towards the many workstations in the very large room.

After getting everything sorted out this morning, your heart doesn’t even sway towards jealousy and even though you’re worried about Loki, you breathe a sigh of relief that your realization about Thor’s loyalty has really engrained itself into you.

He loves you and nothing will change that. Even as they laugh somewhere behind you, your confidence doesn’t waver.

You reach up and touch the lotus on your necklace, a shining reminder of Thor missing you on his very first night away from you since your wedding.

You’re sure now that no one will ever come between you and Thor.

No one.

#a wife for thor #king!thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #thor x reader #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel au #marvel fanfiction

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imaginethoseguys · 3 years ago

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Liquid Courage

Hi, I need to submit a seminar paper in 10 days so naturally I wrote this 3k+ fic for Itadori Yuji girl, bye

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x fem!S/O Word count: 3.3k Warnings: fluff, drinking, drunk confessions, slight angst, au motifs Summary: No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys who she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.

Yup, no way that was happening. a/n: Itadori's in his 20s (as well as s/o)

gif credit

It wasn’t Yuji who offered to spend the Friday night at a bar. He didn’t enjoy drinking that much, and there was some weird old movie at the local theatre that they could watch and make fun of together. But it was an unusual occasion, they were on a week-long mission, dealing with curse activity in Osaka, and, well, it was her who asked, so of course he agreed. He never went against her suggestions, he trusted her fully, maybe even too much. Possibly, it was her way with words. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say in situations where Yuji often found himself at loss for words. She was reliable and reassuring and had a certain kind of warmness to her.

Or, possibly, it was Yuji’s six-years-long crush on her that had him blushing and hyperventilating at anything she did, so opinions were divided on this one.

No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys with who she felt comfortable enough to be herself. Yup, no way that was happening.

“Oh, look, they have homemade plum wine!” her exclamation brought Yuji’s attention back to reality. “And it’s in pitchers too. Lucky!”

“You do remember you can’t hold your liquor, right?” he said, propping his face on his right hand while watching her mumble giddily “plum wine and soda, plum wine and soda.” She lowered the laminated menu sheet and leveled him with an annoyed gaze.

“I am a grown young woman who earns a living by exorcising curses, I’m pretty sure I can handle a glass or two, Yuji .”

“Including that time when you threw up on Fushiguro mid-conversation?”

“That was graduation! And we did shots.”

“Yeah, it was also 7pm.”

“Enough of you, mister.” She threateningly pointed a finger at him and turned around to call the waiter. Receiving an acknowledging nod in return, she turned back. “Besides, if we’re talking about you, everyone is terrible at holding their liquor in comparison.”

“I’m just heavyweight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just a beast machine who suppressed the King of Curses and can run 50 meters in 3 seconds,” she shook her head at her own description, “no wonder you’re Special Grade. Why do you bother drinking at all? Pretty sure it does nothing to you.”

“I don’t do it on my own. I like the company.” He said timidly.

“Aw, see? This is why I love you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened unintentionally, but she didn’t look at him long enough to see it, her attention swiftly taken away by an approaching waiter. He assured himself he was better at controlling his feelings, but it was all falling apart now, like a bunch of lies, because he could feel his entire face and ears pulsate from heat. He stared at the way her lips moved, making the order.

as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend

“Yuji? Yuji!”

He snapped back, looking even more surprised.

“You wanted the Ginjo-Shu, right?”

His gaze lingered on her face, open and bright, with eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yeah.”

This is fine.

* * *

“Ah, see? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Yuji furrowed his eyes helplessly and took the glass from her hand. She tried to down her drink in one motion but missed and spilled it over herself. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure if it was her being lightweight or her not stopping in time.

“When did that even happen,” he mumbled to himself, “she was fine a minute ago.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she moaned in drunk annoyance, “because I am here.”

“So it seems,” Yuji smiled.

“And I may be many things, but there’s one thing that I am not, and it is deaf. Or stupid.”

“Yup, that’s two things though.”

