#but yeah my options are between buying the series and actually getting to read through it

[bootyful-seventeen]

So I was rewatching vampire knight cuz it was leaving Netflix in a few more days and I’ve only got 4 more episodes left and I know I’m gonna be confused with the ending since I remembered it had many loose ends

[bangtanfancamp]

Champagne Silk | KNJ

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⋅summary: Almost year ago, you became the arranged bride of the most powerful man in the city, Kim Namjoon, but this morning, with you, he’s just a man who’s head over heels for you who can’t help getting lost thinking about his future with you.

Alternatively: no matter how powerful a man Namjoon is, he is still a klutz in the kitchen. A sexy klutz though.

⋅ author’s masterlist

⋅part two of the Silk series ( read part 1 here)

⋅also the second installment of breakfast with bangtan series (masterlist here)

⋅pairing: mafia!namjoon x reader

⋅genre: mafia! au, arranged marriage! Au, smut, fluff, angst, established relationship

⋅word count: 15.5k words

⋅rating: mature

⋅warnings: a generous amount of consensual sexual activities 🙃, brief scene of oral sex, impregnation kink, a shared bath tub, multiple instances of christiana being uncomfortable with using proper technical names for genitalia and being intentionally ambiguous instead. (honestly it’s more tame and wholesome than you think but god, if these two aren’t hot for each other )

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“Damn it.” 

The sound comes rumpled from the other side of the kitchen, like someone’s trying to keep it hidden. It’s so subdued and muttered that around anyone else, it might have been successfully hidden. But not right now. And certainly not with you. Because you know the distinct, adorable huff of your husband’s regret in an instant.

“You all right over there, darling?” There’s an innocence in your voice to hide your humor.

“Promise you won’t laugh if I tell you?” 

“Oh, unfortunately I can do no such thing, my love. You’ll just have to brave the odds and tell me.” 

Your smile is benevolent, but unyielding. You politely, pleasantly even, refuse to give him another option, and he knows it. It’s that simple. Even with his back to you, he knows the jig is up. As he hunches with heavy shoulders, he sighs and mutters something too low for you to pick up at first.

“Once more for the people in the back, yeah?” You tease.

“I said, I spilled wine on everything,” he exhales. 

His voice is tinged in shades of caramel, rich with resignation, as he confesses, stepping aside so you can see the mess he’s made. 

“Oh, Joon.” 

A terribly bright fondness pulls your lips into a smile as your clumsy giant sheepishly ducks his head across the room. His once pristine white shirt, his linen pants and your white antique tablecloth are all freshly dip dyed in swirls of Pinot Grigio and rosé.

“I know. I know. You don’t have to say it.” His eyes flit down to the stack of too many wine glasses slotted between his large fingers that have spilled their bounty across every available fabric surface.

“You have no idea what I’m about to say,” you point out graciously.

Crossing the room, you tip up on your toes to press a tender kiss to the spots where his jolly dimples would show if he weren’t so flustered. 

“MmmHmm. Sure I don’t.” He squints at you while you slip one glass at a time out of his grip and reach for a cloth.

“Precisely. You shouldn’t assume, Namjoon. You know what they say.” You smirk, wetting the cloth with water you know will be too frigid for him to stand in this half asleep state he’s in, but the stains have got to go.

“And what exactly do they say?” His large palms dip to rest on his hips as he braces for your commentary.

“Simply that assumptions only make an ass out of you and me so…”

His nose scrunches in distaste, even as he starts to laugh. “What a beastly phrase. I forget how much delicacy Americans have.” 

“Oh heaps of it. More than they know what to do with, really.” You shrug as you wring out the cloth. “Positively genteel. Is that not why you chose to marry one?” You add with a wry smile.

Glancing down at the bands on your finger, you warm at the way they glisten in the bits of lazy Sunday light filtering through the window. Namjoon’s glints golden across the room as he waits for your rescue. Both still new enough to feel like a novelty. Enough to make a small light inside you beam with pride whenever you catch sight of it.

“I chose to marry the only one I could find who was quick enough to get the stains I make out before they set and sweet enough not to give me grief for it.” He arches an eyebrow down at you in challenge as you slip one hand past the deeply undone row of buttons on his shirt to pull the fabric up and away from his skin as you begin to gently blot at the wine.

“Oh no. Well, I hate to inform you of this, but unfortunately, I’m actually 0 for 2 in those qualifications. But I will sincerely try my best since you’ve placed so much trust in me.” You chuckle as you set to work. “Would it be helpful if I mention what a smart wife you have to have ixnayed buying that cabernet sauvignon you wanted so badly, especially given your current predicament?”

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead before dipping to press his nose against your own while shaking his head. 

“No. Not in the slightest.”

“See? That’s good to know. Would have been awful if I mentioned the Merlot I put back too then. Can you imagine? Could have been so unseamly.”

He laughs, smiling against your hairline. “Well, what would have been the point of whisking my bride all the way out to a little villa in wine country and inviting guests only to not serve them red wine?”

“The point would have been you not turning into the kool-aid man whenever said wine inevitably spilled all over you. Case in point.” You look up at him through wide, fluttered lashes as you press the icy cold cloth against a particularly bold splatter on his chest. The frigid water grazes his nipple through his thin shirt and your giant of a man winces like he was wounded on the playground.

“Hey, that’s freezing.” He moves to swat your hand away. 

“Would you rather just take this off then? So I can work properly,” You smirk.

“No,” he sighs. “That would just be colder.” 

He looks so adorable right now. The lavender locks you’d once loved so well have been replaced, faded into a dusty blonde instead. His thick hair, usually coiffed so neatly, so perfectly, is currently disheveled entirely. Bits that had been gently curated to frame his face the night before are now plastered to his forehead, others shooting off at odd angles, all from falling asleep on the couch beside you once your dinner guests finally left late last night. 

He’s still in last night's now stained and rumpled clothes, still looking absolutely divine with the sleeves cuffed against his elegant forearms and his now wide open neckline thanks to the buttons undone all the way down past his rib cage.

His body is every bit a grown man, but his sleepy features- those wide eyes and pouted lips- make him look every bit the little boy you saw once in his mothers photo albums the week of the wedding. Big Namjoon still makes the same faces when he makes a mess as little Namjoon, and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Don’t be such a weenie,” you tease. 

“Careful who you tease, woman. You’re the only one in this city who forgets how many people are afraid of me.”

“This city is half a day’s drive away. There’s no one to fear you here,Joonie. Besides, your enemies have clearly never seen how quickly you’d fall in a battle against the cold or else you would have been displaced ages ago,” you tease with a twinkle in your eyes as he narrows his at you.

“I don’t think you’d like ice water on your breasts first thing in the morning either.” He huffs under his breath.

“You never know til you try,” you wink.

“Would you like to try?” His eyes rake over you salaciously despite the tenderness in his smile. 

“No, I can’t say that I do,” you chuckle, pushing a palm against his chest. “Besides, it’s hardly first thing in the morning, Joon. It’s almost noon.” You nod toward the clock.

There’s still sleep in his voice when he laughs, the sounds rich and resonant where it blooms from his chest. “Well, it’s still morning for me when we didn’t fall asleep til well after 3 because our guests don’t know when to leave.”

You smile to yourself at the memory of time spent with your friends. Well, more accurately Namjoon’s friends, i.e. the members of his crew who have become like family to both of you. Namjoon’s been on the move so much with work lately that there’s been no time to simply sit and enjoy their company. You were in raptures when he suggested they join you for dinner last night.

“It was so good to see Hoseok and Jungkookie though. Their new girlfriends seem so sweet.” 

Namjoon’s gaze seems far off somewhere as he listens to you.“They do, don’t they? JK’s seemed spunky too. She’s good for him.” 

“I think so too. He spent half the night blushing- he was so happy. It was good to see him so over the moon for once, that little romantic.”

Namjoon smiles, a soft thing nestled in the pocket of his cheek, full of fondness for the youngest of his friends. “Yeah, I’m glad he finally found someone so good for him.” 

Pulling you in, he kisses you gently, once, twice before pressing his lips to the top of your forehead, an unspoken “as good as you are for me” hidden his warm brown eyes.

“Big softie,” you whisper, reaching up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheeks. He tips his face toward your palm to plant a kiss there too, his lips just brushing the inside of your wedding band as you smile.

“For you? Always.”

“For me? It was the food last night. God, That charcuterie board Jin brought was positively masterful.” The memory alone has your mouth watering. “Such a shame it was all gone so soon though.”

“Ooo, speaking of,” Namjoon slips out of your grip to rustle around in the kitchen behind you. “Not quite.” 

“What did you do?” You narrow your eyes at him as you settle into a wooden chair to start tending to the swirling stains on the tablecloth.

“Oh, the best thing. Husband of the year level best thing.”

“Husband of the year? Can't wait to see this then. Very moderate expectations, indeed.”

With his back to you, you can’t see what he’s up to, but you can certainly hear it. Especially the low grunt when his hip snags on the new island counter. This poor man was clearly made for a different life than this old world kitchen provides. You wonder which will go first, your husband or the architectural detail. You chuckle to yourself until you realize exactly what it is he’s carrying.

“Kim Namjoon, is that-?”

“A mini stolen charcuterie board? You bet it is,” he winks your way, and a storm of winged things flutter in your stomach.

“How did you even-“

“When you had everyone gathered in the backyard, and Jimin tripped over the cord for the string lights.”

“I’ll never know how such a graceful man can cause such disasters. Or how you managed to befriend the only other man on earth as poised and clumsy as you all at once,” you chuckle, stealing a fig from the corner of the board as he peels back the plastic film covering it. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

“Mmm Hmm. I knew you thought so,” he taps you on the nose lovingly. “You always ask Jin to make these for you, and then you’re always so sad when all twelve people you invite make it vanish in half an hour.”

“I know. I know. It would go farther if there were fewer people to share it with, but Joon, the boys are like family. I haven’t seen them all together in so long. I couldn’t bear to leave anyone out.”

There’s a twinkle glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. He’s glad to see how soft your heart somehow remains despite the life you both lead. 

“Which is precisely why I took the liberty of stashing some of this bounty away while the guests were busy and saving it for you.” 

When he smiles at you like that, all softened edges and warm brown eyes, it’s impossible not to fall in love with him all over again. It’s not like you’ve forgotten how kind he is or how striking he can be when he smiles. It’s simply that the more you see it, the more in love you become.

Rising up in your chair, you reach across the table to tenderly cradle his cheek.

“I hate to say this, because then you’ll know you were right, but this is really is an excellent submission for husband of the year. I would like to point out, though, that you are welcome to make as many entries as you’d like before the panel comes to a consensus, you know.” 

He smiles so wide that his eyes get lost in their beautifully crinkled edges. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, they do say that you should play toward the judge’s preferences. Would you happen to know any? To help me get that inside edge.”

“Now, now. I can’t help you cheat. You’ll have to conduct your own research.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. We have a strict moral code. They’d ruin me if I let that sort of intel slip.” You tilt your chin up in defiance despite your smirk and laughing eyes.

“Hmm. We can’t have that, can we? Shame. I really thought this was going to be my year.”

“Do you really think the only way you’d win is to cheat? Come now...it can still be your year if you play your cards right.”

Your hand drifts up to his carelessly perfect hair, fingers gliding through it and tugging a bit near his scalp. One of his favorite ways to receive affection you’ve found out this past year. His lids fall heavy before he can catch them, a small hiss catching behind his teeth that means you’ve done it right.

“Careful. You don’t know what you might be starting.” His eyes wander the edges of your lips, trace the frame of your collarbone.

“I’d never take the risk if I wasn’t ready to face the consequences.” The twist of your lips is subtle, as gentle as the seduction you’ve learned is your forte. 

Namjoon licks his lips, the lower one snagging in his teeth as his eyes drift over you. Without breaking his gaze, he takes a champagne grape from the board and lifts it to your lips. You can feel your pulse flutter and quicken beneath your skin. It always does when he eyes you like that.

The man might as well be a snake charmer for all the control you feel like you have over yourself right now as your mouth parts of its own accord for him. But just before the fruit can graze your lips, his grin widens- wicked with delight- as he decides to pop it in his own mouth instead.

His dimples are so deep as he laughs at your flustered state that you wish you could crawl inside them and hide.

“Ha Ha. Very funny, Joon. Tease the woman you claim to love. Excellent way to keep a happy wife.” 

Rolling your eyes, you push off from the table, fully intent on doing... you have no idea what, exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from this table as fast as you can before you knock the carefully preserved remnants of this charcuterie board to the floor and take him on the table.

 The blush that was rushing to your cheeks is now crashing in your ears and all you can think to do is “go,” but before you can get even half a step too far, Namjoon’s warm, impossibly large hand is already wrapping itself around your wrist and grounding you to your spot.

“All I want is a happy wife,” he laughs. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I thought I made that pretty clear from the first day.”

Slowly, he stands as his hand trails its way down to dance across your palm before lacing your fingers with his. 

“Certainly doesn’t feel like it right now,” you pout, despite the excitement thrumming in your veins. You know that look on his face now. The one that’s evil and beautiful, sincere and serpentine. The one that wants to devour you playfully. To love you even as he ruins you.

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do.” 

Suddenly, he snaps you to him, his hands fastening themselves to the dip in your waist. You gasp, the force making you brace against his smooth, exposed chest to catch yourself.

“It won’t?” Your voice comes out airy, too thin, as the morning breeze billows through the open windows. 

“No. Not at all. So I wanna know: how can I fix this, baby?” His eyes are possessed by something wicked as one hand leaves your waist to trace a thumb over your parted mouth.

“I- I”

“Shh, I made this mistake. I’ll make it right.” He arches a single brow as his tongue wets his lips, and your brain loses any grip on rational thinking.

“And h-how do you plan to do that?” It’s a whisper- too breathy, too barely coherent. His hands are so warm. His touch is like lightning and suddenly even breathing requires too much energy with the way you feel like you’ve shorted out.

“I don’t know. You tell me, baby.” His knuckle tips it’s way under your chin, tilting your face up to his as you follow in obedience.

“But… I thought… I told you. The judge can’t help.” You swallow, lashes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Then she can’t get what she wants,” he challenges.

“Fair enough. That’s fair.” Your head bobbles in assent. 

“So I’ll try this again,” his face dips down until his mouth rests just below your ear. “What do you want, baby?”

You feel lightheaded as you melt in hands, rushing out the words, “Counter. Now. Please.”

 Your expression folds in on itself in satisfaction when Namjoon grips you around the waist and plants you on the kitchen island without a moment's hesitation. You gasp, airy and quick, before his palm is fitted against the curve of your throat with just the amount of pressure he’s learned that you like.

“Good girl. Open your legs for me, baby.”

A muffled inhale later, your knees have parted where you’re sat on the island and Namjoon is fitted between them, his hips to the counter as he kisses you in earnest. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue and open mouth work their way down your throat, painting wide open blossoms of scarlet and blush along the way. Your hands are in his hair, at his scalp, tugging and grabbing to bring him back to your kiss. His taste is tinged salty and sweet from your skin and the grapes, and your thighs wrap themselves tight around the narrow slope of him.

He’s gotten so broad since the wedding day. If you had trouble composing yourself around him then god only knows how you’ve survived the past year. His shoulders seem wider, his arms more substantial, his chest impossibly inviting as you claw at the last remaining buttons of his dress shirt. 

“Off. Off. Take this off.” You push at the sleeves that bunch around the arcs of his newly swollen biceps, taking a moment to drink in how beautiful they are as you clutch at his golden skin. 

“So eager now. What happened to my shy girl?” His voice is teasing, light, but his eyes look proud of you.

“You did things like this to her, and now she can’t get enough.” Your mouth fits itself to the beautiful stretch of bare skin beneath his ear, suckling the indescribable taste of him before traveling down his throat and across his jaw.

He laughs, something deep and melodic, before his fingers begin to glide over your collarbone and dance over your arms, featherlight, like he always does when he’s trying to rile you up.

“Should I get this out of our way then?” His fingers tug at the slim straps of your champagne blush dress. You’d worn it especially for him at last night’s party. You’d never forgotten his affinity for your skin draped in silk.

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do, baby. It’s perfect.”

“Then why do you want me to take it off?”

 Your voice is sticky sweet with innocence, but Namjoon knows better. He doesn’t know where you got the wherewithal to tease him right now as he holds you pressed against his growing warmth, but when your eyes flick to his, he knows you’ve made the right choice. He likes it when you challenge him. It makes it more fun when he wins.

“So I can do this,” he grins with a flash of his teeth.

Without missing a beat, he’s slipped both straps clean off your shoulders, leaving the dress to pool around your hips, and scoops one of your soft breasts gently into his mouth. Your breath comes sharp, a stuttered, inhaled moan that tastes as sweet to him as the ripened figs on the tray. Deliciously priceless. 

He still can’t get over you. He doesn’t think he ever could. He’s never reached a point where the sounds you make fail to set his world ablaze. He’d like nothing more than to make drawing them out of you every morning just like this his sole profession.

Reverently, his other hand brushes up your side to cradle your other breast beside it. God, they’re so soft. Namjoon is almost ashamed to admit how infatuated he is with your breasts.  It would be embarrassing if you weren’t equally in love with receiving all the attention he gives them.

What can he say? He’s a simple man. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him and for him? They’re perfect. Even with all the exploration the two of you have shared this past year, he knows this part of your body has got to be his favorite- your skin there is so velvet smooth and supple, so delicately sensitive, so perfectly sized for him to devour to his heart's content.

As his tongue warms the tender skin of your nipple with affection, and his thumb steadily plays with the other, he feels the muscled grip of your thighs tighten against him. The sounds you make for him as you clutch at the edge of the granite might as well be a symphony. He loves you like this. Wild and coming undone at his touch and attention. No one in the world but you and him.

“J-joon, baby.. I-“

Looking up at you through heavy eyes, entirely impressed with himself, he smiles and flicks his tongue against you again. When the jolt makes you jump, he stands to his full height above you, and sets his hands back on your sides.

“What is it, baby? You have to tell me.”

Your brows crumple in softly as you look up at him through your lashes. If you could speak, you would, but the way he plays you like an instrument with no effort at all always seems to dispose of your grace.

“But Namjoon…”  you’re trying and failing to catch your breath as both his thumbs come to lazily torment the soft swells of your chest. 

“You know what you like. You know what you want. Just tell me.”

You’ve barely got enough breath to function as it is, let alone to form a sentence. “But baby, I can’t…”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t have it.” He tuts. “Not if you can’t ask.” 

His grin is wicked, and as much you want to drown in it, something in you wants to wipe it off his pretty face.

“Not… fair…”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he smiles.

“Really? Because to me, what’s not fair,” he grips your hips, snatching you forward that last little inch to sit snug against his hips, “is me giving you a prize you haven’t earned.”

His hands dip to cup the curve of your backside,

his fingers digging deep into the silk and softness he finds there as he continues.

“ What’s not fair is the way you teased me in this little dress last night when you knew there would be too many people around for me to enjoy it properly…”

Dipping down, his sumptuous lips brush your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What seeing you in this dress all night did to me?”  

As yet another lightheaded gasp leaves your lips, a dark, satisfied chuckle leaves his. 

“H-how would I know?” your air comes in shaky as he has his way with you

“You know, baby girl. You always know.”

 As his fingers dip firmly into the globes of your backside, he begins gently, just barely, rocking against you. No hurry. No fuss. Just maddening, slow pressure as he grazes you. When an airy moan comes whimpering from your lips, his strong hands tense, keeping your hips too fixed to succumb to moving with him.

“But you didn’t... say anything.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his face lowers toward yours. You can feel the brush of his lips ghosting over the edges of your cheek, his nose tracing against your skin.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t tell. You know silk always does me in.”

His fingers slip across your stomach where your dress has pooled to rest. They ghost like a whisper over your hips and down your legs until they reach the hem of your skirt. He fits his hands against your skin and drags them up achingly slowly, willing his touch to memorize the feel of your skin along the way as he pushes the fabric up inch by merciless inch- all while never stopping the insatiable way his lips move warm against yours.

His touch and his kiss are languid, unhurried, as he sets you on fire. When he reaches your thighs, his palms splay across them, his thumbs dragging along the inner swell of your legs as your vision begins to blur. 

He’s taking his time. He’s teasing you and enjoying it. It’s evident in the way he slows down the higher he gets. The way his mouth begins to travel down your throat in kisses so soft, so divinely sweet, that you swear you’re growing lightheaded from the swelling rush of pleasure.

His thumbs have made their way to the folds of your hips, his hands hidden beneath the fabric as your body lights up electric at his touch. Like if it shines bright enough for him, he might bless it with all that you know he is capable of. But even though he knows you’re more than willing, your tease doesnt satiate your body or her cravings for him just yet.

Instead, he slows down further. He fits his hands on the outer edges of your hip while his kisses turn gentle, calming, resolving, as if he has no intention of following through further after riling you up like this.

“What are you— why are you stopping?” Your eyes flit between his, a subtle , whining irritation building up beside your impatience when he doesn’t move. He’s quiet at first, in no rush to answer. As his beautiful face hovers over you, he's so smug you almost want to slap him for toying with you like this. 

But that won’t get you what you want. What you need. So Instead, you take one of his hands and press it to your breast as you guide the other toward the center of you.

He plays along at first, until his fingers are about to brush the part of you that’s positively tingling for his touch, and he abruptly pulls back, resting both of his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

“Ah, ah. That’s for when you use your words, my sweet.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and suddenly, you’ve never been more greedy or more furious. 

Snatching at his waistband, you pull his hips forward and slip your hand over the linen to hold him. His breath catches at the back of his throat, and his eyes go wide, dumbfounded at the shift in power.

“And I said, the judge can’t tell you the answers.”

You level him with a look of quiet confidence as your fingers slip between his skin and the linen to hold him where he wants you most. His brows tip into softened u’s as the coolness of your touch brushes against him.

“Husband of the year should know what I want by now. I shouldn't have to tell him.”

You grasp him, fingers running delicately up the underside of him at the same time that you lick into his mouth. You feel him dip a bit as his knees buckle, making his hands on the counter the only thing holding him up.

“Mother of god,” he mumbles, even as his hips move in compliance with your touch. “Where did you learn that?”

“From the best,” you beam. Your smile is genuine, sweet and blindingly bright. It makes him want to take a bite out of the apples of your cheek, so he does. A playful nip that has you giggling and him pressing his lips together in fondness. 

The moment is sweet, until you catch his eyes with that same saccharine smile on your face, and take your hand away. His mouth opens, about to protest, until he watches you run your tongue in a long, slow stripe up your fingers before reaching back down behind his waistband to run the wet digits over his heated skin as you grasp him.

“Oh my… fuuuuck,” he exhales, his weight dropping to press into the counter. His face dips to lean against yours as he struggles to stay lucid. This feels so good, so out of nowhere, that his body is bursting to life more rapidly that he can keep up with. 

With every movement you make, he moves with you, gasping through his open mouth with every touch as he tries to keep his composure. Leaning into your forehead, he feels his nose bumping against yours as he searches for air. He feels nearly lightheaded but god, you’re incredible. Your touch feels so good- he never wants you to stop. 

Still, he wants control back though. To make you as much of a mewling mess as you’re currently making of him. He was enjoying the game you were both playing before, but he likes the feeling of winning more. However, just when he thinks he’s got a way to get the upper hand back, you ever so lightly twist your grip as you pump him, and suddenly, he can’t tell if he’s dying, ascending or blacking out. 

It feels so good so fast that he can barely remember his own name, let alone stage a coup. Your fingertips gently play with the tip of him at the top of each swell in your fluid flourish, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else to do with all this bursting excess inside of him but to kiss you. So he does. Open mouthed. Sloppy. Full of want. It feels so incredible that you can’t help but laugh brightly into his mouth, ethereally elegant, even as you wreck him. 

As you work, he can feel the way he’s growing harder with your attention, the way his blood feels like it’s singing the longer you touch him. His hips are obeying you like they belong to you, and at this point, he’s pretty sure they do. His mouth is painting your throat, adding swathes of crimson to the blooms he made before until your neck is colored with an entire bouquet of his affection. 

When he closes his eyes, the light behind them sparkles with effervescence as he listens to the quickness of your breath as you work. The sounds, the moans, the gasps you make as you touch him mingle with sounds of early morning nature and Namjoon wonders if this was what the poets meant when they described paradise. 

Pleasure is cresting over him in warm, molten waves now, and as it builds, he realizes he was wrong.

That as much as he loves your luminous eyes, your serene smile, the softness of your breasts, that those aren’t truly his favorite part of you if he’s honest. At least not right now. Not in moments like these. Because right now, with your hand wrapped around him, wrecking him with craving, that title is held by the treasure between your thighs; and as the blood rushes away from the rest of his body and swells where your hand lies, all he can think of, all he wants, is to bury himself in the wet, velvet warmth of you and never leave.

If he doesn’t get you naked with him inside you within the next three seconds, he thinks he might die.

So he does something about it.

“Open, baby. Open your legs for me,” he demands. It’s firm, commanding, but his eyes are so full of needy want that it’s hard to say who’s really in charge right now. 

Pushing your hand away and placing it on his chest, Namjoon kicks down his linen trousers and slides up your dress as you obey. He springs out, the length of him pressing into the meat of your thigh. It has you whimpering before you can catch yourself.

“God, I knew you were a smart boy. You’d figure it out eventually,” your voice is teasing, but your face is so dizzy, so desperate for him, that he could give you the whole world if you asked.

“You ready for me, baby?” His eyes are half blown with lust, his lashes hanging heavy as he runs his fingers over your opening, before collapsing against your shoulder. “ Oh my god.”

“What is it, Joon?”

“Nothing. I just,” he chuckles once, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how wet you get for me.”

With no hesitation, he slips two fingers inside you as your belly contracts. Gasping his name, you can’t help but cling to him as light shoots through your body at the incredibly welcome feeling of his hands there.

“Nam- Namjoon, ah!” Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you can feel your nails dig into his sturdy flesh as he begins rocking you with a motion so good, so fluid you fear you may simply float away and never touch the ground again.

“Yes, baby? What is it?” 

“You. I want you. Please.”

“You have me, baby.” His teeth are gritted in focus as he works you, his brow dipped low as he watches how easily you come undone with his attention. Warmth gushes over his fingers as he feels your walls contract in tandem with the tug of your hands in his hair. The sting is sharp and sublime as you grasp him tight with every part of you.

“Inside. Come inside. Need you. Now,” you plead. Your other hand trickles down his torso to the soft hair above his member before holding him firmly with a twist of your hand. He moans, hips canting into your delicate palm.

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. Slipping his fingers out of the way, he scoops you safely to the edge of the island, one large hand stroking himself and guiding him to line up with your eager entrance.

The essence of you coats the tip of him without any effort, your body unfolding, so relaxed for him, as he easily begins to slip inside you. It’s so abundant that the slide is effortless, helping him bottom out almost immediately within you. Your head falls back in wonder as he does, your hands quickly planting against the cold counter to catch you. 

Wow. God, Namjoon’s body always has a tendency to overwhelm you, no matter how many times you get caught up in each other like this. You still can’t get over that. Honestly, it would be impossible to when he’s built like he is. 