She sighed loudly and leaned back on the wooden wall of their booth. They were surrounded by soft mixes of white noise: distant frying and sizzling from the kitchen, clinking of glasses, and giddy discussions of the upcoming weekend. They could almost feel like they belonged here, to the normal crowd of Osaka drinking their weekly stresses away, complaining about their bosses, bills, and personal dramas.

Is that what it’s like to be normal? Both of them thought.

Yuji looked over at her and felt the heat returning to his cheeks. This drink spill felt too deliberate to be accidental. And her bra was very thin, and the bar’s AC was on and—

Yuji groaned and swiftly took his hoodie off, almost throwing it in her direction.

“Wear this, please.”

She didn’t really fight it and slowly put it over her head, beginning to crawl inside. She stopped somewhere in the middle and breathed in.

Ah, it smells so good. Smells like him.

She pressed the fabric into her face, taking in his scent. When did he manage to put on cologne? That’s just unfair.

“You okay in there? Are you stuck?” Yuji looked questionably at the wrinkly bundle that was now his hoodie with her somewhere inside.

“Listen, Yuji.”

“You’re just gonna talk to me like this, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft voice. “I know this isn’t how you would spend your night, but—I wanted to—you know. But in the end, I just—and—”

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug, and her head popped out of the hoodie, revealing Yuji’s face lightened by a warm smile.

“I told you, I like the company.”

There was a needle prick somewhere around her heart, and she pressed her lips together, taken by a sudden wave of sadness.

“Let’s get back, yeah?”

* * *

Their hotel wasn’t far from the bar, but due to her condition, the walk back took longer than usual. Summer was ending, the air was still warm, but there was a tingling coldness with each wind blow, a careful reminder of the approaching grey sky and smell of wet concrete, covered by tired leaves.

The path to the hotel entrance was hidden among the sleeping quarters, illuminated by floor lights, and framed by tall bamboo sticks. Yuji walked first and was right in front of the automatic sliding doors when he stopped and turned around to check on her. Instead of right behind him, he saw her at the beginning of the entrance path with her head down.

“Hm? Are you okay? Wait, are you sick?? Then stay right there, if you wanna throw up, do it—um—” he swiftly looked around. Seeing a gardening pot near one of the doors across the street, he pointed at it. “Here, maybe in this pot? Wait, no, this is a nice neighborhood, imagine waking up and finding vomit in your plants… ah, maybe in this bamboo? I’m not sure if it’s real though… ah, but this hotel allows hosting of jujutsu sorcerers because the owner is a friend of someone from the higher-ups, and if we vomit here—"

“Yuji.”

“Oh, maybe vomit in my t-shirt? And I’ll carry it to the nearest dumpster? No, that’s a horrible idea. Are you sure you can’t hold it until we get to our room? Then—”

“I’m not sick, Yuji!” she said loudly, maybe even too much so. “Although all this vomit talk is grossing me out.”

Yuji raised his eyebrows. “Then what’s wrong? Wait, did drinking uncover your hidden phobia of hotels? I read that somewhere…”

She smiled sadly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He bared his teeth, clearly offended. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to be helpful! Jeez, if you can’t walk – just say so, I’ll carry you to our room.”

“I don’t want to go to our room!” she yelled again. Yuji’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

“Because then we go to sleep, come back to Tokyo and—I—” She squeezed the hem of his hoodie, “and I’ll never get another chance.”

There’s a short silence after her outburst. Yuji glanced over her hands that were clenched in fists and looked to the side.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our only chance to visit Osaka, we can always book a vacation and come back here.”

“Huh? Who cares about Osaka? It's—”

“I’m not very smart,” he interrupted her quietly, “so you’ll need to be straight with me, otherwise I won’t understand what you mean.” Then, his voice got even quieter. “Or I’ll start imagining things that aren’t real.”

“Yuji, I—” she tried to speak fast, because she felt a betraying lump in her throat, “I never wanted to drag you into a bar. There was this old movie at the local theatre that we could have watched, but I—If I didn’t drink, I would have never gotten the strength to say the things that I’ve been meaning to say for a long-long time. And this trip felt like a perfect opportunity, and you’re right, I’m a lightweight and I overdid it, and I was so close to saying it, but I thought—I cherish you so, so much , Yuji, it hurts me to even think about it. I tried to tell you before, after graduation, but you distanced yourself from me that night, so I figured it was a bad idea. I still think it is, but I—Yuji, I—”

Yuji shortened the distance between them with a desperately fast sprint and grabbed her with both of his hands, squeezing her so tight that she could barely talk anymore, her face pressed into his chest. He was silent for a bit.

“I distanced myself from you during the graduation night because you looked so vulnerable. I thought you were doing things you would regret the next day, so I didn’t want to take advantage. Because when you’re like this with me, I,” his hands trembled, “It’s so hard for me not to be selfish.”

“Wait, Yuji,” she tried to move away from him, but no matter how hard she pushed, she would never win Yuji in a battle of strength. “Please, let me finish.”

“No,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “When you say that this is not the way I would spend my night… You can invite me to dumpster dive or read books about molecular physics in a public library, or lick poles in winter, and I’ll choose it over anything else. When I found out we would go on this mission together, I was so happy. I can be doing the grossest, most stupid, and pointless things, but if I’m with you – it would be the best way to spend all the time I have. I hate being alone, and it's all I ever felt for so many years of life. But when I met you—when I’m with you – I feel so warm. You make me forget about the bad stuff. When you’re next to me, I—I feel wanted. So please,” his hands weakened his grab on her frame, letting her lean back and catch a glimpse of his face. “Please, don’t give me false hopes.”

Their breaths were hot and shaky as they looked each other in the eyes, hypnotised by each other’s presence. She cautiously moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Yuji swallowed thickly, he had to stop himself, but her hand was soft and warm, and the number of times he dreamt about this exact moment didn’t let him move an inch of his body. She raised herself on her tiptoes and leaned to his lips. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so close to his that—

“Ghh, stop,” Yuji groaned and pressed his forehead to hers in agony.

“Why?” She asked breathlessly, “you don’t want this?”

“ No ! I mean, yes. God, I want this so much my head could explode, b-but,” he leaned back slightly, revealing his glowing red face, from the neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re drunk, and we’re tired and I,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I want this to be right. If you wake up tomorrow and don’t remember any of this, I—”

“Stop talking,” she moaned and pulled him back by the fabric of his t-shirt, crushing her lips into his, arms then moving up to snake around his neck. Yuji had to resist. He had to, but when she touched him like this, the taste of plum on her lips, and when her—

“Mhm,” Yuji groaned hopelessly, feeling her tongue explore the insides of his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he felt like his heart could stop. Suddenly, he was so putty in her hands, he would do anything for her to keep touching and kissing him like this. No, for her to do anything she wanted with him. He would make a pact with a curse and sell his soul to stay like this a little longer, or to never feel the need to breathe again, so her lips can remain sealed with his forever. Still desperate for air, however, he forced himself to pull away, a shining string of saliva stretching between their lips.

She breathed in, preparing to talk. “I—”

“No, please, don’t say it.” He pressed their foreheads together again, breathing heavily. “Allow me to be selfish. I—I want you to say it tomorrow, in the morning. So that—”

“—It’s real?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled bashfully, looking into her eyes. He could see himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes. They were bright and kind, and they looked at him the way he never thought would ever happen. He never thought he would be close enough to her to have the chance of examining just how deep and gentle they are.

Yuji moved a hair strand away from her face. “C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

He lifted her in one motion and pressed firmly to his chest. She could hear the rapid pounding in his chest, and it made her heart race after it. Pressing her ear closer, she could almost hear his thoughts. She didn't really need to hear them, she got the general idea from how uneven were his breaths and how his fingers trembled around her form.

While they waited for the elevator inside, she looked at him.

“Can I keep kissing you?”

His face heated up for a hundredth time this night, as he diverted his gaze nervously. She could feel his hands now squeezing her a little tighter.

“Y-yeah. I would like that.”

* * *

Yuji did not know that pain can bring such an amount of happiness with it. There were two single beds in their room, but they ended up sharing one of them together, which resulted in soreness and numbness in different parts of Yuji’s body. His back ached from arching it so that he didn't fall, and he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore because he went to bed while hugging her. Not that he was complaining though. He could go to sleep on hot coals for all he cared if that meant she would lie on top of him. Feeling her body next to his sent vibrations down his spine. Suddenly, he heard her groan, and his heart fastened its pace.