He’s broad everywhere- that’s obvious to anyone. But here, he’s long and thick, with thighs like tree trunks powering each movement as he glides inside you. Any other time, you might have needed his help to adjust, for him to take his time to warm you up, but this morning? Your body is ready for him, and he knows it. 

It’s unfolding itself for him like a bloom to the sun, and he’s reverent enough to return its worship. You’re so wet that he can feel it trickling down his hip as he pistons into you, and he regrets not dipping down to sample a taste of it before coming inside. But now that he’s here, there’s absolutely no way he’s leaving the warmth of your walls until you're both falling over and spent.

Your ankles are crossed behind him, pulling him as close as you can get him, and his face is pressed against your neck and collarbone as both your hips work in dizzy tandem. The sensation of it sends his consciousness swirling as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

He’s convinced now that you’re a real, actual goddess. There’s no way you could make him feel this divine if you weren’t. Your ambrosia coats his thickness, spilling over him as he thrusts harder, deeper, tilting his hips to curve against that spot inside you that—

“Oh! God! Joon,” you yelp. “Yes, don’t stop.”

His grin is infectious. You can feel it against your skin as you pull him tighter, rocking in time with him as your euphoria builds. Your laugh is bright, sparkling as he licks his fingers and slips them swirling over the sensitive burst between your legs. Your breath catches, his name and profanity tumbling from your lips in equal measure.

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Your senses are on overload, your vision darkening around the edges as the pleasure he paints across your body escalates rapidly. Somewhere far off, you can hear his voice. His mouth is near your ear, his breath cooling your skin that’s become sticky with sweat, but you can’t understand, can’t wrap your brain around what he’s saying…

Until you realize that even fully coherent, you’d still be lost because your forever intoxicating husband has slipped back into his native tongue. You love it when this happens. With his senses so thoroughly drowning in you,  translating language just becomes too hard a thing to manage, so the harder and deeper he goes, the lower the bass in his voice becomes as he mumbles in korean against your ear.

You’ve learned enough to catch words like “beautiful” “perfect” and “God, I love you,” but the rest remain a mystery as he captures the innermost parts of your body for himself with swift, perfect strokes of his hips. The depth he’s reaching right now has you in raptures. It has your breath coming in short gasps as your breasts bounce buoyantly with each...incredible… thrust he delivers.

You won’t last much longer. You know it. And All you can think right now is how badly you want to look in his eyes when you come- which you know will happen any second now.

  Between his touch, his voice, the indescribable way he moves his hips when he’s inside you, and the crescendo you feel from the spot he’s internally caressing right now, you know you’re only moments away from dissolving into the atmosphere, yet all you want is more of him.

“Joon, baby, I’m so close. Look at me. Please,” you move one of the hands supporting you to hold his face and bring it to yours.

God, that please of yours. It flows so naturally from your lips when he has his way with you. He doesn’t know how to describe what it unleashes in him, but he knows it never fails to wreck him. “Shh, let go, baby girl. I’m right here. I got you.” 

Before he can think, he’s kissing you deeply, his tongue insatiable as he tastes you. He alternates between kissing you and pulling back to catch your eyes. The depth of affection in his gaze warms you brilliantly from the inside even as you swear you can practically feel his thrust against the underside of your lungs. 

His once seamless rhythm has become all feel and nuance. All order is long lost as he makes his last powerful dives into the depths of you. You can feel it- the tightness in his body, the firm set in his jaw, the profound depth of his voice as he praises your body in Korean. If you were to die like this, caught up in Namjoon’s impeccably loving, gracious body, you wouldn’t have a single regret.

There’s nothing more you could ask for. 

The glittering sensation pulsing through your body let’s you know it’s almost time to surrender, and you’re ready to come undone. Surely, there could be nothing more blissful than this— until Namjoon takes the hand he’s kept gripped around your waist and slips it up to your throat.

Your eyes go wide. 

He really was paying attention. Husband of the year, indeed. 

And just like that, the express trip to ecstasy nearly slams into your body. His eyes are locked on yours. He’s muttering a soft “good girl” and “that’s it, baby” as he works his powerful hips into you. He has one hand clamped firm and perfect below your jaw along your throat, and the other dancing elegantly along the bundle of nerves between your legs. He takes those fingers into his mouth to wet them, his face crumpling in a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his skin, before slipping them back where they belong. 

It’s altogether too much and you are lit up sparkling as the combined sensation of it all builds with the warmth of his body against you, within you. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says it clear and firm, his touch generous to help ease you over the edge. 

“Only if you come with me,” you breathe. Your eyes meet his as you try to find something to hold on to as the tension in you crests. 

He smiles then. All dimples and sweet eyes and perfect lips. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek beside your lips, and that’s all it takes to ruin you.

You feel your body contract around him in bliss as his name spills from your mouth. Making love to Namjoon has never felt commonplace, but there’s something about today. About him. About the sweetness of this morning in the middle of your perfect hidden home with him that makes you burst not only with pleasure, but with love. 

As your orgasm washes over you, you feel illuminated from within like the sun is glowing out of your skin as your body melts against him.

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re so perfect.”

As your body floats back down from wherever you just astral projected from bliss, you can feel that his body is just a breath away from tipping over the edge itself. He’s pulling back, pulling out, intending to spill himself elsewhere, but in that instant, you realize you don’t want that.

Your memory flashes back to your wedding day. To the moment those hideous people decided to squawk about your child-rearing, heir-producing duty just hours after your vows, and Namjoon had cut them off immediately at the jump and whispered,” don’t pay them any mind. That happens when you’re ready. Not a second before,” soft against your ear. 

It was one of the first instances that made you realize what a good man he was. How willing he was to put your readiness, your comfort, before anyone or anything else. And now, as you take him in, as you remember how truly and deeply you love him, you realize you’re ready for there to be more.

You’ve had countless discussions with him about starting a family, and everytime, without missing a beat, his answer has always been, “whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.” 

You've come to learn over this past year that he’s wanted nothing more than to become a dad since he was a small boy.

You’ve gotten to witness how fun, gentle and gracious he is with his nephews. With Jimin’s daughter, his sweet godchild. For a year, you’ve watched him be good and kind to any child he meets, patient with you, subdued as he hides the depth of his desire to be a father behind his dimpled smiles and suave redirection when you bring it up. 

He’s been willing to wait for you. He never pushes. He never demands. And in this moment, as you study the face of the incredible man who’s welcomed you into his heart and his home, all you want is to begin the journey to give him what you know he will never ask for, even though it’s what the secret parts of his heart want the most. 

“Namjoon,” you whisper,” don’t. It’s okay. You can finish inside me.” You caress his face lovingly as his eyes go wide. 

“Really? But baby… I… what…” Your eternally eloquent man has gone slack jawed in his loss for words as his hips begin to still.

“It’s okay,” you nod. “I want you to. I want to feel you.” You kiss the dip of his dimple.

“Are you sure? i-“ he stumbles before you lovingly cut him off.

“I think it’s about time we start trying for our family, don’t you?” You whisper. Your fingers thread through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes as his face beams with light. His shoulders and chest are shaking with laughter as his eyes flit between yours and he smiles.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” His hands slip up to cradle your face, the most beautiful mixture of excitement and relief and the purest joy making his misty eyes look brilliant in the early light.

“Absolutely,” your voice is soft as you tip your nose against his. Your smile is all pearls and laughter as you reach to grab the full apples of his ass and push him into you.

He’s laughing and smiling and gasping when you do, before happily resuming the final few thrusts he would need to send himself over the edge.

“Use me, baby,” you whisper, eyes alight with the gentle seduction that always ruins him. “I want to feel you when you finish.”

Biting his lip, he swallows and nods, almost too eager, but you’re beautiful and warm and you’ve gotten so tight around him and he can’t help himself. He’s close. He’s already soo close. He’s spent nearly this whole morning trying to contain himself inside you despite the absolutely mind numbing feel of you, and here you are telling him to let go? It’s impossible that you’re real.

Pulling his face to you, he realizes you’re kissing him. Your honey sweet tongue has made a home in his mouth. Your soft breasts brush his chest with every thrust. Your hands are clutching his back and in his hair. Your heels pressed into the back of his legs to pull him close, and now he knows you want to carry his baby.

To allow your body to grow and change just to hold his seed, start his family and realize his dream of not only being a husband to you but a dad to your babies. He’s so in love with you. So maddeningly, ridiculously, stupidly, over the moon in love with you, and all at once, it’s happening.

His release is coming, strong and quick, and he can finally drown in the feeling of it happening while you surround him. His body is reeling at the burst of perfection he feels from losing himself in you like this. The cloud like swells of your thighs pressing around him might very well be the only thing holding him up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I love you.” His face is buried in your neck, your chest, your hair, your cheeks- everything all at once- his full lips dropping kisses on your skin like stars falling from heaven. 

When he pulls back to look at you, he can’t even put what he’s feeling into words. But it’s okay. Because you know. He can see it in your eyes.

Cradling his face, you smile up at him, eyes glossy and happy. “You ready?” 

“To have a baby with you?” His voice falters as his smile grows so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “There isn’t anything I want more.”

Pressing his forehead to yours as he hugs your waist, you both press your noses together and laugh. Overcome with something almost too sweet to simply be called happiness. The word seems too small to encompass it all.

“Maybe I’m not husband of the year yet, cause I definitely didn’t see that coming.” He chuckles.

“Oh shut up. I know you felt how you made me finish. You’re just showing off at this point.”

“I can’t have my baby girl leave anyway but satisfied with me.” He winks, and you smack his chest lightly.

“I’d be mad at you for being so smug if you weren’t actually as great as you think you are,” you scrunch your nose at him as he laughs.

“Well, if there are any areas of improvement I can work on, let me know. I hear I'm about to have a lot of time to workshop your suggestions.” Namjoon lovingly nips at your collarbone, and you tingle in bliss at the thought of how many more moments like this lie in your near future.

“Duly noted. On that note then, I feel compelled to point out that what you just did counted as an excellent submission for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” He licks his lips slowly as you nod.

“Remember- you can make as many entries as you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Limitless,” you assent. 

“Good to know. I’ll keep it mind,” he smirks, dipping down to lift the fullness of one of your breasts into his hand as he gently kisses the top of the swell of flesh. You sigh into his kiss. This is going to be a spectacular journey— you can already tell.

“Namjoon.”

“Hmm?” His eyes perk up, though his mouth never leaves its preoccupation with your bare chest.

“Is this… is this okay? I hope I didn’t spring this on you too soon or… I don’t know...too out of the blue? Because your comfort is important too, and I—“

You’re swiftly cut off by the sweet press of Namjoon’s delicious lips against yours. “Shh. Yes, I want this. More than anything.”

“So my timing wasn’t—“

“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect,” he kisses the tip of your nose as your lips bloom into a smile. “And if we are going to try to fill that cute belly of yours with a baby, then maybe… maybe this shouldn’t just be a weekend visit.”

Tipping your head to look at him, you feel your brows scrunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this has always been our getaway spot. A place to stay safe and lie low when things get jumpy in the city. A place to take you when we want to be alone. Truly be alone. But if…” he hesitates, lacing your hand with his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If you’re going to be carrying my baby, I want to keep you safe. I promised you that the day I met you- I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s been risky enough to have you in the city all this time as it is.”

“So...what exactly are you suggesting, love?” You run your thumb lovingly over his knuckles.

“I’m proposing if you do get pregnant, we move you out here. Permanently. Or at least somewhat long term.”

“Wait…” you pull away, eyes clouding as you do. “Alone? Without you?”

“No. No. I didn’t word that right. I’d be here as much as i can, and I’d send the security detail to stay out here whenever I have to leave so—“

“Namjoon, I don’t want to be all the way out here by myself. Surely, that’s not necessary.”

He frowns as he tries to gather his thoughts. “This is coming out wrong...You wouldn’t be fully by yourself. I’d be here as much as I can. I just... want you protected. Safe. And out of the city while you're carrying something so precious.” The backs of his knuckles graze your stomach. 

“But I don’t understand. Why—“

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.” His voice has turned solemn, his eyes an odd shade of vulnerability when they meet yours. 

“Joon, nobody’s gonna do anything. You’ve made that city so secure-nobody could hurt me even if they tried.”

Something stormy and troubled clouds his eyes.It makes you wonder if there are things he hasn’t told you. Things he’s kept to himself to ensure that your life is as peaceful as possible. You wonder what kind of darkness he’s had to swallow for your sake. 

“But they have tried.”

It's news to you. 

“What do you mean… when?” 

“It’s happened a few times. Nothing ever got far enough to warrant bringing it up.”

“What on earth? Joon, why in the world wouldn’t you tell me that?” 

He sighs once, from some deep place in his bones. “Because i never wanted to have to see the look in your eyes that I do right now.”

Suddenly, any anger you held vanishes all at once. 

“Baby, why are you carrying something like that all by yourself?”

“So you don’t have to. I promised I’d keep you safe, and I meant it. That includes taking care of your peace of mind. Something you won’t have if you knew how many times someone’s shot off at the mouth about coming for you because they’re irate at me or how many times someone has done more than just talked and actually tried.”

It’s a sobering thought.

“Is that… is that the real reason why you never pushed for an heir?” For reasons you can’t explain, the idea makes you want to cry. Namjoon sees the shift immediately, his fingers ready to brush your tears before they even fall.

“Shhh, hey. No. I mean, it’s part of it. You know all I’ve ever wanted was to be a parent. When I married you, please know the idea of you being the mother of my children sent me over the moon, but I know this world. How people take what they want. Do what they want. I wanted better for you.” He runs his fingers soft over your cheek like you’re some spun glass artifact he needs to protect. 

“I wanted to be better for you than the men in this world were going to give you. I promised myself that I was never going to demand anything from you. That’s why I didn’t push for an heir. I meant it when I said we go at your pace. Always.”

Sniffling, you look up at him through wet lashes. 

“Joon, protecting me doesn’t mean you hide the truth from me.”

“Not even if it would hurt you? Scare you?”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry you. It’s so kind of you to try to take these burdens so I don’t have to, but then who carries them for you? That’s my job. You have to let me do it.”

Closing his eyes, he exhales long and slow through his nose. 

“You really mean it, don’t you? You really want to know.”

“Yes,” you nod, caressing his face. He looks troubled. You’d give anything to help take some of his cares away.

“Then you should know why we came to the villa this weekend.”

“So it wasn’t just for a getaway?” You brace yourself for whatever it is you’re about to hear.

“It is, and it isn’t. I guess I have to go back a bit for this to make any sense, but my family isn’t from here. You know that. Our roots don’t go back as many generations as yours do, so when the new kid on the block started gaining power in this city faster than anyone had seen before, there were a lot of families that weren’t happy about it.

Especially not when the daughter of one of the oldest families in the city became my bride. There had already been a lot of grumbling against me before I made such a powerful ally, and there were certainly plenty after. Anything we’d stumbled on over the last few months had been mostly hearsay, but…”

“What is it, Joon?” You're worried now. You can hear the way his voice sounds choked.

“There was a deal that went wrong a few weeks back. Just a skirmish with some lower level captains that got out of control, but I thought I’d put a pin in it. Turns out the other family involved hadn’t let it go like I thought …” he stops, eyes going cold as color drains from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay. You can tell me,” you reassure. 

Closing his eyes, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath, his voice lower, raspier when he continues. “There was a hit put out on you this past week.

You’re shocked. “There— what?”

”It’s okay now. Jungkook caught intel on it soon enough that he crushed it before the people responsible could hurt you, but I've never seen anyone get this close. Y/n, I couldn't breathe when he told me. When I found out, I nearly lost my mind. I called you immediately to make sure you were safe— I couldn’t breathe til I heard your voice.”

You had no idea he’d been through that. You can’t imagine what you would have done if the roles were reversed, if you’d been seconds away from losing him. It would’ve shattered you. You’re not sure how he’s still standing.

“Once I knew you were okay, the first thing I could think was that I needed to get you out of town as fast as I possibly could. Something’s building in that city, y/n. The lower families are tired of their rank. They’re itching to get back any sort of power they can- it’s making them reckless. There’s rumors of a war building…I’d dismissed it so far. Didn’t think they were a real threat until they had the nerve to try something like this. We squashed it, but this was too close, and I’m not willing to risk you.”

Realization dawns across your face. “That’s why we left with less than an hour's notice. I’d thought you were just being romantic about a weekend getaway but ...That’s why we came to this safe house and not the one on the edge of town, isn’t it?”

His eyes fall away as he nods, “That’s why our security detail was thicker than usual.”

“But I've hardly seen anyone.”

“That’s on purpose. I didn’t want to scare you.  Didn't want to draw attention to a whole parade leaving town so I had them follow us at a distance. They’re stationed all around the property and schooled to stay out of sight.”

“What about the boys? Was it safe to have them here this weekend with their wives? Their girlfriends? Didn’t we put them in danger?” Your rounded eyes betray the sudden guilt you feel for what you thought had been such a beautiful night.

“Shh, no. Hey, they’re fine. I had them all moved out to safe houses not too far from here with a security detail on them too. They’re just a few miles from here. That’s why I didn’t feel bad about them driving out last night- they didn’t have to go all the way back to the city, just to our guest houses and then their safe houses in the morning….I’m having them all lie low for a little while. Figured they’d want their girlfriends and wives as close to their side as I want mine. Thought having them over was a good distraction for a night.”

You had no idea. Something cold runs up your spine at the thought that this weekend, this beautifully perfect day could’ve been so different. Or perhaps not even happened at all. 

Slipping your dress back into place, you cover yourself. It feels wrong to have this conversation half naked. Namjoon seems to sense it too as he pulls his pants back on. He offers to help ease you down from the counter, picking you up and placing you gently on the whitewashed floorboards, making sure you’re steady before he lets you go. 

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh at how he has to make you sure you’re stable enough not to keel over where you stand after blessing you with an orgasm so bright it makes your soul radiate around your body. Now though, you find your hand cradling your lower belly, feeling entirely naive for thinking now was the time to bless the world with Namjoon’s child. You should say something, but the words get stuck in your throat…. you feel like a fool.

“I’m gonna make us some coffee, yeah? You want a cup?” Namjoon offers softly. When you look up, he looks so worn out all of a sudden. Like he’s somehow aged years during the course of this conversation. Like he really does need a cup of coffee, if not something stronger.

“Sure, baby. I’ll take one.”

Nodding, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he plugs in the black gooseneck kettle you’d gotten him for his birthday. The gift had been simple, thoughtful, and if he was honest, it was the best present anyone had ever given him.

He practically survives on black coffee most days. At the beginning of your marriage, he was always long gone before you rose most mornings, so in an attempt to slow him down and have more time with him, you’d gotten him a pour over set and a gooseneck kettle to replace his old instant apparatus.

He wondered if you were aware of all the additional gifts it had given him along the way....It required time to steep and brew. Time he’d never given himself before he met you. The methodology of it soothed him, provided his mornings with a small structure and routine he’d never had in a lifestyle marked by so much chaos. 

Taking the time to make his absolutely necessary coffee this way helped wake him up gently, slowed him down enough for you to have the time to slip out of bed and catch him before he was gone, to hold him while he prepared it. To remind him of the precious reason he needed to be careful while he was out that day. 

As the water boils, he turns his back to you. He feels himself melt when your arms wind around him. Softly, you press a kiss between his shoulder blades before your touch slips away as quietly as it appeared. The subtle sounds of your footsteps fading as you walk away and the gentle buzzing of the kettle are all that fill the room in the silence between you.

Namjoon sighs as he turns, his arms crossed as he leans against the counter to watch you.  Without a word, you silently procure a hearty loaf of fresh,crusty bread from the pantry and begin to slice it for breakfast. As your head tips down in concentration, he watches your untamed hair fall in your eyes. It’s beautiful the way it frames your face. It makes something squeeze in the center of his chest.

Crossing the room, he comes to stand beside you, lightly brushing your hair back into place for you with his hand. You still in your task, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, baby?” 

“If it’s this dangerous…” your voice is barely above a whisper, “this unsafe… does that mean we shouldn’t have a baby?” When you look up at him, your eyes are starlit with tears. Your hands are trembling, and he hates to see you so sad.

“No. You’re ready, and I want a family,”’he soothes.

“But… but if there’s this much risk, how can our child ever have a normal life? Won’t we always be afraid for them all the time? Is that selfish? To make a life that has to live in this world just because we want them to?”

He brushes his fingers over the cascade of teardrops starting to fall from your eyes. “All parents have to worry about that, y/n. This world is still a scary place even outside my line of work.”

“I know. But they don’t have to worry about a hit on their child’s life or a ransom or generation’s old grudges putting their child at risk....They just have to worry about whether or not a child in their daughter’s class has a peanut allergy because little ashley will only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches right now and nothing else.”

You’re talking with your hands as Namjoon gives you a smile that’s equally warm and sad. “That’s a really specific scenario.”

“I went through a phase in first grade, okay?”

He finds your eyes until you laugh before pulling you in tight against his chest. “First of all, that’s adorable. We’ll address that again later because little y/n sounds incredibly cute. And secondly,” he sighs,” you grew up in this world- the same as me- and we both survived. Having a child is expected of us, yes, but if that’s not what you want... it doesn’t have to happen. But, if we both want one… if being a mom will make you happy, then I’m going to find a way to give you that.” There’s a heaviness about him right now. An authority resigned to accept whatever fate weighs on your heart the most as he watches your eyes fill with questions.

“But won’t we be afraid for them all the time? I feel so naive for only thinking of how much I’d like to meet them, how much I’d love them just because they’re a part of you, when I should have known better.”

“That’s not naive. That’s beautiful. No matter what they’re like, we’ll love them. Because they’re ours.”

“What if they don’t want any part of this world? They should have a choice… but can I even give them one or will their only option be serving as the new head of the Kim family one day?” Your face looks stricken. “Did you get to choose?” Your watery eyes flit up to his. 

He swallows, face stony as you survey him. “I did what I had to do so our life can look however we want it to,” he’s sighing again, worn out out by memories you may never see. “Look, you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the ones get to decide what’s right for us, y/n. I’ve told you that, and I meant it- that extends to our children too. Their lives don’t have to look like what anyone else wants but them. I don’t care if they want to be painters or accountants or captains in the family. They get to shape the life they want. That’s what I’ve worked so hard for.”

You feel your eyes flutter shut in relief on their own accord. Of course he’s already thought this through to this degree. When has your Namjoon ever done anything less? It soothes your mind to know he’s taken the time to lay the groundwork so you don’t have to. Still though, questions you’re ashamed didn't occur to you sooner rattle through your head and spill from your mouth.

“Do they have to spend their life in boarding school like I did? Are our only options to send them away or be scared for them every day?

“Y/n, no. We’ll find what works for our family. I want that with you- figuring that out and watching them grow. I’ll keep you both safe. However I have to. I promise you.” His thumb brushes over your ring as he holds your hand against his chest. “I promised you.”

And just like that, it hits you all over again- how much you love this man. How deeply you trust him with every fiber of your being. How you couldn’t have found a better man to love you if you’d tried. You two are it for each other- you’ve known it since the day you met him on the steps.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles,”... but, y/n?”

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Yes, love ?”

“I meant what I said. If this is all too much, if this scares you, we can wait.” His brown eyes are so deep and sincere. You know every part of him means it, and it’s precisely because of that, that you say the words you do.

“No. I want this. All of this. With you. We’ll figure this out,” you nod, gently pulling the back of his neck down so your foreheads are touching. “I want to have a baby with you. I’m all in, if you are.”

You can feel the rush of tension that leaves his body. He wraps you in his arms, so close and secure, and something innocent comes from him that you don’t think you’ve ever heard.

“God, you know I am. Thank you.”

His voice is as robust and full as always, but his eyes… there’s something so young and soft and terrified in them. Like the weight of all he’s been carrying alone has crashed down on him all at once. “I’m so excited to have a baby with you if it happens. And it’s okay if it doesn’t. But I can’t wait to try.”

You’re nodding and crying, and you realize something that perhaps has never dawned on you before. This is the first time you’ve seen him truly this vulnerable. He’s always so strong, so composed. Too busy holding up an entire empire and caring for you to let his walls fully fall. 

But as he buries his face in your neck, you suddenly feel dampness pooling against your skin and realize he’s crying. You wonder how you got here on a morning that had been so serene and full of bliss. Bliss you now realize has come at a price.

“I was so scared I'd lost you the day we came here.” Slipping your hand into his hair, the other soothes his back as he clings to you tighter. “I'm so glad you’re okay. You’re so smart. I know you are. You don’t make reckless mistakes when you’re out— you take good care of yourself— but I was so afraid. My heart dropped when Jungkook told me what he’d heard. He couldn’t calm me down until I heard your voice on the phone.”

Stroking his hair, you recall the phone call just a few days ago. How strangled and out of breath he’d sounded. How you’d asked if he was okay, and he’d simply said he was now.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.” 

He takes a moment to collect himself, pressing you so close you may fuse together. It’s unguarded, and precious. Something you know both of you treasure as he nuzzles into your skin in that space along your neck where his face perfectly fits.

It’s as simple as that. You both stay like this for as long as you can, secure in his embrace, your breathing settling until it’s nearly in sync. It’s peaceful for you, cathartic for him. It’s a moment framed by a different kind of intimacy than the one you both shared in this very room less than an hour ago. 

He shows no sign of letting you go until the kettle begins to howl for him from across the room. When he does, his fingers trace the silk fabric along your waist as his lips kiss your forehead. He takes one more heavy breath before he squeezes you in release to tend to the coffee.

“Cream and sugar?” He asks, his voice thicker than usual.

“Always,” you answer.

And so the morning resets itself. 

The day shifts into afternoon. The sun drifting higher, brighter, casting the shadows and ridges of Namjoon’s sculpted body in almost Grecian relief as he carefully pours the water for both of you over the coffee grounds. You finish slicing the crackling bread loaf and bring it to the table to place it beside the remnants of Seokjin’s charcuterie board. 

It’s only when you catch sight of your lacy table cloth that you remember the accident that started the whole morning to begin with. You’d both gotten so preoccupied with each other that you never made it any further than cleaning his shirt and not the rest of the disaster.

Smiling to yourself, you gently slide the cloth off the table and fill the sink with cold water to soak it. Looking over at your husband, you realize wine stains still swirl over the front of Namjoon’s linen pants. There’s a very good chance those are fully set now, but just in case, you might as well try to fix them. 

So, gently, you hook a finger into his waistband and tug. “Let me have these.”

“Round two all ready? Greedy girl.” He winks, his voice soft as follows the drip of his Colombian roast.

“No, smart girl. We did a terrible job of getting you cleaned up.” You pop the p at the end of the word as you snap the elastic on his pants.

Looking a bit lost, Namjoon glances down to see the lovely pastel splashes of rosé running clean down the front of his pants. He’d been too busy to notice once you’d gotten him out of them. Blushing for no reason other than the embarrassment of you having to clean up his foibles, Namjoon dips down to remove the trousers, leaving himself looking statuesque and unreasonably gorgeous in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs in the afternoon light as he tends to the coffee.

You feel terribly immature over how quickly affected you are by the sight of him in his current predicament and carefully take the pants from him, only to turn abruptly in search of some fresh air and relief. Namjoon catches your equally flustered state, smiling to himself, but doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. This spell of quiet that’s settled over the room is too peaceful to break.

Once the coffee’s done, he brings both your cups to the broad heirloom table, and you enjoy breakfast… or, he supposes, brunch at this point...together in the stillness. Every bite you take is piled high with prosciutto and fig while Namjoon drizzles honey on his slices of bread. 

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Tranquil enough to forget the world that awaits him back in the city.

It’s funny, the duality of his life. How easy it becomes in moments like these to lean into the simplicity of breakfast with his lover and ignore the undulating danger and uncertainty awaiting him in the rest of his world. It makes him realize how much he’s come to covet exchanges like this when he gets to feel like you’re just two people in love and nothing else. 

As his eyes trace over you, he promises himself to do everything in his power to make sure your life with him is hallmarked by sweet pockets like these. As many of them as he can give you. 

At some point Namjoon pushes up to get the carafe of orange juice from the fridge, and after assigning your more capable hands the job of opening the champagne, you both polish off your brunch with the tinkling clink of your toasting mimosa glasses. 

Once your bellies are full and satiated, Namjoon looks up at you. His elbows are propped up on the table, chin contentedly resting in his hands. There’s a question hidden in the corner of his lips as his eyes glisten with mischief.

“So… what else do you have in mind for your agenda today, my bride?” He reaches across the table to grab your hand, kissing the back of your palm as you giggle and roll your eyes.

“Well if you must know... I'm thinking I might give my sister a call. See if she’d be willing to come pay me visit.” You offer, pushing one of the last grapes around the corner of the board, avoiding the way Namjoon’s eyes shine. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe she could come stay in one of the guest houses. Potentially. Once I move out here. Whenever that may be.” 

“So my baby won’t be alone when I’m gone?” His dimples are popping in his cheeks as his smile spreads wide. It’s a brilliant idea to bring her out here with you until Namjoon can finesse a way to be by your side 24/7. He wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Probably because you’re as smart as you are beautiful. 

“Neither of your babies.” You crinkle your nose as you smile back at him. 

“I like the sound of that,” he’s beaming back at you, happy and light. His eyes are misty with emotion he can’t hide, and it only makes you love him more.

“Me too.”

“So, how would you feel about getting to work as soon as possible then?” His eyebrows bounce salaciously your way, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Is that what you want?” 

“If it’s what you want. Always.” Namjoon licks his lips and a crackle of electricity shoots up your spine. The parallels to how this morning started are not lost on you. It makes something in you thrill with excitement.

“Well, I would love to take a bath. Our activity this morning was excellent, but I must say you left a bit of a sticky mess in your wake.” 

“Sorry,” Namjoon ducks his head bashfully.

“So I’m going to break in that beautiful clawfoot tub and fill it to the brim with matcha bubble bath.”

“Mmm. With the orange blossom bath salts too?”

“Always,” you wink as Namjoon bites his lip.

“God, you always smell so good when you use that. It makes your skin so soft.” The thought of your skin fragrant and bare has his blood stirring again as his eyes rake over you.

“Well you are welcome to keep me company and read to me while I soak,” you offer nonchalantly as you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your hips as you round the corner, quickly followed by the sound of his bare feet against the floorboards.

“Or I could join you in the water.”

When he responds, his voice is closer than you expected it to be. He’s caught up to you so quickly with those long legs of his.

“Or you could finish the chapter of the book you were reading to me on the way up. You left me on such a cliffhanger when your hands got distracted on the drive. I’m dying to know what happens next.”

Biting his lip, that wicked gleam is back in his eyes at the memory of the drive up and the things the two of you got up to in the privacy of the tinted, shielded back seat.

“Fair enough, but I get to join after.” His hand is forceful where it slips across your waist. You tumble into him, wanting nothing more than to let him win and start this game all over again, but you had a feeling you were winning this round, and you like to win.

“I can promise you no such thing. We’ll just have to see how the day goes,” you shrug, dismissing him completely to climb the stairs.

As much as he enjoys the view, Namjoon loves the play for dominance more: it’s cute on you. Too bad he’s still got the upper hand. He catches you on the stairwell, turning you around to face him. His hand ghosts down the front of your silk draped stomach directly to the dip between your legs.

 He places enough pressure to catch your sensitivity there, smiling something wicked at the sound of your sharp inhale. He already knows how delicate you are after you’ve already finished once until he warms your body up again. The prospect of starting this dance all over again has him stiffening with delight against your leg when he feels the familiar slip of your essence help the fabric glide beneath his touch.

“Oh baby girl, you have no idea how well this day is gonna go.” His voice has dipped to an octave reserved only for the devil as he smiles at you and lifts you off the stairs and into his arms.

You squeal at the suddenness of it, wrapping your arms securely around his neck so you don’t fall. He just chuckles, something throaty and dark, as he carries you up the stairs and down the hall to the sunlit bathroom. 

Setting you on the counter, he turns to start the bath- scooping in bath salts, pouring your bubbles, raising the blinds so the room is flooded with light. He doesn’t want to miss a single look on your beautiful face when he has his way with you for a second time today.

Not once has it occurred to you to move from the spot where he put you. Instead, you sit perfectly still on the bathroom counter, feeling your nails dig into your palms, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you watch him. Your pulse is already thrumming with anticipation all over again. 

When he turns back to you, you can see clear evidence of his arousal reshaping itself beneath his black briefs, and suddenly, despite your meal, there’s something else entirely that you want in your mouth. He catches the hungry way your eyes follow him as he walks back to you.

“Can I help you, baby?” His laugh is warm, even if his eyes are sinister. It’s all you can do just to nod your head and slip your fingers forward to tug at his waistband. When it begins to fall, you slip down to the floor, catching him off guard entirely. Not in a million years did Namjoon didn't plan on this course of events, but he certainly isn't unhappy about it. 

Namjoon leans back against the counter in the spot you’d just been sitting in as your hands grasp onto the muscular ridges of his toned legs. You set to work kissing his golden skin on his thighs slowly, indulgently, enjoying yourself as you go. 

You’ve always been weak in the knees for his absurdly gorgeous legs. They’ve only gotten more toned in the last year just like the rest of him, and between his dimples, his arms, his chest, and his legs, it’s hard to know where to begin. Or it would be if there wasn’t something hard and beautiful staring you in the face.

Namjoon is in heaven watching this unfold from above. When you slip him into your mouth, he feels all his rational thought go dark. He’s helpless to do anything but cave in. God, the two of you are like rabbits, but honestly, how can you not be when you make him feel like this? He begins to lose himself in the soft rhythm you create, something lazy and hypnotic, that makes him feel weightless.

He can barely hold himself, but every second is worth it. All he can do is luxuriate in the way you take your time as you bless him. At least, that’s how he always thinks of it because it’s truly nothing short of divine. 

He can’t tell if it’s been a few minutes or an eternity when all of a sudden, you’re abruptly letting him slip from your mouth with a pop and a sultry smile. The cool air rushing against him nearly startles him in the wake of the warmth he’d been cocooned in while your tongue did its incredible work. Because just as quickly as you started, you’re gone. 

He realizes then that the floor is wet. Apparently, You’d both gotten so lost in each other that the water in the tub had spilled over its edges and he hadn’t even noticed. Also, at some point during all this, you must have slipped out of your dress, because you’re lowering yourself into the water now as bare as you were on your wedding night.

Namjoon swallows. His body is ramping with endorphins, and he’s so worked up it nearly hurts. As he makes his way to the tub, you stop him with a dainty hand against his lower stomach.

“Ah, ah. I asked you to read to me.” 

Your eyes are coquettishly round as you bat them up at him. He’s tempted to scoff.

“Are you serious right now? Aren’t we in the middle of something?” His face is serious, focused as he eyes your breasts floating in the water amidst the matcha- scented bubbles.

You push back against his stomach again. “Yes, we were… in the middle of that last chapter. Book. Please.”

There it is again. The “please” he’s always been so enamored by. The “please” that’s usually the product of your need for him. The one he’s so infatuated with that he’d do anything to satisfy it. The one that, up until now, he’d thought you were unaware of, yet here you are using it against him.

That’s when he knows he’s trained you too well. There’s pride sparkling in your eyes as you look up at him, and he can’t believe it. Running a hand down his face, he shakes his head at you. What has he gotten himself into with you?

“ If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,” he squints at you with playful derision. “But I’m reading to you in the tub with you when I come back.”

“Oh please do,” you coo, batting your lashes at him.

Oh, you’re good. 

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at himself as he walks to the bedroom to collect the book. When he met you a year ago- the blushing, soft spoken girl who was too nervous to meet his eyes- he definitely never would have thought that a year later you’d be sending him down the hallway fully naked and half hard to fetch your literature for you while you float in a bath. He wonders when he got so wrapped around your finger like this, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

 Being with you is the best his life has ever been. He’ll forever be grateful, that against all odds, you agreed to marry a man who was nearly a perfect stranger and create a life with him.

As he walks back to the bathroom, Namjoon catches a glimpse of your rosy smile flashing his way, peeking at him beyond the wall of bubbles. It fills his chest with something buoyant and light as he makes his way back to you.

There’s absolutely nowhere he’d rather be.

As he sinks down in the water behind you, more displaces, splashing out across the white wood beams and dousing your hair in the process. He apologizes profusely but instead of getting mad, you simply slip the rest of the way under the water to finish the job. When you resurface, you’re laughing so happily that your smile is the brightest thing in the room, putting even the afternoon sunlight to shame.

He pulls you to him, affection for you glowing warmly in his chest as you settle between his legs and look up at him. He kisses your forehead, his heart filled with contentment, before reaching forward to dry his hands on the closest available towel and thumbing through the book until he finds the page he marked.

The two of you stay that way until the chapter is finished and the book is closed. Until the bubbles all dissolve and the water’s gone cold. Even then, once the water is drained, you still stay wrapped in a tangle of Namjoon’s long limbs as you twist to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Eventually he straightens out his legs to allow you to climb into his lap so he can find his way home again and slip inside you. Your bodies are swathed in the golden light illuminating the room as the two of you go effortlessly slow and unhurried, taking your time . 

Namjoon sinks into you, lost in the beauty of you and your connection. 

This time, your session together is marked in emotion and security. 

He knows how much you want to start a family with him, and you know how special it was for him to let his walls down, to let you know how scared he was to lose you. Both of you are in awe of not only how attracted you are to each other, but also of the caliber of human you’re currently sharing your bodies with, of how transcendent love making can feel when your hearts and hopes are as interwoven in the act as they now are with all your cards on the table.

When Namjoon finishes this time, it’s in sync with you. It’s the first time that happened for the two of you in tandem. As your eyes search his, you're both aware that this shared state of bliss is nothing short of miraculous. As story-worthy as this act has always been between the two of, this time feels different. Markedly so.

Perhaps, it’s because you’ve both dropped your guards enough to fully let the other in, in a way you hadn’t uncovered before. If the crashing of his heartbeat has anything to say about it, Namjoon would probably guess that you've both sunken so deep into each other that it was impossible for the crescendo of your orgasms  not  to crest all at once for the both of you.

Once you’ve gathered yourself enough to speak, you watch Namjoon with dazed eyes, in awe that someone as incredible as him even exists, let alone that you get to call him yours. As he slips out of you, the warmth of his seed flows out between your thighs, and some ridiculous part of you can’t help but smile.

Namjoon catches it too, and leans forward to kiss you. 

“You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?”

Your eyes flash to meet his. Your body is spent, your emotions are big and at this point, your heart feels so filled to the brim with affection for him that you fear it won’t fit in your body anymore.

“They’re gonna be the luckiest kids in the world to have you for a dad,” you whisper with shining eyes as you touch his chest.

He dips his head, smiling so exorbitantly wide that it consumes his whole face, and all you can think is that you can’t wait to see that dimpled grin shining back at you from the face of a little boy or little girl down the road.

“By the way,” you begin as his gaze perks back up to meet yours. “You should know that we’ve tallied the votes for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” His brows lift attentively. “Should I pack it up? Is it time to let the dream go? Surely it’s not going to a rookie this year.”

“You’d be surprised,” you tip your head. Taking his hands you place them so they’re cradling your chest. “On behalf of the board and the esteemed academy, it is my honor to present the award of husband of the year to you, Kim Namjoon.”

As he throws his head back, he bursts into a bright fit of laughter and mock cheering like you’re both surrounded by a make believe crowd. 

“Oh my goodness,” he squeezes your breasts in his palm like the globes are irreplaceable awards. “I would just like to thank all the people around the world who supported me and believed me, who shined the light of their support on me even on days when this seemed bleak. We couldn’t have made it here without you guys. This award belongs to all of you.”

He waves to the imaginary audience he’s created before pressing your breasts together and happily burying his smiling face between them. He mumbles something you can’t understand that gets lost in the downy softness of your chest as you laugh at him.

“What are you even saying down there?”

“I’m thanking the people who got me here.” He eyes you soberly like that should be obvious before breaking character and cackling at how ridiculous this is. “I can’t believe we really kept this joke going all day.”

“I can’t believe I got in the tub to clean up the mess you left earlier only to now, once again, be sticky with dried up mess.” You look ruefully between your legs.

“Hey, hey, that mess may very well become your child.” He tuts as you grin and narrow your eyes at him. 

“I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“Semantics,” he shrugs, kissing your nose. You can’t help your eye roll that follows. “Hey,” he breathes, eyes suddenly serious.

“Yes, love?” 

“Please know, whatever happens, I’ll always love you, and I’ll always take care of you. Both of you, if we’re so lucky.” The tips of his fingers rest against your lower belly, and yep. You were right. Your heart bursts clean out of your chest. You can feel the way your eyes glisten, happiness spilling from them as you get lost in Namjoon’s smile.

“I know you will, Joon. I know you will.”

-fin.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Heartbreak For A Gift (Part 1/?)

Synopsis: Sometimes relationships start off like love stories in books. And sometimes they fall apart in a minute.

(Kind of an AU! I guess??)

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst bruh

Warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, but nothing else that I can remember. Minimal editing

Word count: 2547

A/N: Please note I don’t know what the situation is between Harry and Olivia, if it’s a stunt or they’re actually dating. Whatever the case do not harass them. This is fiction and only for the purposes of the story. If they’re actually together - GOOD FOR THEM!!! No one is entitled to other people’s private lives!

Can be read as a one-shot if ya want, but I might turn this into a very small series cause I already have ideas as to where to go further with this, so hit me up if that’s what you’d like :)

If you know you’re a part of my tag list and see you’ve been crossed out, it means I can’t tag you for whatever reason. If you still would like to be a part of my tags please message me with your previous username and updated so I can update my lists :)

When she’d first said yes to going out with Harry, she’d had zero ideas as to who he really was. Well, that was a lie, she obviously knew of him, it’s not like she completely lived under a rock, and she’d seen a couple of his interviews, but 'One Direction' or Harry Styles as a solo artist hadn’t been that big of parts of her life, so she didn’t really care much for it.        They’d met at a bookstore on a sunny day in London. That’d been a good day. Her boss had let her go home a bit earlier than usual, the weather was warm, but not it’s-so-warm-I’m-sweating-my-ass-off kind of warm, sunglasses covering her eyes and hair free as the warm summer winds blew through her locks she was walking beside the Thames on her way inside the heart of the city.        Because she had a little bit more free time, she decided to pop into Waterstones, which was generally not a good idea for Y/N to do if she had things in store for the day; this time she could spend the rest of the evening if she wanted to, browsing books and living her best life.        Surprisingly for London, that particular Waterstones, even though it was in a densely populated area, was pretty empty, so Y/N felt free to skim through the options without having to press through a crowd of people to find the next section.        As she scanned what the shelves of New-Adult fiction offered, a man also came to look at the books. He stayed a bit further away, but he was certainly someone who caught people’s attention with the bright green daisy-print covered T-shirt, chequered shorts and the three scrunchies on his wrist.        The thing was as much as he’d grabbed Y/N's attention, she was more interested in the Waterstones exclusive edition of a book she’d been dying to buy, so when she saw it just sitting on the shelf, a small gasp escaped her lips.        Two eyes were immediately on her, and Y/N could feel them slip back onto her form from time to time as she greedily paged through the book, but she couldn’t say her own Y/E/C eyes didn’t flit over to the man as well.        He had a small bun on the top of his head, curly hair pushed away from the face, cheekbones for days, which were shaved and smooth and perfectly groomed brows arching over what seemed to be green orbs which were looking at the spine of a crime book way too intensely for it to be genuine interest. All in all, his side profile would be that of one of the characters Y/N’d simp over in a book, let alone the nails painted all colours of the rainbow which made her happy because nothing was better to see someone sticking it to the patriarchy.        But their little meet-cute was interrupted as an employee apologised while he tried to squeeze past them with a giant cart filled with new release books, and almost like a lost puppy, she started to follow the stacks of books when a hand on her shoulder made her spin around only to be faced with the man. She instantly recognised his face, but, at the same time, couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about him that was so familiar.

       “Sorry,” he said in a rough voice. “But you left this behind.”        And in his hands was the Waterstones exclusive.        Y/N’s eyes widened as she gingerly took it from him. “Oh my god, thank you! I’ve got no idea how I let it out of my fingers.”        He chuckled, motioning with his chin to the employee disappearing by the corner. “I’d say you got distracted.”        “Yeah, a little.” She bit her lip and drummed her nails against the cover of the book. “Well, uh… thank you. For not grabbing it for yourself.”        But he just lifted his hand. “More of a Murakami kind of a man.”        “Yes, well, I,” she nodded towards the book in her own hand, “like to read about people living out my dreams.”        He raised his eyebrow. “It’s a murder mystery.”        “Your point?”        “Would you say I have issues then if I wanted to ask you out on a date?”        Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, but he looked so nervous, so genuinely open and almost scared, she couldn’t feel any ill intentions from him, so she tapped her chin a bit as if contemplating before saying, “No. I’d say you have good taste actually.’        The relieved laugh he let out made him seem even prettier than Y/N already thought he was.        He extended his palm towards her, swaying on the balls of his feet a bit. “ ‘M Harry. Would probably be proper to know my name before we go anywhere further.”        “Y/N.” She smiled and clasped his hand in hers. “And it would probably be proper to know I was kidding about the whole ‘watching others live out my dreams’. People living out my dreams are actually in the books having hot sex with Fae.”        His laughter was loud and sudden, making Y/N duck down like she was in her Uni library and the librarians would come and shush them. But now, almost two years later since they’d first met, there was no sign of those butterflies she’d felt in the middle of the thriller section of Waterstones. Now Y/N was sitting by a large table, body slowly numbing as was her mind to keep the pain from her heart spreading. Whatever Jeff was talking about now, she didn’t hear. There were eyes on her, had to be to gauge her reaction, but they wouldn’t get anything more than slightly parted lips and a blank stare turned towards the marbled top.        She knew Harry was nervous; from her peripheral vision, she saw his thumb scraping at the rest of his nail lacquer, chips of pastel yellow and green polish flaking off and floating to the carpeted floor.        Y/N didn’t like LA. She’d never wanted to go there. Maybe as a tourist for a couple of weeks sometime down the line, but because of Harry and his commitment to ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’ and because he’d basically pleaded with her for days on end, she’d agreed to move there with him for the time he was shooting the movie.        It’s not that the city wasn’t beautiful. The sun, the sea, the greenery surrounding her was absolutely breath-taking, but it was the people that she didn’t really mesh with. Sure, she knew dating Harry came with a lot of what LA’s society was like. The need to look absolutely physically perfect to match the unachievable barbie standard, the fake niceness people usually exhibited just to get something for themselves or possibly raise them higher on the popularity scale, but Harry had always wiped away those doubts. But now all of that seemed like one big lie. He’d told her he didn’t care for any of it, not when it concerned Y/N nor when it concerned himself. But the contract in front of them said something different.        A hand touched her back. “Y/N?” Harry’s voice was tentative, wavering at the end of her name.        For the first time since the proposal had been thrown out, she lifted her eyes to look around at the people in the room.        Harry, Jeff, both their attorneys and Olivia Wilde and her attorney. The other woman, once their gazes met, immediately looked away. Y/N wanted to scoff at that.        “What…” Harry gulped, brushing a hand across her back. She’d never flinched away from him, but this time she did. Harry visibly shrunk in his seat and pulled back. “What do you think?”        What did she think? Well, she was thinking a lot of things, and the urge to say all of them was immense, but instead Y/N bit down on her tongue, reaching for the legal papers in front of her and skimmed through them.        She’d read each and every word as they’d been read out loud by the attorney, and every letter had been burned into her brain now. There was no way to get them out from her mind, and they’d haunt her forever.        “The fact that you’re asking me what I think of it already means you’re considering this.” Surprisingly enough, her voice was steady even though she was on the verge of collapsing after everything. “So, I’ll make this really easy for you – do it. Because, from now on, you’re a single man and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”        Harry’s face paled immediately at her words, hand moving to grasp Y/N’s, but they were in a tight ball in her lap, not moving an inch at his touch.        “Y/N, please.” Olivia was the one reaching out now, a pained and terrified look on her face, but the girl just stood up from her chair and went to the coat rack taking her coat and the bag that was discarded by it.        “No, you asked what I thought.” Tears had started to form in her eyes while she shrugged on her jacket. “This is what I think. If you even for a second assumed I’d be alright with this shitty stunt, Harry, then through the last two years we've spent together, you’ve learned nothing about me, and to me, it means it’s not worth it.”        Harry was now standing, desperate to touch her face, but Y/N once again pulled away.         “You two,” Y/N said pointing between Olivia and Harry, their faces twins of fear and regret. “Have never needed publicity. Not like this, so don’t try and bullshit me that this will make great promo for the movie. There are so many other ways you could drum up interest, but this…” She let out an unamused chuckle. “How could you think I’d be okay with you pretending to be in a relationship with someone else?”        “No, please… just hear us out. You don’t know what it’s like.” Harry tried to plead, hands in his hair, but it was the wrong thing to say, as she took a step back, eyes wide in disbelief.          But Y/N was calm, and with how rigid Harry became he knew he’d fucked up more than before.        “I don’t understand?" she breathed. “The number of things and events I’ve said ‘no’ to… the…” Her voice was as still as the sea before a storm as she took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Harry wants Y/N there for the opening of his tour, so Y/N drops everything and flies out even though she misses a presentation that could have her up for a promotion. Harry doesn’t want to be seen walking inside a club with someone, so Y/N goes to the back entrance to save his face. Harry is tired and just wants to sleep, so Y/N passes on her friends’ birthdays because he wants cuddles. What Harry wants, Y/N does. And I did. I did all that happily while keeping our relationship private while snaking in and out through back doors like I was some dirty secret of yours just so you could keep the illusion you’re single…” Y/N shook her head. “I think I understand very well… But now… it’s my turn, my time to ask of you something.”        “Anything,” he pleaded, probably thinking that Y/N was going to ask him not to go with Jeff’s stunt, and he’d gladly tell them all to fuck off if it meant her staying. “I’ll do anything.”        “Let me go.”        If Harry’s heart hadn’t been in his chest you would’ve been able to hear it break as it smashed against the floor.        “Let me go,” she repeated. “And don’t come after me. Because I won’t take any part in this.”        “But –,” he was choking on his words. “But I don’t want to. I love you; I can’t just let you walk away like that. I won’t do it, none of this is worth it.”        “And I didn’t want to do a lot of things, especially sit in a meeting on Valentine’s day where my boyfriend was talking about faking a relationship to promote a fucking movie, but here we are.”        This time when he reached out to cup her cheek, Y/N let him. “Please. I swear I won’t do it, just please let’s talk about this. Don’t give up on me.”        But she was unwavering. “For the rest of our relationship, however long that might’ve been, I would’ve wondered if you hated me if you despised me for not agreeing to go with it if the movie didn’t do as well as your management predicts it will with this. And I won’t have that. I won’t be in a relationship where every second will be spent in doubt that I’m stifling your career and you could potentially resent me.”        “I could never hate you.”        “Yeah.” She let out a sob. “You actually claim to love me but would be willing to put me through that kind of fuckery, so something has to be a lie.”        Without looking at anyone else in the office, Y/N stepped away from the man who once made her feel like she could conquer the top of the world and opened the door, but didn’t even manage to take a step outside when the voice of the person she never wanted to hear from called after her, and although Y/N had been calm and collected, she snapped at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Jeff,” she snarled. “It’s not like I can talk about anything that happened here. You made sure of it. Smart move, by the way, I’d say you should continue it. NDAs right before any meeting… I guess that’s how you keep your clients' careers spotless, so your stunt won’t be exposed.”        The way she whipped around to move towards the door would’ve given her whiplash, if not for Harry standing in front of her, arms weaving around to keep her in place.        “I’m sorry." He was verging on hysterics. "Please just… please Y/N don’t…”        It seemed like he no longer even understood what he was pleading for. For Y/N to not break up? To not leave the room? LA? All he knew was that if he let her walk out of the door, he’d never see her again, and she’d make sure of it.        “No, Harry, I think I actually will, because the thought of being in the same city as you, is going to make me throw up right now,” Y/N said eyes not daring to meet his, because if she did, she'd break and her resolve would dissipate. “Besides, you have loads of things to talk about. By the time you get back, I’ll have my stuff out of the hotel. And Jeff?”        His manager looked sheepish as she glanced at Y/N.        “The least you owe me is a ticket back home. The first flight you can find.”        He didn’t answer, just nodded. She didn't deign to thank him.        “Happy fucking Valentines to you two.” She looked at Olivia and Harry, who was breaking apart at the seams, but no longer could she find it in herself to care. He didn’t care enough about her anyway. “Hope you have a very happy relationship.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m (kinda?) back? I guess. I dunno. I’m in this weird place where I’m writing my books and then I get inspo for fics and I start writing them, but can’t seem to finish them so I dunno :D

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms (Wattpad Ao3 etc without specific written permission)

P.S.S.S. my tags are always open :)

[sagemusesoutloud]

Anti-Romantic, Part 1

(credit to the original owner of the image)

Character | Jaehyun x reader Genre | nonidol!au, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Fluff WordCount | 3.6 K Author'sNote | lmaoooo the fact that I intended this to be a oneshot type of thing oops. Wellllll, I tried. Most likely to be a two part series, but we'll see.

This is part of a series I intend to call "If Songs were Fics" and this particular one was loosely inspired by TXT's Anti-Romantic bc I'm obsessed. I hope you enjoy reading as much I enjoyed writing it!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I don't know who loves me

And I don't care, It's a waste anyways

A romantic feeling, Kinda scares me

“Any plans for you birthday next week?”

Jaehyun shakes his head at you, “no, not yet, don’t you have that date with that barista?”

“I’m not sure, he’s been acting weird over text lately. Might not be worth it,” you shrug your shoulders. “Besides, it’s your birthday! You only get one of those a year, we should plan something.”

You were on your way to the gym, a ritual you and Jaehyun had ever since you both found out you worked for the same company. You had been childhood friends, but ended up losing touch since you went to separate universities.

It was a nice surprise to see a friendly face on the first day of orientation and throughout the duration of your training for the next six weeks. Although you were both from different departments, you enjoyed taking your lunch breaks together and sharing small gossip about your old class-mates.

“ugh, don’t remind me,” he let’s out a long sigh, “every year, it seems like my family won’t stop pestering me about starting a family.”

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“Nothing, just not for me. Or at least not yet. I don’t think I’m the type to settle down,” he shrugs again as if it were no big deal.