Nanami Kento was right when he said that getting old is manifested in small things. One of them was getting morning sickness and headaches from any amount of drinking, moderate or otherwise. She hid her face in both of her palms and turned to the side, trying to hide from the morning sun. Sliding the palms down to her chest, she was met with Yuji’s glowing but anxious face: his hair was a mess, and there was a big imprint on his right cheek from the pillow wrinkles. She smiled softly, reaching out to fix one of his hair strands.

“Hi,” she rasped.

“Hi,” he responded, sounding relieved.

“Remind me to never drink again,” she said, turning on her back tiredly. “I lose years of my life from each hangover.”

“I mean, it’s exactly what I’m doing each time, but the strategy doesn’t seem to be working.” He chuckled, slowly getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring you an aspirin.”

Her eyes traced his features radiating in the morning sun as he made his way to the coffee table across the room. He had plenty of scars across his back and more on the chest. None of Jujutsu High students got anything close to normal school life, but Yuji certainly took the cake. And to remain so gratuitously giving and caring all while dealing with so much burden and pressure—her heart sank from just the thought.

She sat up as Yuji sat in front of her on the side of the bed, giving her a glass of fizzling water. She smiled in gratification and brought it to her lips.

“By the way, can you tell me what we ended up doing yesterday? I don’t remember shit,” she said nonchalantly before starting to gulp down the medicine.

The look on Yuji’s face filled with terror and chagrin; he felt his fingertips grow colder as he grasped the bedsheets beneath his hands. He lowered his gaze in silence, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Meanwhile, she downed the glass and put it on her nightstand. Looking back at him, she lifted the corners of her lips.

“Kidding.”

He let out a questioning yell and grabbed a pillow, aiming a blow. “You’re so mean! Never ever do that shit again!”

He threw the pillow into her face, and she laughed, grabbing his hand, and pulling him on top of her. Yuji positioned his hands on both sides of her head and felt the familiar heat run up his neck to his cheeks, nose, and ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She lifted her hands and palmed his face, looking deep into his amber eyes. Yuji swallowed thickly, both of his palms twitching uncontrollably.

“Yuji.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I love you.”

The warmness from her hands went deep beyond his face. He felt her arms reach out gently into his chest and cradle his heart, calming its frantic heartbeat and holding it with such care that it sent lumps to his throat. He fought back the quivering of his lips as her thumb stroked across the scar right beneath his eye.

“I love you so so much,” she murmured fondly, squinting from her growing smile. Yuji lowered his body closer to hers and hid his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind.

“If you don’t stop, I might die.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t… feel this happy.”

She closed her eyes contently and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, dumbass.”

She played with his messy hairs, breathing in his scent.

“But if you don’t reciprocate, I might die as well.”

Yuji rose sharply on his hands and leaned forward, crushing his lips into hers for a quick second.

“I love you,” he said loudly after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” he kept repeating after kissing her over and over again. “I lov—” She interrupted him mid-sentence and took initiative, thrusting into his lips and parting them with a twirl of her tongue. He moaned and gave in, moving his head to the side.

Please, don’t leave me

I’m with you until the world collapses

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

Text

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone.

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind.

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?"

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins.

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-"

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it.

***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm.

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!"

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before.

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place.

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?"

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me."

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?"

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation."

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order.

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once.

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test.

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in?

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer.

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether.

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides.

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics.

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that.

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence."

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!"

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming.

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go.

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits.

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows.

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place).

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm.

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why.

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes.

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head.

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her.

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building.

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant.

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know.

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be.

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place."

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection.

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’."

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is.

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper.

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n."

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own.

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear.

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his.

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?"

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words.

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss.

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans.

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right."

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?"

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek.

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead.

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties."

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra. Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach.

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips.

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment.

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways.

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good."

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough."

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths.

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness.

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?"

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering.

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly.

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind.

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell.

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused.

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was."

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference.

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au

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