You gasp, “how could you say that? I’ve seen your insta account. It’s got your cousin’s kids all over it!” You stop to take a good look at him as he holds the door of the gym open for you. “Back in school too, you used to tutor those elementary kids for volunteering hours. Even when you didn’t need them. You’ve always liked kids.”

“That’s different…”

“Right. Totally different things. Got it,” you roll your eyes. This wasn’t the first time he mentioned not wanting to settle down. At first, you had thought it was because he liked ‘keeping his options open’ like back in high-school. Or, not that you knew for sure, but if the rumors were true then it meant he slept his way around. Apparently, he never slept with someone twice and despite the cold shoulder the other party would get, all you had ever heard were praises. Not that you paid that much attention or anything.

You and Jaehyun had the same circle of friends, but despite that, he had never made any advances towards you. You’d be lying if that didn’t bother you at least once or twice. You just assumed that he didn’t want to make the friendship awkward or mess with the friend dynamics of your group. Which was why your crush on him in junior high ended as soon as you got to high-school.

You ended up going on dates with other people, but nothing that kept your interest. Nothing that compared to how you felt around him. Not that he seemed to think the same, so you tried your best to stay the good friend you always have been. You didn’t want to push something he clearly didn’t want; not that it didn’t hurt any less. Throughout the years it’s become bearable, at least. Almost like a painful habit.

You check in and head to the locker rooms to change. His nonchalance about the subject had always puzzled you. You’d seen first hand how all the female coworkers seemed to sway their hips as they walked by him, how some would pop a blouse button more than usual when around him, and you swore no one else was getting that much help throughout training more than him. He was handsome and a gentleman, that much was painfully obvious.

You meet him outside by the water fountain, “ready for warm-up?” he guides your way to the treadmills.

“When’s the last time you dated?”

You would have laughed if you weren’t so shocked to see him trip from the corner of your eye. “why the sudden curiosity?” He finally responds.

“Not sudden, I’d always wondered.” You defended. “You’re good looking and you’re very…I mean, you live on your own and have your own car. You have good relations with your family AND you’re good with kids. So, what is it?” You hadn’t realized how troubling you thought it all was. But now that you started digging you couldn’t stop.

“I just—” you pause, “it doesn’t make sense.”

You hear him chuckle, “you might wanna slow down before you pull something.” You look down and realize that your pace had gone from a relaxed jog to a borderline run during your rant. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to psychoanalyze your only friend in the city.

“Well, I just don’t know how to let people in. It’s just that.” He finally responds. “I love kids, but I don’t know or think I’d be a good partner.” He slows down before stopping, ending the conversation. He waves you off with an easy smile as you stay running.

Huh, maybe you pushed him too far. Your eyes can’t help but follow him around the gym.

Sweet and bitter chocolate, The taste at the end is always the same

Like the saddest movies, Only tears in my eyes

Your hands were sweaty the entire morning, anticipating your lunch time. It was his birthday today, and while you hadn’t made any concrete plans you ended up agreeing to go over to his place after work. Your gym bag was ready with snacks and comfy clothes to stay over. You remembered him saying he was excited to watch that new Marvel movie that had recently come out so you had bought it online to stream it at his place as a surprise. But what had you nervous was the small heart shaped box sitting in your purse. You didn’t know what possessed you to buy it but you had immediately thought of Jae when you passed by it at the mall. You remember vaguely mentioning that it was a special occasion to the sales lady (as in, his birthday), but she must have thought it was your significant other rather than friend because she changed the box to the red velvet shaped one while giving you a wink. In her defense, you could have protested but…why didn’t you?

You hear a knock on your door, “hey little miss sunshine.” Ah, Nakamoto, this couldn’t be good news. He was only sickly sweet to you when he needed a favor.

“What do you want?” you deadpan. He only laughs as he makes himself comfortable in your office. “Well, nothing in particular. Can’t stop by and see how you’re doing?” he feigns hurt.

“Right—the last time you ‘came by’ you left me working over-time through the weekend,” You sigh, “so what is it this time? Missed meeting? Late proposal?” To be fair, your supervisor WAS overworked sometimes. And since you were the only worker under him, it was normal for him to sometimes share some of the load with you.

He smiles at you, “nope. Just have a proposal for you. I know you’ve been working hard these past few months and I’ve been really impressed by your work ethic.” He stands and moves closer to your desk, “And I thought some sort of reward was in order, as well as celebration.” Ok, now you’re confused. You were ok with the reward part, it usually came in the form of a gift card to your favorite coffee shop, but celebration?

“Why would we celebrate? Did I miss something?”

“Not yet, but I did recommend you to the partner position with me. And I wanted to be the first to tell you that the boss approved it earlier today. So, what do ya say? Dinner on me?” he extends his hand out to you and wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

Oh.

Shit! You were hoping this would happen eventually, moving up from the entry-level position you had. But you had never thought it would be this fast. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You give him your hand and he shakes it in mock salute.

“Of course, some people will come by to move your computer to the office next to mine. You start Monday!” he winks, “So, wanna go to that new rooftop restaurant? This is a once in a life-time ticket, so you best say yes.”

But your dinner with Jae…He’ll understand, right? He has to. It’s not like he seemed that excited about it anyway. And you could always spend the day together tomorrow, too. It would be pretty rude to turn down Yuta after he pulled some strings for you…

You smile at him, “Thank you Mr. Nakamoto, I won’t let you down as a partner. Yeah, dinner sounds great. Wanna meet there?”

You sit down on the small table, now nervous for other reasons.

Jae sits opposite of you, a small smile on his face. “Hey you,” he greets.

“hey…” you start, “I hate to change plans so suddenly, but…” crap, you feel really shitty. But you really were between a rock and a hard place.

“everything ok?”

“yeah, no. I actually just got promoted,” you start.

“You did? That’s awesome! So fast, too. Wow—but shouldn’t you be more enthusiastic about it?” he chuckles.

“I am, just—my old supervisor wanted to go to dinner to celebrate. And I don’t think I could say no after helping me out like that.”

“I mean, did you want to skip it or?” Now he’s confused.

“Well, he wanted to go out tonight since I start Monday and today’s Friday…I don’t think I can come over tonight,” you explain.

Realization crosses his features before he gives a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine. And he’s treating you! You don’t know when the next time he offers might be,” he continues, “we can celebrate another day anyway.”

“Are you sure?” now you feel like shit.

“Of course I’m sure.”

For the rest of the lunch, a thick silence settles before he excuses himself back to work.

Jaehyun knew this was coming. Nothing ever went his way; it’s why he kept everyone at a distance from his heart. But he was weak when it came to you. This game of push and pull was bound to keep happening, and it only brought him that all familiar foul taste in his mouth.

I know, that sweet love song, Those words of promise

When you turn around, It's just an unfamiliar someone

It was why he decided to go else-where for university, instead of joining you and some of your friends to the one closest to home. He chose to go across the globe—far, far away from the curse of you.

It had started on a windy day, back when you were 4 and new to the town he grew up in. Jaehyun didn’t want to leave his mother’s arms, he didn’t like the thought of being with strangers until later in the day even if his mom promised that she would be back. A little girl with jean overalls like his came up to him and his mom, “why are you crying?”

“I am not!” he sniffed. He didn’t need to make new friends like his mom was trying to tell him. All he needed was to go back home. You took out something from your pocket and showed it to him, “look, my mom said I could give one to my first friend. She said it was sharing. Want one?”

In her little palm, were two kiss chocolates. “You’re not my friend,” he grumbled, “I don’t know your name.” At that, you giggled, “I’m Y/N!” you took his hand and placed a chocolate there, “there, now we’re officially friends.”

“See, Jae? You can spend some time with Y/N and have fun. Before you know it, I’ll be back,” she promised.

“Yeah, Jae! Come play blocks with me, and then we can try the coloring.” You held his hand as you led him deeper into the classroom. Just like that, Jae began to feel a little warmth in his chest. He didn’t mind that his favorite thing to do was play tag outside or that he wasn’t really good at coloring inside lines yet. But that didn’t matter to him. As long as he had this one friend around, he was content.

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic, I want to run far away

My heart that already chases after you, Blazes up as a small flame

Looking back at it now, it was a little funny. All it took to let you in back then was a simple chocolate kiss and your little sticky hand in his leading the way. You were always larger than life to him, sometimes he forgot that you were just as human as him.

As you two continued to grow, nothing seemed to change your friendship. But he knew that the depth of his feelings wasn’t mutual. It was in the way that you brought a lot different people together and decided to call it your family. Another of your friends, Jungwoo, liked to joke that you collected introverts for fun. To Jaehyun, it was more likely that you just didn’t see the fun in leaving people out. You were charming and passionate. Traits he wished he had. Your empathetic nature and gentle disposition were all that Jaehyun needed, even if he wasn’t the only recipient.

Once you guys started to hit puberty, things started to feel rocky. Jaehyun couldn’t help but physically distance himself from you, his ears were always red-hot. You had always been pretty to Jaehyun, but you were starting to become really beautiful. And if the boy’s locker rooms’ talk were anything to go by, then other people were definitely starting to realize “what a great catch” you were.

It really pissed him off. Who were they to say things as if all you were was a piece of meat? It disgusted him. But what disgusted him more was the fact that sometimes, he couldn’t help but also feel the way your body felt in his when you hugged in greeting. He hated the way his body reacted to everything you did.

He first messed around with a senior girl back when he was a sophomore, Sooyoung. She was leaving and he couldn’t take it anymore. Your boyfriend was a piece of trash and he was tired of hearing the way he would share what Jae considered to be intimate moments that had no business being public. But you seemed so happy… that next game, Jae stole the ball from him and scored on his own. Even if it cost him a three hour lecture from the coach, he would do it again. Fuck being a team, that guy was an asshole.

What he hadn’t planned on was liking messing around. He would never admit it, but the reason he couldn’t commit was because he couldn’t get rid of that small grain of hope that glowed in his chest every time you stared at him longer than would be deemed normal. It wasn’t often, but he knew he wasn’t seeing things. So, he succumbed to the cycle of push-and-pull that you guys had going on.

Jaehyun wasn’t blind, he knew that your work definitely spoke of your professionalism, but he’s also seen the way Nakamoto stared after you. Of the way his hand would often touch your waist when walking together. Even now, as he hears you apologize through the phone again as you get ready for your “date” with him he can’t help this heart feel heavy with anger. Anger at himself, for letting you slip away once more. He usually hopes for nothing but the best for you, but this time, he wishes you had an awful dinner.

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic, I don't believe in romance

I'm afraid that after burning my whole heart, It will only leave behind ashes

Throughout the entire dinner, you can’t seem to get Jae out of your mind. It keeps you from enjoying the delicious food, keeps you from keeping your usual banter with Nakamoto.

You’re about to call it a night and thank Nakamoto for inviting you out when he beats you to it, “damn, I was hoping this might be a good break from the usual overtime we do, but something tells me your mind has been elsewhere,” he offers good naturedly, “I know it’s valentine’s, so maybe this is why we feel so awkward, right?”.

You grimace a bit at that, “ah—I’m sorry. I really am grateful for the way you look after me in the company and I’m also thankful for this lovely dinner,” you stop a bit, afraid you might offend him, “I agreed to come out tonight, so no need to feel awkward.” You offer a smile.

“Alright then. I guess you already have your sights on someone?” he prods. Should you be honest? There was no rule against dating outside your department, and you were pretty sure your new boss’s wife also worked within the company. “…I do. But I’m pretty sure they don’t feel the same way. It’s been so long since we’ve known each other. Surely if something were to have happened, it would have by now.” You were loosening up, definitely the wine’s fault.

Nakamoto sighs at that, “damn, and here I thought I could woo you after this,” he winks jokingly but you laugh him off. You knew he didn’t care for you that way. “I really hope you’re talking about the guy you always eat lunch with. I swear everyone thought you guys were married when you were released from training.”

“What?! No, I—we’ve been friends since we were children—”

“Aha! So it was him then,” he smirks. “Good.”

You groan, “Please, no.”

“What, it’s not him? You sure about that?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” you groan. Why were you discussing your love life? You push the wine away and take a sip of your water.

“Hmm. That’s too bad. Could have sworn that guy was after you.” He stands up. “But fine, I’ll stop prodding.”

You sigh in relief—“for now.” You groan. “What do you even mean by that? You don’t even know him. Or me, or at least personally at least.”

“Mmm, I don’t have to. Some things you just know. Like how he wishes I was six feet under every time we run across him at work,” he sobers up at that. “He seemed like a cool dude, but his glare isn’t too friendly. I don’t know how you fell for that.”

You scoff, “just because someone has a resting bitch face doesn’t mean they’re a bad person.”

You both make your way to the underground parking. “You’re right, it just makes them unapproachable. Is that why you won’t confess?” His genuine tone rubs you the wrong way, you don’t need be given false hope.

“Stop it, you said you would drop it,” you frown, “Anyways, thank you for the food boss—”

“—not your boss anymore. Just call me Yuta, we’re partners now.”

“Aren’t you two years older than me?”

“And?”

You shrug at that, “well, thanks Yuta. For the food, not for the interrogation.” He chuckles at that, nodding while pulling out his car keys. “see you Monday!” he waves you off.

You sigh as you get home. It wasn’t as late as you thought it was, only a few minutes past nine. You really wanted to see him. Would he be busy?

You fish out your phone and dial his number before chickening out.

“Hello?”

“Jae! It’s me. Are you busy right now?” your heartbeat is pounding so loud, you’re scared he could hear it on the other end. “Right now?” you hear shuffling on the other end, “no, I was just reading that book Jungwoo sent me. Might have dozed off a bit into it but don’t tell him I said that,” he chuckles.

“Why, is everything ok? It’s still early, did you end dinner that fast?”

“Oh, Yuta and I called it a night pretty early. Too many couples were out and about and it got a bit awkward,” you explained.

“Yuta?”

“Ah, yes. Yuta Nakamoto, but now that we’re associates, he said it would be better to address him less formally.” You waive him off, “actually, I was wondering—if it’s not too late, can I still come over? If not, that’s cool. We can still hang out tomorrow, but your birthday is today and I thought—”

He laughs at your rambles, “of course you can come over, you know you don’t have to ask. How many times have I told you that?”

“Ok, ok. Just checking,” you still had your comfy change of clothes in your car, so you opt to save those for tomorrow and change into something causal for tonight.

“Do you want me to go get you? We can get ice cream on the way, hopefully they don’t close early.”

“Sounds like a plan then,” curse your heart for melting at everything he says.

“Alright, give me 15 and I’ll be there.” He hangs up.

You look at your bag, resting on your sofa and you sigh. The entire night, it’s almost as if you could feel the weight of his gift weighing it down. Yuta is known for being very observant, it’s why he was so good at his job. Closing deals and making contracts in advertisement. Would he be right about this? You know you desperately wish he was, but is it worth risking your best friend?

EndNote | Woooow, that was a longass ride. Let me know if you liked it or if there are other typos I missed! Or just to let me know what you thought, that would be much appreciated. I'm thinking of finishing it by Sunday 6/13, so hopefully the next part is up by then. Until then!

Here's Part 2!

[omigiry]

Sleepy 💤

Middle Blockers with a sleepy s/o 

warnings: none

━━━ 𝙏𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙖

He really doesn’t care if you fell asleep in class, but would compile notes for you if you ever did end up sleeping for the rest of the class.

Whenever you study together you’d always end up falling asleep as well or requesting for a nap.

He’s confused as to why you could sleep so much even if you get a whole 8 hours of sleep or even more. 

You yawned as your handwriting became unreadable, your eyes were starting to slowly close and your visions were blurry. It was a sign that you needed to sleep. 

“It’s only an hour into studying.” Tsukishima said as he saw you shaking your head trying to stay awake. Despite your sleepiness you still easily caught up on the lessons except for a particular subject that you hate. 

“No more studying, please. Sleep is needed.” 

“It’s only 8pm.” He loves to prolong a conversation when you’re sleepy just to see you suffering, but in reality he enjoyed your adorable whining expression. How you would pout, how your eyebrows creased together, and your eyes squinted. 

“Yeah, and it’s time for sleep.” 

“No, you need to finish this assignment first.” 

You grumbled at him and glared at the book in front of you.

“I can do it tomorrow. I’ll wake up by 4am and do it.” 

“I don’t trust you with that.” He said. If the subject is scheduled in the afternoon he knows that you would do tha assignment during break time. He knows that you could finish it, but cramming is not a good habit. 

“If you finish this right now, I’ll let you borrow my hoodie that you could sleep in.” With that statement coming out of his mouth it was enough to motivate you and try to stay awake as much as possible.

━━━ 𝙃𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙖

A sunshine. He would literally be beaming early in the morning.

When he visits your classroom during break he could see that you were sleeping at your desk. He would let you rest for a few minutes before waking you up to eat.

You couldn’t be mad at him for waking you up.

“Is (y/n) here?” Hinata asks one of your classmates. When they pointed to you, you were already sleeping at your desk. 

He entered the classroom and took the seat available in front of you. He puts his lunch box down and would just look at you while you sleep, sometimes he would play with your hair. 

20 minutes later, he wakes you up to have lunch together. You woke up with a frown on your face ready to fight whoever woke you up, but your expression quickly changed when you saw Hinata in front of you. 

“It’s time to have lunch. As much as sleep is important, eating is also important.” He said as he sets his lunchbox in front of you. 

You were blinking away the sleep from your eyes and grabbed your lunchbox as well.

He would start a conversation and by how he was smiling at everything he says to you, it helps you wake up. You hated the beam of the morning sun, but this was something you’d always want to wake up to.

━━━ 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖

Annoys you whenever he sees you asleep in the classroom, but he would let you sleep in peace occasionally. 

Whenever you would fall asleep when he’s next to you he would let you lean on his shoulders. 

He tried giving you coffee every morning but it has no effect. You couldn’t drink straight black coffee so that was out of the option. 

First thing in the morning when he got to school, he saw you in class already asleep. It’s a surprise that you could come to school early just to sleep. 

He puts his bag down on his seat before he goes to you. He pokes your arm to wake you up and he will not stop until you do. 

You were slowly waking up and knew who’s annoying you first thing in the morning. 

“If you do not stop, I’ll break that finger.” You threatened him.

“Sheesh, no need to be violent. Can’t I just want to see your beautiful face?” 

You lifted your head and looked at him with a deadpan expression. He compliments you, but this one was something to annoy you. 

“Come on, let’s go buy some drinks. You're low on sugar.” He pulled you to get up and dragged you out of the classroom. You try to get away from his grip wanting to sleep more.

━━━ 𝙏𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙪

Already has so much energy first thing in the morning and it will not run out for the whole day. 

He would greet you with a smile and wants to talk to you about the latest chapter of manga he was reading but when he sees your head bobbing down he would stop talking and would gently lay down your head on the table. 

He may look sleepy but in reality you were the one who is actually sleepy. He may be playful and loves to tease whoever he is close with but he wouldn’t dare annoy you when you’re asleep. 

It was lunch break and Tendou was excitedly talking about his current favorite series. You were listening to everything said, afterall you also share the common interest. He would suggest some of his favorites that you haven’t checked out yet and tell you the gist of the series, characters, and some of his favorite arcs.

As you listened to him, your eyes were slowly closing. It’s not because you aren’t interested anymore, Tendou knows that, it was because of the time. You always feel sleepy after eating. 

“You always fall asleep when I’m getting on the good parts.” He says.

“Tell me more about it later. It seems interesting.” 

“Did you binge another series last night?”

You nodded and yawned. You doze off as he gently puts your head down on your desk.

━━━ 𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙤

Would also let you lean on his shoulders and offer an arm for you to hug. 

You’d always end up sleeping on your ride back home, and when it has gotten to a point where you missed your stop it was a wise decision to wait for Kuroo and go home together so he could wake you up. Sometimes you would end up also falling asleep while waiting for him.

He’d entwine your hands together if you fall asleep on his shoulder.

You were waiting for Kuroo to finish his practice as you finish your homework so you could sleep and relax once you get home. You were waiting for them by the court but when practice got intense and there would be a lot of stray balls you decided to go to the second floor of the gym and sat down there on the floor, since it was only a small walkway for people to watch from above.

Kuroo didn’t notice that you went there so when they were taking a break and did not see you at your usual spot, he was confused. If you went home early, you would inform him or at least wait for them to have a break so you could tell him. 

“Are you looking for (y/n)?” Coach Naoi asked. 

“Yes, have you seen her coach?” 

Coach Naoi pointed at where you were located and Kuroo went up there. He saw you leaning on the pillar of the wall with a notebook loosely held in your hands. Kuroo sighed and shook his head, but he found it adorable, he went back down to grab his jacket and put it over you.

He let you sleep peacefully as practice resumed and only woke you up once it was over. He was amazed that you could sleep through all the shouting they made when they play.

━━━ 𝙎𝙪𝙣𝙖

He’s also sleepy as much as you are. When he sees you asleep on your desk, he would also sleep next to you, he also puts his head down next to yours. 

When he realizes that you’re a sleepy head he starts to bring a small pillow for you so you could be comfortable. 

If both of you were sleeping, that means someone needs to wake you up before the teacher comes. The twins were the one who does this, and find the most annoying ways to wake you two up. 

There was a vacant hour because of an emergency meeting between the school faculty. Suna went to the lockers and grabbed the pillow he leaves there for you. He knows that if there’s a vacant time you would spend it either asleep or scrolling through your phone. 

Once he returned to the classroom he pulled his chair and put it next to you. 

“Already sleepy?” You asked him as he laid his head down on your desk.

Suna hummed. “Not yet, I’ll just sit next to you until I do. I’m pretty sure you’ll be the first one to fall asleep though.” He replied.

“Is that a bet?” 

“You guys are so weird, who would make a bet on who would fall asleep first?” Osamu commented. You both ignored him as you turned your attention back to your phone and Suna did so as well. “It’s like I’m invincible when these two are together.” Osamu sighed.

“You’re not the only one.” Atsumu added. 

Eventually you and Suna dozed off at the same time. Suna taking up the most space on your desk you ended up resting your head on his back. Five minutes before the next teacher comes to the classroom, Atsumu blasted loud music near your ear. When you woke up, you were ready to throw your shoes at him. Suna wouldn’t even stop you, in fact he would be the one encouraging you, along with Osamu, as he readies his phone to record the moment.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 6

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

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Chapter 6

CW: blood, injury

2003 (Four years later)

When Liam brought in his mail that afternoon, he didn’t realize what a dangerous act it was. He should have, he supposed. He’d been getting threatening letters now for over ten years, since before he’d met Kurt. Their postmarks varied and there were no fingerprints. The police couldn’t figure out who was sending them, and neither could Kurt, who’d started investigating as soon as he’d learned of them.

Liam assumed that either he’d done something in his past to offend someone, or that he was a random victim of someone targeting a university with anti-academic talk. The letters said clearly, I will kill you, but Liam had long since stopped believing that it was an actual threat.

But it wasn’t that the letters didn’t upset Liam, and ironically, it was good that they did, because Liam’s reaction to the letter in the mail that day alerted Kurt. Four years ago, on a beautiful night in Germany, Kurt had drunk blood from Liam’s wrist. They’d been close before that, but sharing blood had given Kurt an even greater insight into Liam’s feelings. Kurt knew when Liam was unhappy or frightened, so when Liam found the letter with the typed address, knowing what it likely was, Kurt abruptly appeared beside him, in time to pluck the envelope from Liam’s hand.

“I’ve told you to let me open these,” Kurt scolded mildly.

Liam leaned back against his kitchen counter, and waved a hand in unsolicited permission. “By all means.”

Kurt was frowning, but otherwise he wasn’t too upset. Liam could tell because despite the fact that Kurt had just teleported into Liam’s kitchen, he looked more or less human. He must have been outside somewhere because his dark hair was a bit wind-blown. Liam wished that they had the kind of relationship where Liam could run his fingers through it to settle it down.

Kurt read the letter quietly and then tossed it onto the table in disgust. “The usual,” he said. “When I figure out who’s sending these—”

“They’re harmless,” Liam said, which on that particular day was highly ironic, but they didn’t know it yet.

“They scare you. That’s harm enough.” Kurt reached for the rest of the mail that Liam had set on his table, sorting through it quickly, apparently approving of it. He came to the package last. “What’s this?”

“I ordered some books.”

Kurt shot him a look of amused exasperation. “You have no room for more books. You’re going to have to buy a second house.”

“I’ll find a place for them. Maybe I could take out a wall— what is it?”

Kurt held the package in his hands. “This is awfully light for books.”

That was the last thing Liam remembered until he felt Kurt’s hand on his cheek. Kurt’s fingers were always cold, and the feeling drew Liam back toward consciousness. Kurt had one hand cradling his face, while another finger traced a slow line down from the top of Liam’s forehead to a spot between his eyes.

Liam realized that Kurt was saying something. “That’s right. Focus on me.”

Kurt’s finger traced its downward path again, and Liam felt himself growing more aware of his surroundings, but mostly more aware of Kurt, who was holding his gaze in an inescapable, hypnotic way. Liam could smell smoke and something charred, but he felt no fear, not even of Kurt, who seemed something entirely other than human at the moment. Something very large, because he’d have to be large to hold all the emotions that Liam could feel filling the room, wafting around like clouds. Some were dark and some very light, and they were all Kurt and Liam, mixed up together.

“There you are, my love,” Kurt said softly. “Just like that. Focus on me.”

Liam moved a little, shifting on the kitchen floor, but Kurt put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay still. Let me look at you.” His finger retraced its path down Liam’s forehead, which had the effect of recentering Liam’s attention on Kurt’s bright green eyes.

After another minute, Kurt moved back and released him. “You’re all right,” he said heavily. “No internal injuries. No concussion. Just three fairly minor lacerations to the left leg, and I’ve taken away the pain from those. I shouldn’t have let you stand so close.”

Liam blinked a couple of times as he realized that now that he could see past Kurt’s eyes, Kurt looked very different, but not at all in a mesmerizing, inhuman way. “You’re hurt,” Liam gasped.

Kurt stepped out of reach before Liam could grab him. “You have to be careful with my blood,” he warned. “Don’t get it in your mouth or the cuts on your leg. You don’t— you don’t need it right now.”

Kurt appeared to have taken the brunt of what must have been a package bomb. Liam’s kitchen table had a blast mark on it, and the chairs had all been knocked over. Bits of paper drifted lazily through the hazy air. Kurt was actually far more damaged than the kitchen, with a large wound on his shoulder. But the wound was not bleeding, and Liam realized that though Kurt’s clothing was shot through with holes, some of them bloodstained, the skin underneath was unmarked.

Kurt turned a chair right side up, and dropped into it wearily. “Ow,” he said, sounding as if he might be irritated by a paper cut.

“Are you okay?” Liam demanded.

Kurt waved a dismissive hand. “Been blown up before. There was a grenade at the Somme, for one. Not a pleasant afternoon.”

“But you— you won’t—”

“I’m fine,” Kurt assured him. “But if I’m going to convince the police that I wasn’t injured, I’ll need to eat something. I’m not quite strong enough for group mind control right now.”

“Well, I’m right here,” Liam said hastily, starting to climb to his feet. “Already bleeding too.”

“Sit down,” Kurt instructed in a sharp voice, and Liam was so startled that he obeyed. “You’re injured.”

“Only mildly. You said.”

“Still no.”

Liam tried not to be too disappointed. “Well— Fern then.” Fern was Kurt’s new love interest, and, as usual, was one of Liam’s history graduate students. She was doing her dissertation on World War Two. Kurt always showed enough of his non-human nature to his romantic interests for them to guess what he was before they became his lovers (and a source of blood). So Fern now had the advantage of dating a man who had fought in World War Two and many wars before that.

“Yeah. I called her,” Kurt said. And it wasn’t long before Liam heard someone come in his front door and make their way toward the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” Fern exclaimed, her eyes wide. “What happened? I had the weirdest feeling that I needed to get here right away.” Apparently, Liam realized, when Kurt said he’d called her, he hadn’t meant on the phone.

“Package bomb,” Kurt said.

Liam nearly spoke over him. “Kurt’s injured. He needs blood.”

Fern’s eyes widened even more. “All right. I’ll call 911.”

Liam gave Kurt a confused look. “Oh. I thought you always told them about you before you became lovers.” He realized his misstep when Fern froze on her way to the telephone.

Kurt pressed his lips together, and Liam couldn’t tell if he was fighting a smile or a frown. “You’re getting a little ahead of me there.”

“Oh,” Liam said. “Sorry. How embarrassing.” He looked up at Fern. “It’s okay, Kurt can’t be killed. Or he might actually be already dead.”

Kurt had opened his mouth to say something but now it just hung open.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said. “I’m not good at this.”

Fern did look like she was a little more concerned about Liam than Kurt, but she turned to Kurt, taking in his appearance. The wound on his shoulder was now nothing more than a dark purple bruise. Liam wondered how bad the injuries had been before Liam had seen them.

“Are you a vampire, then?” Fern asked. “That was number two on my list.”

“What was number one?” Kurt asked.

“Street magician who desperately wanted to look like a vampire.”

Kurt laughed, sounding delighted. “I don’t know that I’ve had that one before.”

“You need blood?” Fern asked. She put a hand on Kurt’s uninjured shoulder.

He focused his green eyes on her, with no hint of hypnosis now. “I do. But you’re not my only option. I will be fine even if you say no.”

Fern shook her head. “I’m happy to.”

Kurt nodded. “Liam, we’ll be right back. You just rest. Then we’ll get the police here and figure out who did this to you.”

Liam let his head fall back against his cupboard as Kurt and Fern disappeared. He felt oddly calm, and wondered if that was still Kurt’s influence. Even knowing that Kurt was off with someone else, drinking blood from them instead of Liam, didn’t bother him as much as it usually did. Kurt cared for him. Liam had known it, but right now he could feel it, and he thought Kurt could probably feel it back.

************

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Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

[jenonctcity]

My Beginning - Part 1

Differences – Lee Jeno

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Streetfighter!Au

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, talk of drugs, aggression, mention of mental health, mention of blood/violence. 

Word Count: 5.9k

(I recommend reading Haechan’s part first to understand this part more clearly.)

Jeno had a rough start to life. He was raised in a poor family with an abusive father and depressed mother. To let off some steam and make some money to support himself, he took up underground street fights at the age of 15. And he was really fucking good at it. Finally his father pushed him too far one night and at the age of 18 Jeno did what he’d wanted to do since before he could even remember, and he beat up his dad until his face was almost unrecognisable. He was sentenced to a year in prison for his crime, but he thought it was worth it and doesn’t regret it. Now fresh out of prison, he’s back in the underground fighting scene and adjusting to life on the outside without having to worry about his father for the first time in his life. He meets someone who mixes up his life once more, and she wants to change him for the better. Does he change for the women he sees in his future or is he too far gone?

 “You need some pussy.” Chenle’s words caused Jeno to choke on the beer he was in the middle of swallowing. He winced and gulped the beer down after he’d finished coughing into his hand, giving Chenle a wide-eyed look and holding his hand up in question.

“Chenle…what the fuck?” He gulped down the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the bar. Chenle sniggered, looking oddly proud of himself for what he’d said to his older friend.

“Well you’ve been a right grumpy bastard the past few months, and it’s starting to ruin my vibe.” Chenle sounded as if he was dead serious as he flagged the bartender down to order more beers.

“Sorry that I fell in love with someone who didn’t love me back Chenle, I didn’t mean to ruin your ‘vibe’.” He deadpanned but mocked Chenle’s voice as he said the word ‘vibe’.

“You’re forgiven.” Chenle’s neck was starting to look very inviting to Jeno. Inviting to wrap his hands around and strangle the cheeky fucker. “So anyway, I did you a favour!” This made Jeno’s eyebrows raise, as he knew Chenle doing someone a favour, usually worked out to be a devastation only for Chenle’s amusement. Jeno put his head in his hands and groaned.

“I swear to god if you have hired a fucking prostitute or some shit Chenle I wi-”

“No!” Chenle furrowed his eyebrows and let out a laugh. “You really think I’d spend that much money on getting a prostitute for you? Pfft, you’re my buddy but you’re not that special Jen.” The one thing Jeno loved but hated at the same time about Chenle was that he had absolutely no filter whatsoever.

“Thanks.” Jeno rolled his eyes and sighed. “So what is this favour?”

“I’ve set you up a blind date.” Chenle grinned at Jeno, clearly proud of what he’d done. Jeno felt his stomach drop, he sighed and shook his head as he looked at Chenle.

“I’m not ready.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands.

“It’s been what? Seven months?” Chenle furrowed his eyebrows, confused at Jeno’s reaction.

“Four months…you have no sense of time at all.” Jeno frowned in shock at his friend’s awareness of time. “Do you not realise that I still have feelings for her? She pretty much lives at the apartment and her and Haechan are all over each other.” He didn’t want to sound soft, so he neglected to tell Chenle that it felt like a knife was being stabbed through his heart every time he saw them hold hands, or their lips briefly touch. He wasn’t stupid, he knew they kept their pda to a minimum around him, and he knows they look at him with pity in their eyes, which isn’t what Jeno wants.

“Get over it my guy.” Chenle shrugs and slaps Jeno on the shoulder. He’s clearly never had his heartbroken, but Jeno can’t really blame him for his ignorance to heart break, he’s still young. “Look, she’s a really nice girl, and she’s beautiful. She’s my friend’s sister and he thinks she needs some company.”

“And she hasn’t got feelings for anyone else?” Jeno couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice as he stared Chenle in the eye.

“Not that I’m aware of. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was secretly in love with me though, I am one hell of a catch.” He winked at Jeno and took a large mouthful of beer, taking took much in and dribbling some of the liquid down his chin.

“Yes…quite the bachelor.”

“I’ll text you the details once I’ve sorted things out with her.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or not, so I’m going to wait and see how this turns out.” Jeno rolled his eyes and sipped on his own beer.

“So you’ll actually go on the date?!”

“Yes, if it shuts you up about my personal life.”

“Deal!”

 ---

Jeno felt like he was suffocating as he tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt. It wasn’t often he wore a shirt considered ‘formal’, as he didn’t really go anywhere fancy enough to deem wearing a shirt that fell into the category. But since it was a first date and Chenle told him not to dress like a ‘homeless rat’, he decided to buy a decent shirt to wear with his black skinny jeans. The cool night air was at least doing somewhat of a decent job in calming him down, but the longer he stood beside Chenle as he waited for you to arrive, the more anxious he got. He wasn’t nervous to meet you, he was simply feeling anxious because he did not want to be going on a date, but he knew Chenle wouldn’t shut up about it until he agreed.

“Why doesn’t Jaemin ever have to deal with this shit?” He mumbled to himself, his fingers itching to grab at the packet of cigarettes in his leather jacket. He only smoked when he was feeling stressed, and he knew he’d get stressed, so he came prepared. Even though he mumbled the words, Chenle apparently had super sonic hearing.

“Because Jaemin has severe depression and I’m not willing to fuck with that.” Chenle shrugged. “She’s here!” He smiled widely as you got out of the taxi. You nearly climbed back in though because of how nervous you felt about going on a date. This was your first ever date, and you didn’t know how to feel about Chenle being the person to set it up for you. You also didn’t know what to wear, so you hoped that your little black dress with matching heels would be an okay option. You had straightened your hair and had made a decent effort with your makeup, hoping it would help mask how worried you were feeling. You turned around, looking to see the blond annoyance you knew too well, smiling when you caught sight of him. You felt your stomach fall straight through to the core of the earth when you laid eyes on the tall man next to him. He looked like he could snap you in half if he wanted to, not to mention, he was also the best-looking man you’d seen in a long, long, long time. Your palms started to sweat but you didn’t let your smile falter as you hurried over to them both.

“(Y/N)! Hi, this is Jeno, Jeno this is (Y/N). I’m going to shoot now; the reservations are made under your name Jeno. Bye!” Before either of you could utter a word to him, he had basically sprinted off down the road.

“I hate him so much.” You heard Jeno mutter, causing a soft, nervous laugh to fall from your lips. He turned towards you and gave you a lopsided smile. “Shall we?” He motioned towards the restaurant that you were stood in front of. You nodded and followed him inside, thanking him as he held the door open for you. The host hastily showed you to your seats and you slid into the booth, still holding the soft smile on your face. Jeno shrugged off his jacket and you couldn’t help but look at his arms as the shirt he was wearing moulded to the fabric snuggly. You didn’t really know what to say to him and let out a quick sigh as your eyes scanned the restaurant. It was starting to get painfully awkward, which was a bad sign for you, because you knew how you handled awkward situations. Jeno kept letting his eyes fall on your as he glanced at his menu, his bottom lip tucked between teeth as he mulled over the silence between you. You looked at the menu for a minute before deciding to try and start a conversation with him.

“So, how do you know Chenle?” You asked, letting your eyes meet his. For someone with very strong facial features, his eyes were very soft, the deep brown pools almost sucking you in. like a riptide in the ocean.

“Satan’s child?” This caused you to laugh abruptly, not having expected him to say such a thing. “I don’t actually remember, I’m pretty sure one of my friends just found him and adopted him into our group, then we haven’t been able to get rid of him since.” You smiled and nodded along to his words. “He said you’re his friends sister?”

“Yeah, he spends a lot of time eating my brothers food and giving him tattoos of random things.” Jeno smiled in amusement and turned his attention to the waiter as he came over. You both ordered your food and drinks and then you saw as he let out a small sigh, trying to avoid making eye contact with you. It baffled you as to why he agreed to go on a date with you when he clearly didn’t want to. ‘Maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive…’ you couldn’t help but think to yourself as you let your mind wonder. You couldn’t stand the horrid silence, so you did what you did best in awkward situations. Talk. You didn’t mean to, but it always happened subconsciously as your battle against the quiet. You found yourself talking about the most random things, asking him questions that you only got brief answers to. You told him all about your life, how you were a student at a nearby university studying something you found boring but essential to the job you wanted. You also told him that you were in the middle of learning how to drive, but it was a slow process because you were busy with university. Until your food came and you suddenly realised just how long you’d been talking for. “I’ve been talking so much, I’m sorry I haven’t given you any chance to speak!” You could feel your cheeks heat up as embarrassment set in. Jeno gave you a gentle smile and sipped at his drink.

“I’m enjoying listening to you, I haven’t got much to tell you about my own life so I’m happy to listen to you about yours.” He sounded genuine, which made you let out a short sigh of relief. He chuckled when he saw you sigh. “You’re very sweet, much different to the people I spend my time with, so I’m enjoying your company. Please don’t think that because I don’t talk much that I’m not interested.” He started to eat his food at the same time you started your own. You smiled, happy that he was interested in what you had to say, but you couldn’t help but wonder why he said he hadn’t got much to tell you about his life. The rest of the date flew by pretty much the same. You would talk about anything you could think of whilst Jeno just nodded along and interjected his thoughts when he saw fit. You had managed to find out a little about his life, that he doesn’t see his parents often, he spends most of his free time working out because he only works part time at his friends uncle’s mechanic shop, and he bleaches his hair because he hates his natural hair colour.

The two of you left the restaurant after he paid the bill, which you had tried to pay half of, but he hadn’t let you. “You can pay for ice cream on our next date.” He’s mumbled with red cheeks as he held the door open for you on your way out.

“Ooooh what’s your favourite ice cream flavour?” You smiled widely, having completely missed that he’d shown interest in a second date with you. He looked down at you and couldn’t help the way his cheeks tugged his own lips into a smile.

“Vanilla.”

“Boring!”

“It’s not! What’s your favourite flavour then?” He shoved his hands in his jacket pocket as he watched you.

“Vanilla.” You giggled as his mouth popped open. He looked scandalised at your words and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You just accused vanilla of being boring!”

“But I never said that I wasn’t boring too.” You shrugged. His face fell and he shook his head as he looked down at you.

“I don’t think that you’re boring…hey can I get your number? So we can arrange our next date.” He looked down at his feet, a slight nervous fire burning in his stomach at the thought of you turning him down. Your whole face lit up and you nodded eagerly, quickly taking his phone from him to put your number in when he held it out to you. “Can I give you a ride home?” You felt your phone buzz and looked down to see an unknown number, the message being a simple ‘Hi it’s Jeno’. You saved his number and smiled up at him.

“If it’s okay? I don’t want you to go out of your way.” You felt your stomach do a little flip when he let out a soft laugh and a shrug.

“It’s cool, come on.” He placed his hand on your lower back and guided you to the car park. He took you over to a sporty black car and opened the door for you, you slipped in the car and thanked him, looking at the sleek interior as you waited for him to get in beside you. You briefly wondered how he could afford a car this nice when he had told you that he was currently not working. “Where do you live?”

“Do you know the apartment buildings near the water tower?” He nodded in response, a gasp leaving his mouth.

“Wait you live there? I live there too, in the red bricked building!”

“No freaking way! I live in the white bricked building!” You both had surprised looks on your faces as you both found out that you live in the apartment buildings opposite each other.

“What are the chances?” He laughed, starting to drive towards the apartment buildings. You didn’t have much more to say, so you stared out of the window into the darkness of the night as the radio hummed a slow song throughout the atmosphere of the car. You mulled over the whole night in your head, unable to get rid the smile that sat contently on your face at the thought of your date. Jeno drummed his fingers gently against the steering wheel as he drove, his eyes darting over to you every now and then to check up on you. He stopped on the side of the road that his apartment building was on, hurrying to get out and rushing around the car to open the door for you. You felt butterflies in your stomach at the small gesture, thanking him as you climbed out of the car. “I’ll walk you to your building.”

“Thanks.” You walked with him across the road and suddenly feel a nervousness in your stomach. “I had fun.” You blurt out, rocking back and forth on your feet as he watched you stood by the door. He had a small smile on his face, and he nodded, mumbling a soft ‘me too’. You cleared your throat and turned to unlocked the door to your apartment building when you felt his hand gently tug on your own, the one that wasn’t busy unlocking the door. Your stomach dropped, thoughts running through your mind at what he might want from you. Did he expect you to have sex on the first date?!

“Hey,” When you turned around, he stepped closer, ducking down and planting a soft kiss to your cheek which felt like it was about to combust in flames from how hot it felt. He smiled wider when he saw your bashful smile, with your eyes darting around to look anywhere but at him. He could see that you were quite a shy person, and it made him feel something in his stomach that he couldn’t quite identify. “See ya.” He turned around and walked across the street as you opened your door and let yourself in. Once you were behind walking up the stairs to your apartment you let out a little squeal of excitement.

“Oh my gosh!” You jumped up and down like an exciting schoolgirl fawning over their crush. You couldn’t believe that your first date with a man who was as good looking as that went so well. Jeno seemed kind of rough around the edges in appearance, but his personality was the complete opposite, obviously you knew that he hadn’t shown you all of him yet, but your first impressions were very good. Still, you felt yourself getting sucked into his dark brown eyes whenever he talked, which wasn’t often, but it was enough.  Needless to say, you went to sleep that night with a huge smile on your face, anticipating what’s to come.

---

“How did the date go?” Was the first thing Jeno heard when he walked through the door of the apartment after dropping you off at your own apartment. He headed into the living room and saw that Renjun had 1 year old Jiyeon sitting on his lap with kids cartoons playing on the television, Jaemin had a family sized packet of doritos laying on his stomach as he slouched beside Renjun, passing a chip to Jiyeon before shovelling loads into his own mouth, and Haechan had his girlfriend snuggled into his chest on the other sofa. Jeno’s heart sunk through his stomach as he saw his ex-girlfriend looking at his best friend with so much love in her eyes, a look she never gave him when they were together. It felt to him as though all of the happiness he’d built up from his date was flushed down the toilet as he tore his eyes away from the couple. It was very apparent to him in that moment that he wasn’t over her, and his feelings for her hadn’t gone away at all.

“Good, really good. I got her number.” He gulped before mumbling, awkwardly scratching his head and sighing as he took off his jacket. She pulled her head away from Haechan’s chest and gave him an awkward smile.

“You went on a date?” She asked softly.

“Mhm.” He didn’t trust his voice, so he just hummed and nodded.

“I’m happy for you Jen.” The whole room felt like it was suffocating him as all eyes turned to look at him. It felt very much like pity to Jeno, causing heat to rush to his cheeks and a slight resentment and anger to boil inside of him. Ever since they’d ended things, his anger issues had spiked, and he found it hard to control his temper. The only time he’d ever been as angry was before he’d went to prison. He was like a ticking time bomb, or a bottle of soda that had been shook and ready to pop at any minute.

“Whatever.” He grunted, sinking on the sofa on the other side of Renjun and ignoring the way she cowered to his voice, settling her head back on Haechan’s chest as he scowled at Jeno. He didn’t mean to be cruel to her, he wanted nothing more than to be the one she was cuddling up to, but the resentment for her loving Haechan when she was supposed to love him still sat heavy inside of him.

“Jennie!” Jiyeon chirped, wiggling her way off of her father’s lap to sit on her uncle’s lap. She smiled at him and laid herself against his chest.

“Hi cupcake.” He ran his hand through her jet-black hair, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and sighing as he cuddled her for comfort. “She’s starting to look more like you Renjun.” He commented, trying to change the tone in the room so it was less about him and more about the toddler cuddling him.

“She’s blessed then because I’m-”

“Ugly as fuck.” Jaemin mumbled, cutting Renjun off before he could finish and shovelling more chips into his mouth as he watched the kid cartoons. Renjun frowned, slamming his fist down on Jaemin’s packet of doritos and smirking when the sound of them crushing into small pieces sounded throughout the room. Jiyeon laughed loudly as she watched the interaction between them, the sound of her sweet laughter calming Jeno down completely.

---

The cool air in the bar kept your cheeks from blazing in heat every time Jeno looked you in the eye. The bar wasn’t very busy, making it feel more intimate as you didn’t have to compete with other voices to allow Jeno’s ears to hear your voice. It was dark in the bar, the cover of night making visibility poor despite how the artificial lights in the bar tried their hardest to lit the place up with mood lighting. His blond hair was pushed back off of his forehead, and small smudges of black eyeliner around his beautiful eyes. His black button up shirt had the first two buttons undone, and he had a pair of black skinny jeans on, his hair being the only contrast to his entirely black outfit. You wore a simple dress and flats, keeping close to him in the busy bar as to not have random people bump into you. He had his hand pressed to your lower back and he kept his eyes on the people around you both. You took a mouthful of your drink and looked up at Jeno, completely in awe of his handsome looks. He had his eyes trained on someone behind you and he didn’t seem to be tearing his eyes away from them. You didn’t want to turn around, just in case he was staring at another woman. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle that well if that was the case. It was your second date, a week from your first date, so you hoped that he at least had some affection towards you despite the fact the two of you hadn’t actually made your relationship official.

“So…” You racked your brain to quickly think of something you could say to him that would bring his attention back to you. “I…er…I had another driving lesson today, it went well!” You smiled up at him, but he still continued to stare over the top of your head, completely ignoring you. You felt dejected, letting out a soft sigh and looking down at your feet. You felt as though he wasn’t interest in you at all. You’d hardly gotten anything out of him the entire time you’d been stood beside him at the bar, and you felt as though a brick wall would be more interested in you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that the hand he had set on the side of the bar curled into a fist, and his body visibly tensed up.

“Hey!” He snapped, causing you to flinch and look up at him with worry in your eyes, expecting that he was going to be looking at you, ready to have a go at you, you didn’t know why though, you didn’t think you’d done anything wrong. “Stop staring at my girlfriend.” He growled; his eyes still trained over the top of your head. Your eyes widened and you turned around, noticing a middle-aged man stood a few metres away from you with his eyes stuck on you. Your mouth dropped open as you realised Jeno had been staring out the creepy looking guy, being protective over you. Your heart flipped and you felt silly for having thought he was eyeing up another woman. A wave of heat rushed through you as you realised Jeno must have been interested in you to get so worked up over another man staring at you, also he referred to you as his girlfriend, which caught you off guard but made a flower of happiness blossom inside of you.

“What are you going to do about it?” The man smirked, clearly not caring that he was antagonising Jeno. Jeno’s face hardened more and he pulled you quickly so that you were behind him, not having any worry in approaching the man and getting close to him.

“Do you really want to find out?” He said lowly, his tone dripping in threat as both of his fists clenched up, his shoulders tensing too and becoming broader as he squared up to the man. The man smirked and stood up straighter, about the same height as Jeno and ready to fight him. You gasped, gently laying a hand on Jeno’s shoulder.

“Jeno come on, lets just go.” You spoke softly, feeling the muscle underneath your hand relax momentarily.

“She’s too good for you. She needs a man, not a boy.” The man laughed, glancing past Jeno to wink at you. Jeno shoved him so hard that he tripped over the bar stool behind him and fell on his ass. The man had a face of complete shock, clearly not having expected the ‘boy’ to be that strong and gutsy enough to actually put him on his ass.

“One more word and you won’t be feeling like a man for a long time.” Jeno snapped, standing over the man and giving him a look that could probably petrify someone. You knew Jeno was rough around the edges, but you never would have thought he could do something like that. It shocked you and you felt yourself taking a few steps back from him, not knowing him well enough to know what he was going to do next. After silence fell between them both, Jeno turned around, snatching your hand into his own and pulling you firmly out of the bar. You had to jog to keep up with his fast strides. He didn’t let go of your hand, and pulled you down the street, his shoulders still tense and his breathing heavy. The grip he had on your hand was starting to hurt more from how hard he was squeezing your hand, which was considerably smaller than his own.

“Jeno…you’re hurting me.” You said quietly, but he heard you. Stopping almost immediately he turned to look at you, letting go of your hand and gulping. He looked down once before looking back up, giving you direct eye contact that almost made you have a heart attack.

“I’m sorry…are you okay?” He looked worried, all of his pent-up anger washing away after hearing your fragile tone. You nodded, flexing your fingers out and rubbing your hand with your other hand.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concerned about him for how he acted in that situation.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see me like that…we need to talk.” His gave you a weak smile, almost like he was giving you pity, which made your stomach fall to the floor as you thought he was about to end things with you.

“O-oh…okay.” He got out his car keys and you followed him to his car. He unlocked it and motioned with his head for you to climb in. You both got in, but he made no effort in turning on the car, and instead put his keys in the cupholder before turning to him.

“I lied to you about my job. I don’t help out at the mechanic shop. I fight, illegally.” His words had your eyebrows raising in surprise, many of questions sitting on the tip of your tongue, but left unsaid as you had a feeling he was about to go into more detail anyway. “It’s called underground street fighting, and it’s not legal in the slightest. It’s dangerous, and I’ve been injured more times than I care to admit, and I’ve also inflicted life changing injuries on other men. I’ve seen people black out and never wake up again. It’s tough but…it’s really good money, and it’s a way that I can let go of all of my anger. I have a lot of anger problems, I won’t lie to you about it, it’s bad, and honestly I’m surprised that I managed to walk away from that asshole without punching him in the face.” He let out a very gently laugh that was humourless, his eyes searching your face for your reaction. You just nodded, biting you bottom lip as it occurred to you that you were dating a very dangerous man.

“Why?” You asked, causing his head to tilt in question.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so angry?” Your voice was quiet and soft but held no judgement towards him. You really liked him, and this was the furthest you’d ever gotten with a guy, so you didn’t want to throw it all away just because he was a little bit different from everyone else. He took a deep breath and looked away from you for a moment, before dragging his eyes back to look at you. It was dark in the car, the only light coming from the streetlight above his car, but you could still see the painful look in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak to you.

“I grew up in a very poor family with a father who abused my mum and me. It caused my mum to have very bad depression, which had an effect on me. I let the abuse happen for too long, and then when I was 15 I got introduced into the street fighting. I finally felt like I had some power, and it earnt me a lot of money, which I’d never had before. Even though I was fighting out of the house, at home I was still being beaten, and one night when I as 17, my dad hit my mum so hard that the force of her hitting the wall left a dent in it.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered the memory. You reached out and took his hand in both of yours, showing him that you were listening and not judging him. “I saw red, I just remember pulling my dad away from her. I don’t remember much of what happened, because I was in a frenzy. But the next thing I remember is my mum trying to pull me off of my dad. He was underneath me on the floor and his face was…unrecognisable. There was so much blood…” He remembered how his hands were shaking and covered in blood, a mixture of his fathers’ blood and his own blood from how his fists had pummelled into his fathers’ face. His face was wet with tears and blood that had spurted from his life givers face, and he remembered how his own mother cowered away from him like he was the one who had been inflicting pain on her for the past 17 years of his life. “She called for an ambulance whilst I sat on the floor covered in blood. The police came as well, and I got arrested. I went to prison for a year because I was still a minor and they classed it as self-defence. My mother visited me once, and I don’t see her often because she says its hard for her to look at me after what I did. But she isn’t with my father anymore, so I can live with that.” You could tell from the tone of his voice that even though he said he could live with it, that it was hard for him to live with it. It suddenly occurred to you that he wasn’t different from other people. He was simply a broken person trying their best to live in a world where he’d been dealt shit cards from the start.

“Is your dad…?” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, but he knew what you were asking.

“No. He’s alive. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Hell I don’t even know if he looks the same as what he used to. I did a lot of damage to his face so…” He shrugged, his hand holding onto yours firmly. “After I came out of prison, I continued street fighting and moved in with my friends. They had all gotten a place together and left a room free for me when I got out. They’re my family now.”

“I’m glad you have people you can rely on; they sound like great people.” He laughed at your words.

“A teen dad, a drug dealer, and an illegal street racer. They’re great, but not morally.” He chuckled at your shocked expression, using his free hand to reach out and cup your cheek. “They’re harmless to people that don’t get on their bad side.” He stroked his thumb over your hot skin and smiled at you. He felt affection bloom in his stomach when he saw that you accepted him for who he was. It was different with his ex, she was used to the lifestyle he lived like, but he knew from your stories that you were raised in a respectable household and you’d never done anything bad in your entire life. You were complete polar opposites, and for the first time in months he could think about his ex-girlfriend and not feel a pull towards her like her had before. Instead he was being pulled towards you like a magnet. You were the positive side, and he was the negative side, and you fit together so perfectly.

“I hope they’ll like me.” You admitted, leaning your head into his touch to show you were enjoying it.

“They will.” He smiled, neglecting to tell you that one of his best friends was dating his ex-girlfriend, but he could only pile so much information on you at a time without overwhelming you.

“I actually have a small confession to make too.” You plucked up the courage despite the pang of anxiety you felt in your stomach.

“Oh god, you’re not a crazy axe murderer, are you?” He was clearly joking, his eye dropping into a wink as he pretending to be shocked.

“No!” You giggled, his hand dropping to your hands. “I’ve never dated anybody before, and I’ve never had a boyfriend…or had sex. I have been kissed though!” His smile never faltered and if anything, he felt even more drawn towards you, liking that you were pure for him. it drove him crazy to even think about another man having his hands on you. “So this is all new to me, and I’m super nervous but trying to play it cool so that you didn’t think I was strange or anything, and I really like you and I don’t care about your job and-” You were cut off by his lips pressing to your own, your eyes shutting as you melted into the kiss. It was short and sweet, but his lips did linger and place another peck to your lips.

“I guess I should do this properly then.” He smiled, kissing you once more and smiling into the kiss. “(Y/N), do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulled away from you and stared into your eyes. You felt your cheeks almost burning up, the car feeling suddenly stuffy as you looked at him.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, letting your eyes slowly shut as his hands cupped your face, drawing his lips to yours once more in a slower, more passionate kiss.

---

 Hey! Thank you for reading! Did you like it? What do you think so far? What do you think is going to happen? Let me know!

[soyouthinkucanwrite]

Trip to the store with Tom and Harry

*This is actually part of a chapter of something I've been writing for myself, just for fun. Basically, the reader is staying with them for the weekend, things are still pretty recent with Tom, she's famous too, whatever, whatever... there are 15 chapters tho (48k + words)! This blurp doesn't contain smut, but the others do, so let me know if you like this, and I might post the full series.

Minor warning: people taking unsolicited pictures, panic attack foreshadowing. Also, this is in a world pre-pandemic (the series happens in June 2019) that's why no maks. But you live in 2021, so please wear yours!

Overall, just pure fluffiness and brother's bickering. Enjoy and please, please give me your feedback!

This is 2k+ words, btw

*edit! I did it you guys, here's chapter 1 of the whole series

“Just leave it, baby” Tom calls out when I get up from the breakfast table taking the dishes to the sink to wash them.

“It’s fine, just a couple plates” I say already washing them. “You wanna go to the store now or later?”

“Let’s go now” Tom says.

“I call shotgun!” Harry announces.

“Absolutely not! I’m driving and(y/n)'s my-” I keep my ear open for the end of that sentence, which apparently won’t be coming out because Harry starts to laugh and I can tell Tom wants to kill him for that. I just shake my head and keep washing the plates, pretending I didn’t hear anything.

We go back to his room to brush our teeth before heading out and I consider changing my clothes, but decide this is fine (out of laziness). Tom changes into a pair of joggers and shirt, he looks like he’s going to work out, but handsome as always. I wonder if he’s going to wear the cap and sunglasses that he keeps on his car for quick disguise. He grabs his wallet and the car keys and we’re heading out when I remember my wallet.

“Hold on, forgot my wallet” I say going back the hallway.

“What you need your wallet for?” He asks when I get back, he was waiting for me at the end of the corridor. We go down the stairs, Harry is already there waiting, flipping through his phone.

“You see, a wallet is where you keep your money and these plastic card thingies, which are like money, but virtual. Money is something you need to give the people at the store-”

“Alright smart ass, I get it. You won’t need to buy anything, it’s what I’m saying”

“Please don’t get him started” Harry pleads with me when we get outside the door.

“What?” I laugh. Tom unlocks the car and I go straight to the backseat, trying to avoid another awkward sitting discussion.

“Tom insists he pays for everything around the house. Part of the reason why we go grocery shopping without him” Harry says from the front seat. “He’s pretty good at making money, got admit. But terrible at managing it, the lads don’t even pay rent!”

“Would you like to pay rent?” Tom asks, reversing the car and taking a glance at me, winking.

“I��m your brother! Dealing with you IS my rent” I laugh the whole way to the store at their banter about money, the radio, the car temperature. I catch glances at Tom through the rear mirror, smiling every time he sees me watching him.

“Why are we here? I though it was only food” Harry asks with an annoyed voice when Tom turned to get in a parking lot.

“We’re getting other stuff too” Tom explains, parking and getting out of the car, taking my hand. He didn’t get his cap and sunglasses. We left the car at a parking lot and walked to a discreet door that read ‘collect by car’, was this some kind of celebrity special entrance? We take an elevator and when it opens it’s like a mall, or a department store. A fancy Target, I’d say. ‘Marks & Spencer’. Uh…very British. Harry takes a cart and Tom gets another. I follow Tom but notice that Harry goes solo on his shopping trip. Tom’s still holding my hand and I look around to see if anyone’s watching but apparently not. “Let’s look at the blown dryers first, huh?” He says and I nod, following his lead.

When we get to the beauty tools section (is that what they call it?) Tom reaches for the fancy, expensive blow dryer models and I reach for the travel-sized ones. I look at him smiling. “You were thinking about getting a blown dryer for the house, weren’t you?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Tom, you’re seriously buying a blown dryer just because I asked to borrow one?” I laugh at him.

“I could use one too, you know? It’s not just for when you come around” He says in a tone that gives away he was thinking exactly the opposite.

“Okay then. Not that brand, though. This one” I put back the travel size and step closer to him to look at the models, reading the boxes and considering the options. When we settle for one he puts it on the cart and we keep walking through the store, reaching the products section. “Shampoo” I indicate, walking towards the shelf with all the options.

“Hi, can I help you guys?” A store attendant asks approaching us.

“Hi” I say smiling at her. “Just looking for some shampoo and conditioner”

“Something specific?”

“Not rubbish” Tom jokes. And she looks confused.

“He uses Head & Shoulders and is offended I called it rubbish” I explain to her laughing.

“Oh…that’s not good” She grimaces and Tom shakes his head.

“I know! Thank you! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy…I don’t know any of these brands though…” Me and the attendant start talking about shampoo and Tom zones out, looking around. When I finally pick one, along with conditioner, hair mask and styling gel I put it all in the cart and thank her. Tom was looking at a shelf with bath products, bath salts and bombs.

“Hi” I step to his side.

“Bath bomb? Doesn’t sound very relaxing” I laugh at that. Boys. When I was going to explain it to him two girls approach us.

“Hi, Tom!” One of them says, blushing furiously.

“Uh…hi!” He answers, slightly startled. “How’s it going?” He recovers his composure.

“Fine…Uh, is it ok if we ask you for a selfie?”

“Sure, no problem” He smiles. They look in between him and I.

“Could you take one, (y/n)?” Does she mean with me, or she want’s me to take the picture?

“Sure, give me your phone” I say reaching for her phone. And they laugh nervously.

“We meant with us”

“Oh, yeah” I laugh. “Course” Tom is watching and laughing at me. “But do you want me to take one of you guys with him too? So you don’t have only selfies”

“Oh would you? Thank you!” They say giving me their phones and posing along him. He keeps staring at you the whole time. I snap multiple pics with both phones and give them back to them.

“See what you think” I gave their phones back.

“Oh it’s great! Thank you”

“You didn’t even look at it. What if she’s a shitty photographer?” Tom laughs.

“Excuse me? I’m a great photographer” I answered him. “I bet the one’s you take won’t look so great” I said posing with the girls, who were just staring at the two of us in awe. I smiled while Tom snapped the pics and then he gave their phones back.

“Thank you!” One of them smiled.

“Yeah thank you!” They were walking away when one of them looked back and shouted. “You guys are really cute together!” And they sprinted away laughing.

“Teenagers” Tom says shaking his head and laughing.

“Don’t know, we ARE really cute together” You tease him, poking his side.

“I know, wasn’t disagreeing” He says defensively. “You can’t make every fan encounter this long though, or else you’re never gonna get anything done”

“Okay grandpa” You laugh. “Common, it didn’t even take that long”

“Not this time. Probably made their day, though” He says. “Just don’t get frustrated if every fan isn’t this nice”

“I don’t expect them to be. It’s just, they liked whatever we do and it’s part of their lives. Doesn’t cost anything to be nice, and besides, it’s a positive reinforcement. Next time they need courage to do something, it’ll be easier for them. People make too much fuss about celebrities, but like, asking a date out is way scarier and more common” Tom just smiled and shakes his head. “What?”

“I really love your mind, you know?”

“What did I said?”

“The positive reinforcement thing. I though you were going to say we’re leaving a good impression” You scoff.

“Bath bombs” I say trying to change the subject. “It’s like aspirin, for your bath. They’re really nice, wanna pick some?” He nods picking one up and trying to smell them. You guys joke around and pick some bath bombs as well as some bubbles and shower gel. “We got so much stuff” I say looking at the cart.

“Only essentials” He says and kiss me on the cheek. “I like this, get used to it”

“What?”

“Spoiling you. I’m like a sugar daddy”

“Oh my god, you didn’t just say that” I laugh. “That makes me a toiletries sugar baby” He laughs and pushes the cart along the corridor. We find Harry on the beverages section, picking up some beer boxes.

“So much for groceries” Tom says looking at his cart. Chips, candy, beer and milk. We get a few more items like some fruits and vegetables, yogurt, eggs and of course a bunch of ready meals, which seem to be a must for them.

“You guys don’t cook much, do you?” I joke.

“Only when Sam’s around. Which then he cook’s for us, of course” Harry answers and I laugh.

“Is he at school?” I ask.

“Cooking school. In Paris” Harry tells me, putting the groceries on the cashier belt.

“That’s so cool” I look at Tom. “That’s really cool”

“I know. Wait, are you really more impressed by my younger-chef-brother than my acting career?” He laughs.

“I mean…” I shrug and Harry laughs at us. We see a flash and turn our heads at the same time to the woman on the line behind us, who had her phone pointed to us. I look down and Tom puts his arm around me. “She’s taking pics” I whisper to him getting out of his embrace.

“So?” He says and puts his hand on my back, standing with his back to her in front of me. Harry hurries up and finishes putting the groceries on the belt, bagging everything up. I go to help him while Tom pays for our shopping. We put the stuff back on a cart and get out of the store. When we get out of the elevator and in the parking lot again, I hear Tom saying to Harry ‘Ride on the back now, yeah?’. We put everything on the trunk and Harry gets on the backseat, so I get on the passenger seat. Tom starts to drive and takes my hand laying on my thigh, he rubs his thumb over the back of my hand and I’m glad he’s being mindful because these encounters with paparazzi and random people taking pics really stress me out.

“I don’t really mind taking photos” I say out of the blue. “When they introduce themselves and ask for it”

“It’s so disrespectful, pisses me off” Harry agrees. “Like, you want a photo? Fine, just ask for it. You don’t simply snap photos of random people on the street, what makes you think you have the right to do it if you saw the person on a movie before?”

“We only saw that because the flash was on too. Makes me think of all the times I never see it. Like you’re always being watched. It’s…” Scary? Stressful? An invasion of privacy? All of the above?

“I’m sorry” Tom says, tightening his grip on my hand.

“It’s not your fault” I say.

“I’m still sorry” I give him a half smile. Nothing we can do about it, is there?

“Nice record Tom, where did you get it?” Harry asked lifting the Lime Cordiale record I bought Tom at Camden.

“That’s (y/n)'s” He says.

“I bought it for you” I smile.

“What? Did you?” I bit my lip smiling and nod. “I’m an idiot, sorry”

“That you are. An ungrateful idiot apparently” Harry says.

“It’s ok” I give Harry a glare. “It’s ok, really” I repeat looking over at Tom. “As long as you listen to them now”

“I will, promise” He smiles and lifts my hand to kiss it. Harry makes a gaging sound and I just laugh.

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: NSFW

WC: 3159

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘sybian’ square for @spnkinkbingo​​. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean makes her shut her laptop quickly and drops it inside her bag. As Y/N gets up, he places his hand around her waist and whisks her out of his office. He holds on to her tightly when helping her down the stairs. 

They walk along the hallway and pause in front of the first room, the light above signaling green. They all are. It is still about twenty minutes until the club opens. Dean twists the doorknob and opens it slightly, letting her take a peek inside. 

“That’s our baby room.” He says, and braces himself against the door frame. She takes a step closer into the room but not quite going in yet. She isn’t sure if she really wants to.

There’s a giant crib in the middle of the room. A changing table off to the side, mats on the floor and huge ass diapers ready to use. The toys laying around look like gigantic baby toys. 

“You want to go in and explore this room? Want me to change your diapers?” He says, in a playful tone of voice.

“No, thanks.” She shudders and walks out. Dean follows her and shuts the door and she turns back to him, with a grimace on her face, “There are really people who go and play in this room?” 

Dean chuckles, “Oh sweetheart, more than you know. We don’t kink shame around here. Each to their own.”

“Sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” Dean smiles and leads her to the next door.

He opens. She looks. It’s a black room, with ropes everywhere and hooks along the ceiling. 

“Rope room,” He says as she takes a couple of steps inside.

“You’re familiar with it?” He asks, and comes to stand next to her, his hand reaching out for a long rope on the table. 

She swallows, “Well, I heard about it, yeah, but I’ve never. I mean—”

“—You wanna try?” Dean grins, holding the rope up. He's ready, she can tell, “You don’t have to take your clothes off. I’ll put it over them. Just your upper body.”

“Okay, do it,” She says, smiling, because she’s a little excited about it, too.

Dean's hands are moving fast. He fastens the rope around her and she can feel it squeezing her boobs. He brushes his hand against her nipple which is erect and mumbles out a sorry before he goes on. She feels everything so intensely. Feels his breath on her,  his hand touching her, fingertips skipping over her body. Even though she’s dressed, his touches are intense and her clit throbs between her thighs.

“Done,” Dean says after a while and he turns her around towards the mirror to take a look at herself. He admires his own handy work, his gaze lingering a fraction too long at her squished boobs.

“You’re good at this,” She says and Dean smiles a boyish smile.

He shrugs with an easy smirk, “I guess you live and learn.” 

“Okay, so,” She says, struggling to get out of the bondage. Dean laughs before he helps her get rid of it, “This is not for me, I think.”

Dean places the rope back onto the table, “Fair enough. Let’s go check the other room. Maybe I got something you’d like.”

They walk out and Dean opens up the room right next door. 

The room is smaller than the previous ones. There’s a couch propped against a wall. In the middle of the room is some kind of a pedestal with a machine. It looks kind of like an electric bull but it’s actually a sybian that also goes in circles if they want it to go around, probably. There are mats on the floor to help soften a fall. 

“That’s our bull room.” He says, and steps in, closing the door behind him. She looks at him quizzically. He hasn’t closed the door to the other rooms.

He just shrugs, “Figured you might like that one. Do you?”

“Well, it’s better than the last room, yeah. I’m curious about this,” She points at the sybian, “Does it spin? Like really fast?” 

Dean grins smugly and reaches for a remote on the coffee table in front of the couch. He clicks on a button and the sybian springs to life, “It can spin as fast as you like,” He pushes the button and increases the speed. It makes her head spin. “Which, I would not really recommend, unless being dizzy turns you on.”

“Can it also just— not spin at all?”

“Yeah, it’s optional.” He says, but she can’t miss the cocky smirk on his face, “Have you ever been on one?”

“Duh, how?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe you’re fucking kinky and you have all the stuff at home?”

“It’s like you don’t know me,” She blushes. 

“No, I know you, alright, but you’ve changed. It’s not bad either. I like the woman you are now. You’re less shy. You’re more open. That’s why I asked if you’ve ever been on one. If not you can try it out if you want?”

“Dean,” She says, but internally she wants to. She doesn’t know? All she knows is that it’s tingling down there and what’s the harm in it? “Will you be in here as well?”

“Yeah,” He doesn’t blink an eye. It’s like the most natural thing for him and she doesn’t know if she should be impressed or scared.

It’s also some kind of challenge, she thinks. Maybe he wants to see how far he could go for her to back out of all of this? But he’s right. She’s a whole new person, someone who isn’t going to back out easily.

Y/N holds Dean’s gaze as she reaches behind with her hands to pull down the zipper of her skirt. She slips it down and steps out of it, taking off her shoes in the process. He’s watching her. His eyes are intense, as he licks his lips before he curves them into a smirk, as if he wants to say that he accepts her challenge.

Turning around, she walks to the steps that lead up to the sybian and Dean sits down on the couch, the remote in his hand.

“Uh,” He says and points his index finger at her, wriggling it around, “You might want to lose the panties.”

She frowns at him, “Why?”

Is he really telling her to go up there naked from the waist down?

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs, but she can’t read him. It’s said in a nonchalant way, she absolutely doesn’t know what to think of it, “It will rub against your clit and you’re doing to get wet. But go on, if you want them to be ruined, be my guest.”

She sighs. Of course he’s right. But is she really going to strip butt naked in front of him?

It’s like he senses her discomfort and he opens his mouth to speak, “Y/N, I want to remind you again that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want, okay? Use the safe word and we’re out of here. I say it again, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. You’ll get to know that I am confronted with sexual things every day. It’s kind of normal to me. And if you are worried about who might have sat on there before you, the room gets a serious wipe down every time someone leaves, so don’t worry about that either.”

Y/N hooks her fingers into the side of her panties, but before pulling down, she asks, “There are no cameras anywhere, right?” 

Dean nods, “There are,” He points at the one in the corner, “I need to make sure that I have everything on tape should someone come forward with a complaint or claim. It’s for my own security. But they’re off now, so you’re good.”

She thinks it’s weird but she trusts him. She trusts his word. Dean has always been someone who you could trust, even with his bad boy charm. 

“Okay,” She says and slips her panties down. She doesn’t look at him, though. Doesn’t want to see his reaction when he sees her naked. Straddling the sybian, she waits for his instructions. 

“There’s a bottle of lube. Take that and smear it on the pad of the sybian where it’ll connect to your clit. Do you want a plug? We have the ones where you can sit on it like dildo.”

“No, I think I’m good, thanks,” She says and picks up the lube to squirt on her finger before she smears it onto the pad of the sybian. She moves forward to really sit on it, positions her clit right on that pad. 

“You ready?” Dean’s voice is a little strained and she can’t look at him, feeling shy all of a sudden. 

“Yeah,” 

He turns it on and it starts to vibrate. Her hands are on her thighs. Dean increases the vibrations and her fingers dig into her flesh. She bites on her bottom lip, doesn’t want to moan out. 

“More?” Dean asks and it’s the first time she looks at him after she dropped her panties. He’s still sitting there, relaxed, but there’s a bulge in his pants. She can tell that he’s trying to conceal it but she’s a reporter. Her eyes are trained to notice little things, little changes in one's demeanor. 

“Uh-huh,” She says, her teeth still biting down on her lip. 

Dean chuckles, “Uh-huh?”

A wave of stronger vibrations grips her thighs and she can’t bite it back anymore, “Oh my god,” She throws her head back, closes her eyes, “Oh, fuck,”

He increases the speed one more time by just a hair, “Say the safe word if you must,” He reminds her. 

Oh no, she won’t say it because fuck, she’s close. So fucking close. She moves her hips, all shame and inhibitions thrown out of the window and it’s true, people say when someone is in the zone, they rarely care about anything else. The chemistry in their brain changes and all they want to chase is their own orgasm. And she wants that too, wants to come so bad. 

Her eyes fly open when she hears Dean groan. He's obviously aroused, too. She cups at her tits, fingers twirling around her nipple through the blouse and now she wishes that she had taken that stupid piece of clothing off, too.

“Fuck, this is great,” She giggles, her hips working forward and back. 

“Can I just say that you look great,” Dean’s voice rolls deep over the sound of vibrations, a shiver runs up her spine, “Do you think you can come?” 

She chuckles, “I’m so close.”

“Do it,” He says and she can see him licking his lips, “Please.”

“‘K,” She nods her head, and grinds down harder, faster. It could be her imagination but she thinks he increased the speed a little more and fuck, she’s going to come. 

She’s going to come in front of her old school mate. 

In front of Dean.

“Oh god,” Y/N eyes cross, her legs cramp up from her toes to her thighs and she shivers all over when that absolute high rolls over her body. 

She’s still shaking when she comes down and Dean turns off the sybian. He gives her time, which she really needs. 

Fuck, that was awesome. 

When her mind stops fogging up, she gets off the sybian and Dean’s quick to help her down. Her legs still feel wobbly and he walks over to the cleaning station to get her some tissues to rub herself down. He helps pick up her panties and she slides them back on, before she gets back into her skirt and she asks Dean help her zip it up because she can’t fucking think straight. 

“How was it?” He asks while he helps her steady herself so she can get into her shoes. 

“That was fucking awesome. I like this room.” She’s still out of breath and Dean has to grin. 

“Listen, we’re open now, so we don’t have any more time, okay? What about you come around another time to see the other rooms.” 

“Honestly?” She says, and raises her eyebrows. She can basically see his face dropping. Maybe he thinks that she’ll turn him down. Her lips curve into a wide grin, “I’d like that.”

His face lights up again, the smile as bright and wide as hers, “Awesome.”

He has an arm around her waist to help her out of the room. They walked along the VIP room. There were already a couple of VIP’s sitting around, drinking and having easy conversations. They really look like every next person. Probably have high end jobs and need to unwind in someplace, where they know that their secrets are kept under wraps. She almost feels bad for having to write a story about this establishment.

They greet Dean in passing and he nods at them, “You’re here for the poker game, right?”

“Yeah, will you join us?” One of the men asked Dean. 

“Nah, I’ll pass, but I’ll help you set it up. I’ll be right with you,” Dean says, and it’s obvious that even though he’s the boss around here, he tries to do everything to keep his guests happy. 

“Is she joining us, I have a dick to be sucked,” The same man asks and laughs to his friend. She guesses that they aren’t talking about a normal poker game. 

Dean glares over. He speaks in a low voice that’s also very loud, “That was a stupid remark. I want you to shut up now, or you’re out.”

At that, the room goes radio silent. Dean continues to walk her to the end of the VIP room and she turns around when she stands at the door, facing him. 

“So, how about tomorrow?” He asks, raising one eyebrow in question. 

“I can’t tomorrow.” She says, and adds, “I have a work thing. But the day after?”

Dean’s face goes from frowning to smiling in no time, “Great. Hope it was good for you,” He leans down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“It was,” She smiles when he parts from her, “Now I need a drink.”

“I’d love to join but I have to go take care of these idiots,” Dean jerks his head to where the men are sitting. 

“That’s okay, I’ll see you, Dean.” She stands on her toes as good as she can on her already high heels and places a kiss on his cheek in return, “Thank you.”

It’s as if he’s taken by surprise and she can see that his face flares up. He looks so cute when he blushes. 

When she walks down the staircase, she notices Claire. The girl is standing at the bar, talking to Garth, and Y/N thinks she’s going to use this opportunity to talk to them.

Garth has noticed her when she walks closer and is already mixing her a martini. 

“Hey, Claire, is it?” She greets the blonde girl. 

Claire smiles at her, “Yeah,” 

Y/N takes the glass from Garth and thanks him. She wants to fish out her purse but Garth stops her, “Boss would kill me if I took money from you.”

“Oh, okay,” 

She doesn’t want to be rude so she didn’t even try to give him money. 

While Garth is still busy behind the bar, she takes the opportunity and turns her attention back to Claire, “I saw you a couple of days ago in the VIP room.”

“You did?” Claire’s still smiling, completely unfazed.

“Yeah, do you do that often?”

“Duh,” Claire huffs out, “Oh my god, it’s the best feeling. I like being up there and I absolutely love being taken care of.”

“So, Dean’s not pressuring you.”

“What?” Claire’s laughing, throwing her head back and all, “I’m sorry, but no, he’s not pressuring me. At all. If anything, he always says that I should tone it down a little.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N says. That’s all she needs to know. Claire is not pressured into anything. At least it doesn’t seem like it. Maybe Y/N needs a couple more visits to watch her more closely but from the smile on Claire’s face and the glint in Claire’s eyes, she can see that Claire loves her job. She doesn’t understand why Mrs. Mills would make such a fuss about it. Claire’s legal, she should be able to make her own decisions, to shape her own future.

“Really, Dean’s the best boss. Everything we do, it’s because we want to. You kind of sound like my mom. She’s all over me about this.” Claire sighs and rolls her eyes back in her head dramatically. Even Garth has to laugh.

Y/N smiles a weak smile, “She’s probably just worried,”

 Dean finished setting up the poker game for his members. It was a request from the two guys that they would like to play poker while women sucked them off under the table. It’s not hard to find women who would be willing to do it, two other members were totally game. It doesn’t happen a lot that he gets requests but that’s also something he does. Members can request a fantasy and he’s trying to fulfill it if possible.

He walks back into his office, thinks about working through that member spreadsheet and sees if someone has been inactive long enough to be kicked out but he doubts that he will be able to concentrate. 

Sitting back in his chair, he lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. His cock is so fucking hard he could pound nails with it. 

All he sees is her, her sweet pussy that’s already glistening in the light while she hasn't even sat down on the sybian yet. He must have turned her on while he tied her up. He turned him on too, he can’t lie about that. 

Watching her on that sybian was pure torture and Dean really had to restrain himself from taking his dick out and rubbing himself off. She looked absolutely beautiful blissed out. Her lips slightly parted, her pussy wet, her face contorted in beautiful agony. He would have loved to have taken a picture.

Her kissing his cheek did nothing to make his boner go away and that’s not fair because Dean thinks she’s absolutely oblivious to her effect on him. He’s even harder after that kiss, if that’s even possible.

Now he has to wait fucking two days to see her again? Goddammit. Torture is what it is. He  doesn’t know how long he can stay good and behave around her. Dean’s a little terrified too, to be honest. He didn’t even know that he’s capable of feeling things as intense as this. It seems like a lifetime ago since he felt it last.

Chapter 5

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. II) - p.l. dubois

Part I

Part two is here! Things start to heat up in this chapter, exciting stuff’s happening! I hope you guys like reading it as much as I’m loving writing - please slide into my inbox, let me know what you think! Reblogs are amazing too, it’s how we know people are liking what we’re putting out and helps to reach more people! (Plus it’s one of the joys of my life to read the tags. Seriously, so much fun.)

Part II (7.2k)

June 18 (fri)

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to sell it,” Laurel said, running a hand through her hair. “The fewer people who know the truth, the better.” 

Pierre nodded. “Agreed.” He sat back in his chair. “What do you think your parents will say?” 

Laurel laughed. “Uh, they think I’m seeing someone, actually.”

 “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, “it was easier to just say I had a boyfriend than deal with their endless pestering, you know?” 

“So they’d buy it if you just told them you were getting married?” 

She shrugged. “I think so. You know we’re not particularly close, they haven’t met any of my boyfriends since I was in high school. So if I told them I was engaged, I don’t think they’d bat an eye, if I’m honest.” Pierre could sense there was more to the story, more that she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t want to press. “What about yours?” she asked. 

“Well, we’ve got a couple options,” Pierre said, cracking a smile and leaning back into the cushions. “It was a drunken mistake.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Then they’d just tell us to get a divorce.” 

“We fell in love after the first date.”

“Even less believable,” Laurel said, the corner of her lip twitching. 

“Or…,” Pierre said, kicking his feet up on the ottoman, a wicked grin on his face, “I got you pregnant and want to do the right thing.” 

Laurel snorted. “Little issue there.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not pregnant.”

Pierre ducked his head, blushing. “Right. There’s that.”

She nodded. “There’s that.” She tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “I’ve got it.” Pierre looked up. “We’ve been friends for a long time, couple years or something. Madeline went to York, so we met when you and Patrice came to visit. We realized we had feelings for each other a few months ago, everything moved super quickly since we already knew each other and had that foundation.”

“So we thought ‘why wait,’” Pierre finished. 

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Why wait, if we already knew.”

“It’s a classic friends-to-lovers story, a tale as old as time,” he sighed wistfully. 

Laurel slapped his shoulder. “This is serious,” she said, but she was smiling all the same. “Okay, so we’ve at least got that worked out. Madeline and Patrice will obviously know, but other than that…” She trailed off. 

He nodded, and an understanding passed between them. “It’s a need-to-know basis.”

“It is.” Laurel shifted her laptop on the coffee table, squeezing closer to Pierre so he could see the screen. “So, we have to go down to the courthouse for a meeting with the court clerk who will perform the ceremony, bring birth certificates and ID, and —”

He glanced over at Laurel, her tongue caught between her teeth. “And?”

“You have to publish a declaration of intent to marry twenty days before the wedding. Online. In public.” 

Pierre looked oblivious. “So?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “So, it has the date of the wedding and our full names and our whole entire addresses. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’re kind of a professional hockey player.” 

He shrugged. “All due respect, Laurel, but,” he glanced at the website, “who actually checks these things?” He had a point there, she thought, but she wasn’t about to let him win. 

“But your address, you’re not worried about that getting out there?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But my building’s got a receptionist and I’ve got locks on my doors. And plus,” Pierre added, “I’ve really never had much of a problem flying under the radar here. When I go back home, back to the suburbs, sure. And a little bit in Columbus, obviously. But there’s what, two million people in Montréal? I’m not on the Habs, so even the hockey fans here really couldn’t care less.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Also, uh, living situation. We should probably talk about that.” 

“You’re moving in with me?” He said it like a question, but not as if it was something that would surprise him, or something he was opposed to. He said it like it was something he already knew the answer to. “I’ve got three rooms, plenty of space, Phil and Georgia would love to have a new sister. You and Piper would fit right in,” he said, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “Plus it’s got a great gym in the lobby, you can cancel your membership to that seedy place downtown with that trainer who always stares at you when you do weights.” Laurel’s ears perked up; she was surprised he remembered. She did have a gym downtown that she tried to make it to a few times a week, and there was that one creepy trainer, but she had only mentioned it to him once in passing. “Plus it has hot yoga once a week, and I know you’ve been dying to try.” That much was true. 

“At least let me help pay for rent,” she tried to bargain. 

“Nope!” he said, wincing a second later. “I didn’t mean it in like a patronizing way, I know you’re perfectly capable of pulling your own weight. I meant like I bought it outright, so there’s no rent to be paid. I’ll let you pay the electricity bill if you want?”

Laurel grinned. “That would make me feel better, thank you.” After looking at her computer for a minute, she spoke again. “How long have you had the apartment for?”

Pierre scratched his chin. “Couple years? I bought it after signing the contract this year. Some guys buy a Lamborghini, I bought an apartment. I don’t own the place in Columbus though.”

“How come?” Laurel asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. 

“Even with the contract, so much is up in the air. I could get traded in the middle of the season, or in the summer or whenever, and I don’t want to have just bought a house when I’ve got to move to Vancouver or wherever when the ink hasn’t even dried on the papers.”

This time, it was Laurel’s turn to leave with an unsaid question. “Is tomorrow good? To go down and get everything squared away at the courthouse?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’ve got some off-ice training in the morning, but any time after noon or so is good for me.”

Laurel nodded, making a few taps on her computer. “Okay, I’ve got us booked in at one, that good?”

“Yeah,” Pierre said, nodding in affirmation. “Now I’ve got to come up with an excuse to drive to my parents’ and get my birth certificate.”

---

It didn’t actually turn out to be all that difficult for Pierre; he made the drive back to Saint-Agathe-des-Monts later that afternoon, telling his parents he needed it to renew his health insurance card. He wasn’t sure they actually believed him, but his mom didn’t bat an eye before handing it over. Pierre spent the rest of the evening at home, cooking pasta, petting the dogs, and wondering what in the hell he had agreed to. He wasn’t second-guessing himself, not by a long-shot, but when she clicked that button to book their appointment, the gravity of the situation finally started to hit him. In less than a month, he was going to be getting married. 

June 19 (sat) 

Laurel met Pierre on the steps of the Montréal courthouse at a quarter to one the next day, clutching the straps of her tote like a lifeline. “Woah, Laurel, you’re holding that like you’ve got a bomb in there,” Pierre said. 

She flashed him a nervous smile. “No bomb, just very official very legal documents. Don’t want to lose it.” 

He held out his hand. “You ready?” 

Laurel was surprised at the gesture. Not shocked that he was being kind, but that he was cognizant enough to recognize that she was nervous, and wanted to do something about it. She took his hand. “Ready.”

It only took a minute to find the office, and a few more before the receptionist called them back to the clerk’s office. She introduced herself as Juliette Bergeron, congratulated them on their engagement, and asked to see the paperwork. Passports and birth certificates were handed over, signatures were signed on dotted lines, and half an hour later, they walked out of the courthouse with an appointment for a wedding on July 10. 

“Well, there’s that crossed off the checklist,” Laurel said, leaning up against the handrails as they stood on the courthouse steps. They had actually made a real checklist, a series of tasks on a shared Notes page of everything that needed to be completed before the wedding. Book the ceremony and post the public notice were done, but there were still a dozen-odd tasks left before they actually could get married. Starting with telling their parents. While they had developed as airtight a cover story as she supposed one could when they were committing what would charitably be referred to as citizenship fraud, they had agreed it was going to be far less messy to “come clean” as fiancés than after the wedding. Laurel had wanted to text them the news, or call so early they’d still be asleep and she could just avoid the conversation altogether, but Pierre had convinced her to FaceTime. “I know you guys aren’t super close, but I think they deserve that much, Laurel,” he had said, and he was right. Deep down, she knew he was right. 

“Ready?” Pierre asked, rubbing her back soothingly. 

Laurel flashed him a tight smile before pressing her mom’s contact. “As I’ll ever be.” Three agonizingly long rings later, her mom picked up. 

“Laurel? What are you doing calling, honey? Is everything okay?”

She let out a nervous giggle. “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my parents?”

“No,” Cheryl clucked, “but to be fair, you don’t call often.”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck in discomfort. “That’s true. Uh, anyways, is dad there?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” her mom said, starting to catch onto the fact that maybe this wasn’t quite your run-of-the-mill check-in call. “What’s this all about, pumpkin?” 

The old term of endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, brought tears to the corners of her eyes. “Can you call him in? I’d rather tell you both at the same time.”

Cheryl nodded, worry crossing her brow. “Doug? Laurel’s on the phone, she’s got something to tell us. Sounds important.”

“Coming,” Laurel heard her dad say in the background. A moment later, he padded into view. “Hey, Laurel, Mom said you’ve got some news?” 

Laurel nodded. “Yeah, just something I thought you guys should know. It’s not bad, you’re just going to be surprised, so I need you to keep an open mind, okay?”

“Who is he?” Doug asked, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression. 

She blanched. “He? Who’s he?” There’s no way he guessed...right?

“The jackass who got you pregnant, who else?” 

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “Pregnant? Who said I’m pregnant? I’m not pregnant!”

Both of her parents let out an audible sigh of relief. “Well, Laurel, what conclusion did you expect us to jump to when you called us out of the blue and said you had important news?”

Laurel bit her lip; they had a point. “Fair. But, uh, rest assured, I’m not pregnant. I’m smarter than that.” She paused, steeling her nerves. “Remember that guy I told you I was seeing a few months ago?”

Her mom squinted like she was looking into the sun. “Vaguely? You didn’t really tell us much about him. Just that he was tall, nice, you met through friends.” It was a believable enough explanation back then, and Laurel was beyond grateful it dovetailed perfectly into the story she and Pierre had conjured up. “You didn’t even tell us his name.”

Laurel reached out her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the phone, and made a grabby motion for his hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Well, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois—”

Doug interrupted. “Very French.”

She grimaced. “I do live in Québec, Dad. But anyways, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois and we’re getting married.”

They sat still on the other end of the call, so still that if it weren’t for her mom’s rapid blinking she would have thought the call had been dropped. “Married?” her mom asked softly. 

“Yes, married.”

“How long have you even been seeing each other?” Doug asked, dumbfounded. 

“A little under six months. I know it’s not long, and I know it seems sudden, but we’ve known each other for a long time, you know? We met when I was still back in Toronto at university, Madeline introduced us.” Her parents nodded; Madeline, they knew. Madeline, they had met. Madeline, they trusted. “And we finally realized a little bit after New Year’s that we had feelings for each other, and it’s sort of been zero to a hundred ever since. We thought, if we knew we loved each other and we knew we were done looking, then what was the point of waiting for a year or two for it to be a ‘socially acceptable’ time to get married.” Laurel finished. 

Cheryl wrapped her hands around her mug of tea, eyelids still shooting rapid-fire blinks at the screen. “But, Laurel, we haven’t even met this boy, we barely know anything about him!”

Pierre squeezed her hand. “Actually, he’s just off-camera. Want to say hi, P?” 

He walked into view, waving politely at the screen. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Klerken, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Laurel’s had nothing but wonderful things to say.” A little flattery never hurt anybody, he thought. 

“Lovely to meet you, Pierre-Luc,” Cheryl said. “Forgive us if we’re still a little shocked, Laurel’s not normally one to spring things on us like this.”

He laughed. “Perfectly fair. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet until now, but we’ve been trying to get used to the idea ourselves.”

Her dad leaned forward from his spot in the couch, giving Pierre as much of a once-over as he could from nearly 1500 miles away. “I’m not able to give you the normal talking-to I have with any of the other boys Laurel or Maggie have introduced us to, so this is going to have to do.” Maggie? Laurel had primed Pierre for the inevitable grilling, telling him that if it was anything like it had been in the past, it would be all bark and no bite. “So what do you do for work, Pierre-Luc?”

“I’m a professional hockey player in the NHL, I play for the Columbus Blue Jackets.” 

Doug’s eyebrows went up. As much of a front as he tried to put up, he was still a middle-aged man from Minnesota, and there were few things that impressed middle-aged men from Minnesota more than their daughters being suddenly engaged to NHL players. “NHL, huh? That’s very impressive. So you’re from Québec, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Pierre answered. “My hometown’s a little outside of the city, but I live in Montréal now. My mom’s from Georgia, though, so I’ve got dual citizenship and some family still down there.” 

Her parents didn’t take too kindly to the news that the wedding was in three weeks, since it was too tight a fit to be able to get time off, but promised to visit later in the summer to make a proper introduction to their new son-in-law. Her father continued to pepper him with questions about his hobbies, family, and how he takes his steak — according to the Doug Klerken rules, any man who orders anything above medium is not to be trusted — until Laurel mercifully cut him off, telling her parents they were late to meet up with some friends. “That wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said as Laurel slipped her phone into her purse, immediately plugging it into her portable charger as the FaceTime had drained all but 18% of her battery. 

Laurel made a face. “They’re good people and they care about me, but…” She trailed off. “They never really understood why I’d want anything more than I was given. Anything more than the status quo. And it’s just caused a lot of friction between us.” Her eyes flashed as she remembered something. “One more thing.” Pierre’s ears perked up. “If and when you ever talk to my parents again, just...don’t bring up politics.” Laurel grimaced. 

“Republicans?” he asked sympathetically. 

She nodded. “Trump-supporting Republicans. It’s another one of the reasons we don’t talk much anymore. I’m liberal, I’d probably be NDP if I could vote here, and we just don’t share the same values on a lot of things.”

“That’s got to be pretty rough on you,” Pierre said.

“Yeah,” Laurel admitted. “Probably more than I want to let on, but I think it helps that I’m able to get some distance.”

Pierre took a deep breath in. “Your, uh, your dad mentioned something that I wanted to ask you about.” 

Shit. Laurel had been able to avoid the conversation for long enough, but she was beginning to push her luck, and she couldn’t run forever. “Maggie?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I thought I should ask.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Laurel said. “Um, long story short, Maggie’s my sister. It’s July, so…” she did the mental math in her head, “she’d be almost 31. Total free spirit. She left town pretty soon after she graduated, came back every so often but not nearly enough. Last I heard, she was an au pair in Italy.”

“And when was that?”

“Two years ago.” Pierre figured that was as good a time as any to drop the subject, so he did. They had decided that, while they were still downtown, it would be a good opportunity to get the ring shopping out of the way. Pierre looked up the highest-rated jewelry store on Yelp, and they set off on foot. 

Pierre opened the door for her as they stepped inside, greeted by a slightly over-enthusiastic salesman. “You paid for the ceremony fee, so I’m paying for the rings, okay?”

Laurel scoffed. “Hardly a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I’ll live,” he said, smirking. 

Laurel had been wandering around by the solitaires for a few minutes when Pierre walked up behind her. “I know this isn’t going to be the wedding you’ve always dreamed of,” Pierre said, “but we’re going to make it the best we can.” He looked down at the cases, Laurel’s fingers dancing over the edge of the glass cover. “When you were in high school, or university, did you ever think about what kind of wedding you wanted?” Laurel gave a small nod. “And what kind of ring did you have?”

“I’ve always liked halo cuts,” she said softly.

Pierre inched his hand towards hers, wrapping his fingers around hers. They tensed for a second, but then relaxed into his grip. “Then let’s go get you that halo cut.”

There was no one else in the store aside from the salesman, so the couple was enveloped in a comfortable silence as they browsed. Her eyes stopped on a beautiful floral halo ring with an oval diamond. Pierre nodded to the salesman, who carefully took it off of its stand and handed it to Pierre, who carefully wiggled it onto Laurel’s fourth finger. If she closed her eyes, she was almost able to pretend that it was a proposal. Laurel brought her thumb to the ring, delicately running it over the pavé band with the ghost of a smile on her face. “What do you think?” Pierre asked, as if he couldn’t already tell her answer from the look on her face. 

Laurel looked up at him. “I love it. It fits perfectly.”

“Like Cinderella’s slipper.” He turned to the salesman. “Combien ça coûte?” (How much does it cost?) Laurel heard a number that made her swallow hard, more than anything she’d ever have bought for herself, but Pierre insisted it was a non-issue as he handed his card over. “He said that they’ve got another sample one in the back, and you’re welcome to just wear that one out if it fits.”

“Sounds good.” The salesman handed over the bag with Pierre’s ring and her matching wedding band, thanking them for their purchase before opening the door back into the sunny Montréal afternoon. Laurel craned her neck to try and sneak a peek inside the bag. “Don’t I get to see yours?”

Pierre cracked a wry grin. “Gotta wait until the wedding, babe. Can’t a man have a little mystery?”

“Fair enough,” Laurel said, not missing his use of the pet name but brushing it off as simply a spur-of-the-moment choice. “Do you want to do the honors?” she asked, referring to the all-important checklist. 

Pierre opened his phone with his spare hand, deftly navigating to the app and tapping twice. “Four down, seven to go. We’re on a roll. 

June 24 (thurs)

Surprisingly, telling Pierre-Luc’s parents hadn’t been nearly as intimidating as breaking the news to her own, at least for Laurel. They were shocked — and confused, and had a lot of questions — but were welcoming nonetheless. Patrice was almost like a second son to them, and the fact that she already came with his stamp of approval went a long way into calming them down. “He’s always been quite the romantic, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. And he cares deeply about the people in his life. That’s you, now,” his mom had said. They drove up to meet them that Sunday, having brunch in his childhood home. That was, in essence, their first real “test” as a couple. They had never had to sell their relationship to anyone before; even when going out with Madeline and Patrice after their “engagement,” nothing ever seemed like it had changed. This time was different. This time had to be different.

His mom fawned over her engagement ring, asking her to spare no details in retelling the story of the proposal. Lucky for her, however, Laurel was the former president of the University of Toronto improv club, and coming up with background stories with exactly zero minutes to prepare was something of a specialty for her. Laurel immediately gushed about how unexpected it was; she was just expecting an evening walk through downtown until they turned down one of the piers by the basilica, reached the end overlooking the river, and Pierre dropped down on one knee. “I think I knew that he was the one way sooner than that, but it’s nice to finally have it be official,” she had said. 

Laurel shook herself out of her memories, turning the door into the locker room. She grabbed a pair of scrubs out of her shared locker — she had never met Alice, the other nurse who used it, but they had made a habit of leaving each other Post-it note greetings — and stripped off her t-shirt and jeans. Shimmying on her scrub pants, she tied them, leaning back into the locker to get her bag as the door shut behind her. She glanced over to the door, waving to Claire. Claire was sweet, a transplant from Vancouver who had lived in Québec as a child and decided to come back to work. She was sweet, having just started working at the beginning of the summer, but she was young, even younger than Laurel. And while her perky and energetic nature lent itself well to the dynamics of the floor, it was a lot for her to get used to. “Hey!” Laurel said, waving as she pulled a chain out of her purse, trying to discreetly unhook it. 

“Hey!” Claire responded, perky as ever. “How has your week been?” She worked Mondays and Thursdays with Laurel, but had the Saturday night shift as well. 

Laurel threw her hair up into a bun. “Good, good, busy. Met up with some friends yesterday, so that was nice, but not much. Took Piper to the dog park.” With my fiancé, she neglected to add. She twisted her ring off, trying to slip it onto the chain without Claire noticing. Like most of her married colleagues, Laurel had taken to wearing her engagement ring on a chain around her neck while at work instead of on her finger. It was under her scrubs most of the time, keeping at bay the questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer, and made it much easier to pull on and off gloves when the occasion called for it. But Claire was eagle-eyed, catching the sparkle of the diamond just as she slid it onto the chain.

She audibly gasped. “Is that an engagement ring?” 

Laurel had to think fast; once again, her improv skills were called up to bat. “No? It’s, uh, it’s a family heirloom, it was my grandma’s. Guess I didn’t think too much about which finger I put it on.” She could tell Claire didn’t quite believe her side of the story, but thankfully, she didn’t press. 

“If you say so,” she said, giving a not-so-subtle wink. 

June 27 (sun)

Laurel was sat in her living room, her TV on in the background as she scrolled absent-mindedly through her phone, savoring her last few hours before she had to go to bed for her 5:30 wake-up call. On a whim, she opened her Twitter. It wasn’t an app she used all that often — mostly just to keep in contact with the handful of high school and college friends who didn’t use Instagram — and she was well aware that she’d probably have to limit her use for her own sanity when she and Pierre went “public” after the wedding, but she liked being able to keep up with everyone. She followed her friends, a handful of celebrities and a few journalists, but her timeline wasn’t flooded with updates. Then she saw the little blue alert on the bottom. One new message. Clicking to her inbox, Laurel saw that it had been sent by Madeline four minutes earlier, a link to a tweet that just had the caption: “you should probably see this.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Laurel pressed the link. What could be so important that Madeline would have sent a message with that kind of urgency? And why didn’t she just text it? God, I hate puckbunny blogs, Laurel thought as she read the handle. Her eyes raced across the screen. So I was looking up the address of my friend’s wedding earlier since I lost my invitation and didn’t want to tell her, and saw this under??? I know he can be a private guy, but tell me you guys don’t think this is for PLD. Her eyes froze as soon as she finished reading, praying that somehow they were talking about a different PLD, that they hadn’t been found out and their cover hadn’t been blown and she wasn’t about to have a panic attack for the first time since junior year  — and then she saw the screenshot. Of their wedding announcement. Their public wedding announcement that not only had their full names and places of birth, but the location of the ceremony, the time, and their addresses. God, this is exactly what Laurel had been worried about. She immediately reported the tweet for exposing personal information, then made the poor decision to look at the comments section. Some people insisted it was legitimate, some convinced it was just photoshop, some were convinced that it couldn’t be Pierre-Luc even it looked like him, because he was training in Columbus for the summer, right? Thank God, it didn’t seem like anyone had done a deep enough dive to figure out who she was; there weren’t any screenshots of her accounts or photos of her in the comments section. It was eight minutes from the time she reported it to when it was taken down, and while Laurel was grateful for the quick response, she felt like she was on a cliffside, one foot off of the edge, until it had been deleted. 

Her phone lit up with a text notification from Pierre. Funny thing happened today. 

Oh God, Laurel thought. Had he seen it? He hadn’t.

My mom asked what you were planning to do about flowers and got very upset when I said we didn’t have any plans. She let out a tense breath. Flowers, she could do. She wanted to get your number to send over the names of a few florists she knows in the area, but I thought I should check with you first to make sure that’s okay. 

Laurel smiled, her right hand draped over the side of the couch to scratch Piper behind the ears. That sounds great, P. 

As promised, his mom texted Laurel soon after, coming armed with recommendations of Montréal florists. She echoed her son’s words almost identically; You deserve to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of even if the circumstances are different, she had written. Her eyes pricked with tears as she fell asleep. 

July 3 (sun)

It was a week before the wedding, and Laurel had started to pack up her apartment. It seemed much more practical to do it in stages then try to finish everything the weekend of the wedding. So she sat with Pierre on the floor of her bedroom, moving boxes between them as they packed away into the next season of her life. Some things, she obviously couldn’t put away yet — she still needed clothes and toothpaste, and they hadn’t been able to get all of her pots and pans down to the Goodwill yet. But books and keepsakes could be boxed up, and unless there was a snowstorm in July, she didn’t need her parka either. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Pierre asked as he pulled a few more volumes off of her bookshelf. Laurel groaned  when she saw what was in his hand. 

“The 2013 Cloquet Senior High School yearbook. My sophomore year.”

He burst out laughing. “This, I’ve got to see.” He opened the cover. “Your mascot was the Lumberjacks?”

Laurel ducked her head, her cheeks heating. “Regrettably, yes. That’s what happens when your whole area used to be milling towns.”

Pierre’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said everything was about the mines, doesn’t your dad work in the mines?”

“He does,” Laurel said. “They had to figure out something to do after all of the trees had been cut down, you know?”

Pierre got the feeling it was really more of a rhetorical question. “What was your school like?” 

She placed one of her old Harry Potter books into the box. “Small is the first word that comes to mind. My graduating class couldn’t have been much bigger than 150 or so? We’d get snow days a couple of times a year, most of the time if it wasn’t a blizzard everyone would end up going down to the school anyways, we’d all have big snowball fights on the football field. Actually,” she said, pulling out her phone from her back pocket, “I think I might still have a clip of one.” She pulled up her videos, scooting over to Pierre and leaning into his side so he could see the screen. Raucous laughter filtered through the speakers; the only things in sight were snow forts and the tiniest bits of beanies peeking over the top. 

“THIS. IS. WAR!” 

Laurel snickered. “I think that sounds like Nicholas, he was the varsity quarterback for a few years. Usually was the one leading the sieges.” She put her phone away a minute later after the clip ended. “But other than that? There were actually a lot of pretty interesting elective classes, I got to take photography, work in the preschool on campus, take a class on Anishinaabe studies.”

“Anishinaabe?” Pierre questioned. 

“There’s a Native American reservation in town, the tribe’s Ojibwe so that’s the language family we studied. A lot of kids at the school, including one of my best friends Kristen, live on the reservation, so I think they wanted to not only have the class available for Native students who maybe wanted to learn more about their culture, but also for non-Native kids like me, so we’re able to gain a respect for whose land we’re living on,” Laurel explained. 

“Makes sense,” he said, flipping through the pages. He snorted. “This photo might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Laurel peeked over his shoulder, cringing at her school picture. “I really couldn’t have dressed any more 2012 if I tried, Pierre. Aggressively off-the-shoulder top, one of those godforsaken hair feathers, I bet you’d find dark wash skinny jeans if you could see from the waist down.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my fiancée like that,” Pierre said. “I like the look, I swear. You were such a cute kid, oh my God.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. What happened to me, right?”

He looked at her from the side. “Nope.”

 June 9 (fri)

 It was the day before the wedding, and Laurel was trying to find a dress. She had been planning on wearing one — even if it was a courthouse wedding, she still wanted to look nice — but then she had spilled red wine onto the light blue one she had been thinking of wearing as she ironed it in the living room, and she didn’t want to put all of her eggs in one basket if the Oxiclean didn’t end up working. She called Madeline in a panic, who promised to be over as soon as she could with a few dresses of her own to see what she could do. There was a knock on the door, and Laurel practically flew across the room to fling it open, gathering Madeline in a hug even before she had crossed the threshold. Madeline patted her clumsily on the back. “There, there, Laur. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to fix it.”

Laurel ran one hand through her hair, her curls as frazzled as her mind. “It’s got to be. Half of my stuff’s already over at P’s place, what, do you want me to wear a,” she opened up her dresser, eyeing its meager contents, “bralette and lacy thong to my own wedding?”

Madeline shrugged. “I doubt Pierre would mind,” she said casually. 

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “What do you mean?”

“Men are visual creatures, and you’re hot as hell, Laurel,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Still,” Laurel said, opening her closet and grabbing every single left over dress from its hanger, trying to distract herself from Madeline’s words, “I’d rather not be arrested for public indecency. I’m trying to stay in the country, remember?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “I remember.” She thumbed through the dresses on Laurel’s bed. “You’re not wearing a black dress to get married,” she said pointedly. 

“It’s pretty?” Laurel tried to reason.

“It is, but it’s a wedding, not a funeral.” She moved onto the next one. “Bright red bodycon is great for the club, but not sure coquettish seductress is the look you’re going for.” The next one was a striped sweater dress; it was the middle of summer, so according to Madeline, that meant it was out. There was a navy shift dress that “could work, but it’s a little too much work and not enough play,” her friend had said. Laurel tried on Madeline’s dresses, but seeing as how she had three inches on her, the hemlines weren’t exactly in her favor. Madeline pulled out the last of the stack, gasping softly. “This one’s beautiful, where’s it from?”

Madeline looked at it, a knee-length ivory lace dress, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Madeline. “It was for Aurélie’s bachelorette party last year, probably explains. You were drunk off your ass that night.”

“I’m hurt by that characterization, but I don’t remember enough to correct you,” Madeline said. “It’s perfect though, why didn’t you choose this one in the first place?”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure?” Madeline gave her a look. “Fine, it just seems...It seems too much like an actual wedding dress. It’s white, or close enough, anyways,” she noted, fingering one of the delicate straps, “and gorgeous, and formal, and I’m worried if I wear it it’ll seem too real, and I’ll start thinking this is more than it is. Because all it is at the end of the day is a friend doing me a really, really big favor,” she finished, huffing and falling back onto her mattress. 

“At the end of the day, it’s still a wedding,” Madeline corrected, laying down next to her. “And you’re still a bride and he’s still a groom and you deserve to feel beautiful and cherished and special on your wedding day, no matter its circumstances. And who knows? Maybe you two stay married, and fall in love, and you live happily ever after with your half-dozen dogs and 2.5 kids on some farm out in the suburbs.”

Laurel snorted. “As if.” But two hours later, long after Madeline had already left, she sat back on the bed, hand ghosting over the lace of her now-wedding dress, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Madeline had a point.  

June 10 (sat) 

It was the morning of the wedding, and Laurel was pacing her room in her sweatpants, Piper looking at her in confusion from the doorway. It was just past 7 and the appointment wasn’t until 10, but she still had to get dressed and do her hair and makeup and pick up the flowers and eat and — her internal monologue was interrupted by the doorbell. Still half-asleep, she ambled over to the door, pulling it open without even really checking to see who it was. 

“Surprise!!” Patrice shouted, walking through the door, followed by Madeline and Pierre. “Madeline mentioned that you seemed a bit overwhelmed yesterday, so we thought we’d come over and get ready over here!” 

Laurel shuffled out of the way as Piper jumped on Pierre, who laughed and calmed her down with a few scratches on her chin. She had really taken a liking to him and his two dogs, which had initially been a point of nervousness for Laurel. But they got along great, shared space well, and she seemed to love her new brother and sister. “That’s really nice of you guys, I appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “Um, I don’t have much food left because of the move, but I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard?” 

“Silly you,” Pierre said, holding out a paper bag. “Did you think I’d leave my bride hungry on our wedding day? I got you sourdough french toast, should be on the top.” They had gone out to brunch once and she had ordered it, audibly moaning at how incredible it tasted. He remembered. 

“And raspberry mochas!” Madeline said, presenting her with a cup. 

Laurel took it, wrapping her spare arm around Madeline and kissing Pierre on the cheek. “This is incredible, guys. Really. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Exactly!” Madeline said, a perky expression on her face. “It’s a surprise!” She drifted into the kitchen, pulling out plates from Laurel’s cabinet and forks from her drawers. “Breakfast is served!”

Laurel let out a laugh as she grabbed the box with her french toast, taking a sip of her mocha. “I think the credit goes to the chefs at the restaurant, but whatever you say, Madi.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but we ordered it. 

By the time they had all inhaled their breakfasts and cleaned the kitchen — Laurel and Pierre tag-teamed the dishes — it was almost eight, and Madeline whisked her into her room to get ready. “There should be a couple beers in the fridge, help yourselves!” Laurel shouted out the door as Madeline tried to wrestle her into the ensuite. For the most part, Madeline was good at listening to Laurel’s pleas against a dramatic makeup look. Muted rose lipstick, filled in her eyebrows, delicately pulled back her hair into a twisted bun. “Where’s your setting spray?” Madeline asked, rooting through her makeup bag. 

“Top drawer on the left. Are you finally going to let me see?”

Madeline pulled the drawer out, uncapping the bottle and spritzing it over Laurel’s face. “Go for it.”

Laurel turned around, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Oh my God,” she said, turning her head so the glimmer of her highlighter caught in the early-morning sun streaming through the open window. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve put the dress on,” Madeline said, pulling it off of its hanger and draping it across the chair. Sweats came off and the dress went on, Madeline carefully pulling up the back zipper and straightening out her hem. Laurel bent down to put on her shoes, threading the silver straps through the tiny metal clasp before giving her leg a good shake. Madeline looked at her sceptically. 

“What?” Laurel asked innocently. “I don’t want it to fall off halfway down the aisle.” 

There was a knock on the bedroom door, Patrice’s voice floating in from the other side. “It’s 9:20, you two about ready to head out?”

“Coming!” Madeline called back, pulling Laurel up from the bed. “You ready, Laur?” Laurel gave a nervous nod. “Let’s go get you married.”

She stepped out into the living room, reaching up to her neck and fingering the silver filigree of her grandma’s wedding necklace, one of the only things she had left to remember her by. If she wasn’t able to complete the whole rhyme, at least she’d have her something old. “Who’s driving?” she asked. 

Pierre wheeled around, mouth gaping like a fish when he saw her. Laurel immediately looked down to her dress, wondering if she had spilled one of her pre-wedding mimosas. “What is it?” she asked frantically. “Is there something in my teeth?”

He shook his head, tugging at the sleeves of his navy blue suit. “No, there’s nothing in your teeth, it’s perfect. You look beautiful.” They were in the car five minutes later, picked up the bouquet from the florist five minutes after that, and were outside of the courthouse by 9:50. Laurel took a deep breath, looking up at the glass doors of the Palais de Justice. Pierre threaded his fingers between hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

Laurel nodded, nervous but determined, sure that she was making the right decision. “Ready.” She barely remembered signing in, barely remembered going back to the clerk’s office, barely remembered her reading the mandated articles of the civil code. She gripped Pierre’s hands, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as she could, as the vows were read. 

“Pierre-Luc Dubois, do you take Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, here present, to be your wife?” Juliette asked. 

“I do.”

“Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, do you take Pierre-Luc Dubois, here present, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Laurel said, voice steady. 

Juliette continued. “By virtue of the powers vested in me by law, I now declare you, Pierre-Luc Dubois, and you, Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, united in the bonds of marriage.” Patrice passed over the rings; Laurel slid Pierre’s onto his ring finger, he gently twisted hers to rest on top of her engagement ring. “You are now legally married. Allow me, on my own behalf and on behalf of all those present, to offer you our best wishes for your happiness. You may now kiss the bride.”

Laurel panicked for a moment, before looking up and meeting Pierre’s eyes. In the span of a second, she communicated her unspoken agreement with the tiniest nod of her head, and his lips were on hers. His arms were against the small of her back, hers wrapped around his neck, and even enough it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, it felt like hours. It felt like coming home.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Definitely do *not* write a drabble about Chris being triggered into thinking Jake is sending him back, with Jake having to comfort him. Do not do it, Ash. I demand it.

While I couldn't quite bring myself to hit the request exactly, I did think of something that might actually give Chris a very similar reaction... sorry I sat on this so long, I couldn’t make the words do for a while, but here they FINALLY are

CW: Referenced beating/injuries, emeto mentions, bruising, pressing on a bruised rib, trauma response, some discussion of PTSD/conditioned responses, discussion of noncon touching, noncon in memories + discussion (warning: Jake speaks very plainly about what it was, so cw for use of the word r*pe, I know that can be difficult), referenced violent reaction to stimming

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Safehouse Raid/Interrogation series

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump

Dr. Masood’s touch is gentle, and light, and Jake can see why the rescues like him so much. The safehouse’s doctor - a man who could lose his license to practice if anyone finds out that he provides healthcare to illegal runaway pets on nights and weekends - hums to himself, cheerfully, as his thumbs and fingers graze along the edge of Jake’s black eye, take in the bruising on his face, the swollen lower lip. 

His touch is so deft around the dark purple-black bruise on Jake’s head that he barely winces at the pressure, quick, barely-there and then gone, as Dr. Masood checks the spot where that asshole Everly bashed Jake’s head into the table again and again.

“My apologies,” Dr. Masood says gently, his accent warming his voice, making every word slightly musical. “You have quite a few bruises, some surface lacerations, but I’m not seeing anything that won’t heal with a little rest and regular at-home care. How are you sleeping?”

Jake swallows, feeling himself tense a little. He hasn’t slept, not really, in the three days since he’d come back from the police station. That first day after his return he had passed out, had laid on the bed with Chris beside him, safe in his arms, and slept like a log for nearly twelve hours, woken to eat, and then gone right back to sleep until the next day all over again. 

Ever since then... he can’t. He can doze, off and on, as long as Chris is inside the house where he can see him or by him. But he can’t-... he can’t stay asleep, he wakes at every noise, heart pounding, ready to hide Chris again, get Antoni and Leila back down to the basement. Has to be ready to open the front door himself this time, not let Nat take hits herself just to buy them time.

The deep bruising on Nat’s face, the cut across her cheekbone, the way that she moves with care and grits her teeth every time she has to stand up, the way she keeps describing herself as doing fine and powering through and making it through the day, her dry Midwestern drawl when she says she’s livin’ the dream, Jake, that’s all... it’s new wounds, layered under his skin instead of over it. It should have been him to answer the door, put up the fight, make himself the more important target.

Next time, Jake has to be the one to open the door to weapons in his face and spitting hate for his decision to protect the people who need protecting, he has to... he has to be ready.

He can’t be ready if he’s sleeping.

“I’m not,” He answers, finally. “Not much.”

Dr. Masood’s lips thin, just slightly, but he nods, looking over Jake’s torso now. Speckled with bruising, and Jake hisses in a harsh breath when Dr. Masood presses on his bruised rib, only to pull back quickly with a low apology. “I could give you something to help you sleep, Jake.”

“I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t take it,” Jake says. He could lie, but what’s the point?

“I see.” The doctor pauses. “Jake-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake says gruffly. “Every time I sleep, I-”

see myself begging for it to stop saying I’ll do anything give up anyone they want just let me sleep just give me something to eat just one small thing anything I’ll do anything

Jesus, how little it took to get him saying please and thank you - who knew how much it would have taken for him to give away even more?

I wanted to contract you, but I was overruled.

He shudders, then winces as the motion sends pain out in a nauseating wave from his ribcage, lifting a hand to put a bit of pressure there. 

How long was Chris held, before he gave them whatever they wanted, gave them whoever he used to be, just to get a little sleep?

“You are having nightmares,” Dr. Masood finishes for him. They’re sitting in the den, a small room behind the living room, where they have their one-on-ones with the therapist, where they have an occasional group meeting. Jake nods, leaning over despite the new throb of pain, and closes his eyes, rubbing his hand over his mouth, over the stubble he hasn’t shaved. Nearly a week of growth, between interrogation and the first few days back home.

“Bet your ass I am,” Jake muttered. The scratch of the hair on his jaw against his thumb and fingers was another reminder of how fucked up the past week of his life had been. 

“About being arrested?” Dr. Masood handed Jake his shirt - a button-up, Jake was struggling to pull shirts on over his head when it meant lifting his arms and pulling on bruised muscles and aching bones. 

“Not really. That’s I’m not the one who gets hauled off this time.”

“You are seeing Chris in your place.” It’s not a question.

Jake blinks up at the doctor and then just laughs, shaking his head, ignoring the pulse of ache at the motion. It’s not like he doesn’t just hurt all of the time no matter what he does, what’s the point of pretending otherwise? “Yeah. Or... back there in that place.”

Now he’s seen Chris - or who he was before he was Chris or even the rescue wrapped in his blanket in the rain. Now he’s seen the hunched-over shoulders, the attempts to rock and tap and do the things he did to keep himself calm met with implacable, awful violence. 

He understands the way Chris never moved at first, would just stay in one spot for hours in perfect silence, so much better now.

He dreams of Chris there again, the dull terror in wide green eyes. 

Worse, he dreams he’s the one who put him there. Sees himself in the shitty fucking uniforms those assholes wear, shoving Chris ahead of him down the hallway while he begs and pleads for Jake to remember himself, to save him, but Jake can’t save him from them because Jake is them...

Sees himself making the same sick jokes Everly made to him, touching Chris’s face, treating him like an object, like a fucking toy to be used, to be-

Jake’s stomach heaves and he leans over as saliva floods his mouth, breathing carefully, waiting for the nausea, the need to throw up the bit of tea and toast he had for breakfast, to pass. 

Dr. Masood watches him with care in those dark eyes, his hands folded in front of him. “You have undergone a trauma, Jake. It’s common to have nightmares afterward as your mind attempts to process that trauma-”

“I haven’t gone through shit,” Jake spits with sudden anger. “I got roughed up, that’s all. That’s not-... that isn’t shit compared to-”

“How old are you, trainee?” The handler asks the question heavy with loaded double-meanings, obvious enough Jake can read them. Give the right answer or get hurt.

“Eighteen,” Chris whispers, with wide scared eyes. Everyone in the room seems satisfied with the blatant, obvious lie.

“Good. And is that the legal consenting age?”

“… yes.”

“Good boy.” The handler pets heavily through Chris’s hair, and the boy shudders in disgust - Jake has never seen him react to touch like that, not from anyone. Just one more sign of a person that’s been totally erased.

“Pl-please, please don’t, please don’t-don’t, don’t touch me-”

“That’s not an option available to you any longer.”

“-compared to what they’ve all lived through,” Jake finishes, trying to close his eyes against the thoughts but he can see it in his mind, now, the way the person who wasn’t yet Chris had shuddered and tried to turn away from touch only to have it forced on him again and again and again.

He feels the nausea again, and this time it takes everything in him not to throw up all over the floor. They hurt Chris, in that place. The touch he seeks out from Jake comes from being forced to accept touch until he wanted it, until he doesn’t know any other way to be. Doesn’t it?

Doesn’t that make needing to hold Chris in the night to know he’s safe, carrying him around, the hugs he’s offered so freely... doesn’t that make all of that no different than assault?

Jake has always thought he was helping, by giving open and easy affection. But... what if he’s only reinforcing what Chris shouldn’t want? Maybe doesn’t, deep down? Chris is an open book but even open books can have things hidden in the margins.

It’s not like Chris could ever tell him if he didn’t want to be touched, is it? They can’t say no, can’t even begin to process the word without fear of punishment. Jake knows that as well as anyone, it’s why he’s so careful with the rescues, but they need touch so badly. All of them, even Antoni, lean heavily into physical reassurance and affection, seem to recover faster and more easily if they can seek it out when they need it, but... 

Jesus, what if Chris is shuddering and shaking and disgusted and only pretending that it feels nice to be hugged? What if-

What if Jake really isn’t any better than Grant Everly, anyway?

Pull yourself together. This doesn’t make sense. But his brain won’t stop spitting the certainty back at him. The image of that asshole - whoever it was, Chris’s fucking actual handler, that stupid fucking word they use instead of abuser, instead of abductor, instead of son of a bitch who deserves to die-

“Jake, trauma doesn’t work that way,” Dr. Masood says quietly. “There is no trauma Olympics. There is no competition to see whose is worse and caused by what. You were subjected to sleep deprivation, purposeful withholding of food and water, physical assault... Natalie tells me you were forced to watch some of the trauma young Chris was put through as well, and understand, what you are feeling is normal and nothing to be ashamed of-”

“It’s not shit, it’s nothing, I’m supposed to be able to take it, it’s not like I haven’t had the shit kicked out of me before and I was a lot younger then,” Jake snaps, pushing himself to his feet. The woozy burst of pain behind his eyes and in his ribs nearly stops him, but not quite. “This isn’t anything. Fucking black eye and a bruised rib and I turn into a little kid scared of the fucking dark.”

“That’s not what this is,” Dr. Masood says quietly. “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is common even in situations in which outright danger to your physical self is not present. You kept Chris hidden.” He puts his hand on Jake’s shoulder, squeezes lightly, in support. “There is something to have pride in, there. You put your body between Chris and danger, Jake. You are a stalwart certainty in his life, when he very much needs one. I’ve known you since you first came here to work for Natalie, and I am-” Dr. Masood pauses, clears his throat. “I am always amazed by your dedication to doing what is best for them all. And I think Chris would still be... quieter... if it weren’t for you specifically.”

Jake can hear the words but they don’t settle, they don’t mean anything. Just buzzing bees trying to distract him from the realization that he can’t protect Chris, because doing that means protecting Chris from himself.

“I can’t-... I can’t do this.”

“Jake?” Dr. Masood’s voice is quiet. “We can end the appointment now, if you wish, but I hope you will at least take the medication I brought with me to help manage your pain-”

“I can’t do this,” Jake groans, hot angry tears building behind closed eyes. “I can’t be this, I can’t do this, I can’t live like this. I can’t keep being around him if this is what it means, you know? I can’t keep spending time with Chris, or keeping him near me, or-... I can’t touch him. I don’t want to touch him if this is... if this is the result. I don’t want to be anywhere near him, if...”

He trails off, trying to imagine how to say if being near him means i’m only hurting him, slowing his recovery, making him dependent on me where he used to be dependent on that motherfucking pervert son of a bitch who raped him, who paid for him to be trained to be raped and pretend it was something else, if this isn’t helping him I’d rather die than make someone like him hurt any worse...

He can’t figure out how to phrase it, how to even begin. It feels good just to say it, just to let it out, and maybe... maybe it isn’t what he thinks it is, really. Maybe he’s not so bad, though, because the rescues do need solid, positive touch, they do, they just-

But how can you fucking tell? How can he tell if what he provides Chris is helping or hurting him?

“Jake, you need to speak with Dr. Berger. These thoughts suggest to me that your trauma is internalizing because you lack an external outlet. You are not-”

“I don’t want to fucking be around him if this is what happens!”

Jake means if I only hurt him worse, but the sound of sudden footsteps, nearly silent, breaks in before he can clarify, before he even realizes he should have.

Jake’s heart drops to his knees. He knows those footsteps, he knows them deep within himself with perfect muscle-memory born of every night Chris has moved nearly-silent to his bedside and whispered, Jake, Jake, can I-I, can, can I sleep with you?

All at once, Jake knows that what he said out loud and what he thought were two different things, and Chris only heard the one.

“Oh, fuck,” He says out loud.

No, no, no no no-

It hurts but Jake puts the pain aside - he’s done it before, after all, washing dishes after dinner with bruises all over his chest and back where they hide easily under his school clothes and his father’s glare burning holes in his back while his mother puts ice on her own bruises upstairs - and moves, with uncommon speed for a man of his size and his injuries.

It doesn’t matter.

Chris is already gone, the back door in the kitchen smacking shut even as Jake moves through the living room. Antoni, in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner, has frozen and looked up, his eyes meeting Jake’s. Antoni doesn’t ask - only drops the knife and moves for the door, the two of them calling Chris’s name nearly simultaneously. 

He’s not in the backyard, not in the shed or the little planter-garden, not shimmying up a tree, not sitting on the back fence, not here.

There’s no redhead anywhere to be seen. Even when they move to the front yard and look back and forth, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” Antoni asks, softly, as the two of them stare at the space where Chris should be, and isn’t.

“I fucked up,” Jake says, heavily.

What else is fucking new?

“... what do we do?” Antoni rakes a hand back through thick dark hair. “Where did he go?”

Jake closes his eyes, tries to think over the pounding guilt and fury, aimed now entirely at himself.

“I don’t know.”

[sleep3deprived]

Hi! I hope you are doing well. I saw a few of your matchups and found them very creative. I would be soooo happy if you could do a haikyuu matcup for me.

My pronouns are she/her

I'm straight(but Tanaka's sis is kinda hot)

My name is Dafne. I'm 16(few days left to be 17). I have pale skin, long light brown hair with long bangs, and hazel eyes. I wear circular-shaped glasses. And I am 164 cm.

I am a Cancerian and my personality type is INFP. People that I am not very close can see me as an awkward, shy, kind, and sensitive airhead. I guess that is because I have a shell that keeps my inner self protected from most people. I am a lot more than that inside. I have really few people that I feel comfortable around and if he becomes one of them I think he could see that too. I am that therapist friend who is the actual one who should go to the therapist. I have a big inner world. I like to daydream about most random things and can get distracted easily. And because of that, I am not that good at school even though I am pretty smart. I love having intellectual or philosophical conservations. Even though I don't usually talk too much if I am interested in the topic or person, I won't shut up. I love discussing art, books, psychology, series, films, and meaning/story between lyrics of a song. I like taking long walks and explore while I listen to music(I usually visit my cat friends on the way when I go for walks). I love nature and animals! And I have weird humor which I prefer not to use so often! I like dancing(when nobody is around).

As a girlfriend, I would be super supportive, caring, and super romantic. I would listen to him talk about his problems while I run my fingers through his hair. I really don't know how to cook but I would prepare little healthy snacks for him. I would give him little kisses from random places. Maybe secret love letters... I don't fall in love easily, but when I do I am really passionate about it. It could be a challenging experience to date me due to my hard-to-understand nature which contains so many contrasts. Like I can be both bubbly and melancholic. I am so supportive and kind towards people but I am harsh to myself. I am really really shy about it but i can flirt. I am both adventurous and lazy. I love and need having time alone but I also can be clingy. I am very strict about my freedom but little protection could be cool. Even I don't understand myself sometimes. Also, I tend to take things personally and can be emotional over the dumbest things. In addition, I am a pain in the ass :) (I don't wanna narrow down my options but ıt would be so nice if he is taller than me)

PS: English is not my mother language so I am really sorry if this text is full of mistakes or hard to understand. Thank you soooo much for your time.

Hi bubba!!! don’t worry, I understood you perfectly!!

And thank you! i wanted to make this a little different than most match-ups so i’m happy which how many pple are enjoying this, it makes my day! and yes Tanaka’s sister is so hot omg (but Alisa literally has my heart omg that women)

also i feel like I could’ve done better with this so i’m rlly sorry

And I match you withhh....

Akaashi Keiji is many things. He’s very analytical, constantly being aware of his situations as well as the mood of people he surrounds himself around.

As his girlfriend, you are no different.

Akaashi Keiji is known to be a romantic. Not in an over the top way, but in a subtle, more intimate display. One that only the two of you can cherish together and make fond memories over. Like how both of you bought matching glasses as a joke, when in reality, it’s the cutest thing.

To him, you’re a mix of all worlds. From your introverted self, to being out-going and indulging in conversations once you’re alone with him. And since Akaashi tends to be a listener than a talker, he gives all his ears just so he can get the chance to listen to you speak. Even times giving his own commentary, usually when the topic comes to something he is quite knowledgeable in.

Akaashi is never one to jump into anything straight away. There would be times when he does some chaotic things, like giving a loud groan out of nowhere or accidentally buying something way out his budget when he could’ve easily gotten it for cheaper. He enjoys how he doesn’t have to stress when alongside you.

There will be days were you two get the change to just lounge around and be lazy. Your head against his chest, your light brown hair sprawled across the pillow, while your hand plays with the hair right at the ends of his neck. Akaashi can’t help but feel safe within your hold.

“Personally, I don’t understand how people think it’s such a good book. I mean, it has its moments, but it could’ve done so much more, you know what I mean?” You ramble on to Akaashi on the recent novel you just read.

“Yeah, you’re right, it had so much wasted potential.” His voice rumbles in his chest, your hand right against it.

You remove yourself off him temporarily to agree to his statement “Right?! That’s exactly what I was thinking!”

As you continued to go on, Akaashi couldn’t help but glance down at you from time to time, admiring all the little details about you, but embracing the biggest one, that through it all, he’s yours to hold.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter X]

Word count: 9,034  (big chapter again... I’m sorry?)

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

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Friday. The day before the big day. 

Evelyn would finally tie the knot and I would, hopefully, be still alive by the end of the night and be free of Count Dracula. If everything went according to plan, in a few years I would only remember him as that mysterious guy I once had a fling with and reminisce about him over wine on nights where I found myself lonely.

I should not remember Count Dracula as the guy I had a fling with nor should I ever think about him as I was lonely. It would be better if I didn’t think about him at all, for the rest of my life. The fact that my brain hadn’t immediately presented that as an option was worrisome enough to make me press the button for St Thomas Hospital’s ground floor again, like that would make the lift descend faster. 

The faster I met with Zoe, the faster I would be reminded of the dangers of thinking about Dracula as any sort of romantic interest. That wasn’t an alternative – not when I was cornered into choosing eternal life or dying. 

“This can’t go on, Zoe,” said a male voice. 

I’d been in the process of entering the hospital’s lobby when I heard it and stopped dead in my tracks, dodging behind a flower bouquet display for sale. I grabbed one of the ‘get well’ cards and pretended to read it, pricking my ears up. The attendant circled the counter, offering to help me with the appropriate bouquet and telling me how I could buy one and send it up to my loved one’s room, but I quickly waved her away. 

I wasn’t entirely sure why I decided to hide but my gut told me this wasn’t a conversation I was supposed to hear. Like the world’s worst spy, I peered up between leaves and colourful flowers to see Zoe, sitting down on one of the hospital’s ugly couches as a young man paced in front of her, hands on his waist like he was scolding her. Zoe was facing sideways but I wasn’t in her line of vision, leading me to shift closer so I could hear the man. 

“... strong enough. You’re near death, for God’s sake! And you want to take him down with you?”

“Keep your voice down, Jack,” Zoe said. 

She tried to grab his wrist but he stepped out of her reach, shaking his head to the sides. Jack, her student if memory served, was one of those people that could be anywhere between 16 and 30. His pale face didn’t bear a shadow of a beard, which made me wonder if he could grow one at all, but his huge eyes looked so frightened and troubled that he couldn’t be a teenager.

“Zoe, this is a stupid plan...” he said something else in a hushed voice, and I moved closer, straining my hearing. “...happened in Surrey wasn’t enough for you? The Foundation has to stop. Everything has to stop! This is wrong, and you know it.” Shock kept me from gasping but I couldn’t help when my mouth fell open. “Why do you care about this woman? I ask you for help with Lucy, my- my best friend, and you push me away but you run to help this woman you barely know! You’ve known me for years, Zoe. I trusted you every step of the way with the Foundation but you can’t do this for me?”

“You don’t understand. There is no way I can help you with Lucy because she does not want to be helped. Y/N does! She wants out and after reviewing her reputation in London’s courtrooms, she doesn’t mind if things get ugly, either. She’ll do anything to be free of Count Dracula, I’m sure of it, but I’m not sure you’re willing to go that far, Jack.”

“I am!” He protested, slamming his foot on the floor. “I… I love Lucy, Zoe. I’ll do anything for her!”

“Would you let other people risk their lives for her? I’ll have over fifty people risking their lives at this wedding, not to say about the other two hundred guests that will be in danger if we don’t manage to get Dracula. Y/N can handle it but do you want something like that on your conscience?”

“No! But it’s stupid, Zoe. Nobody needs to–” he whispered the word but ‘die’ was clear on his mouth. “Help me get Lucy out of London and let Dracula have Y/N! Lucy will be safe with me, I’ll take her to Ireland, yeah,” –he nodded, face brightening– “she’ll stay with me and my grandparents until she gets better and the Count will be too wrapped up with Y/N to take any notice. It’s a great plan.”

“It’s a naïve one, Jack. Lucy won’t go willingly, that’s called kidnapping by the way, and I need Count Dracula. Is that included in your plan?” Zoe paused and Jack simply stared at her in silence. “I know it’s not. Unlike yours, my plan has a high chance of working–”

“At what cost?”

“–and Lucy will be free by the end of it, same as yours,” Zoe continued like he hadn’t spoken. “It’s not up for discussion, Jack, I told you about this as a courtesy, now go wait for me in the car. I know you’re angry but do me a favour and don’t storm off, I’m really in no condition to drive.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Y/N will be here any minute, she usually finishes up with visiting Mr. Renfield about this hour. Go, Jack.”

Jack stood there in a staring contest with Zoe. Not a moment later, Jack lowered his eyes, granting her the win before making his way towards the exit. I raised the get well card, concealing my face behind it as he passed me. I had never seen him before but now that I knew he was driving Zoe around, I couldn't be sure that he didn’t know me.

If I could, I would find somewhere to sit and ruminate about their conversation but then Zoe would have enough time to grow suspicious about my delay. 

As soon as Jack disappeared from my sight, I threw the card on the counter and strode over to where Zoe was sitting. 

I hadn’t made up my mind about how I was going to deal with what I had just heard until I took one look at her face. She was paler than when I last saw her and now her skin had a greenish tint that solidified death’s hold over her body. Her eyes appeared sunken like she’d lost a lot of weight in the span of the past week, but that could be the dark circles around them playing a trick on my brain. Zoe gave me a shaky smile that made me sit down next to her as if I was made of stone.

“I know I look like shit,” she said, patting my knee. “Save the pity.”

“I don’t pity you but I am worried about you. Is the cancer getting worse?”

“A bit but you caught me on a bad day, that’s all. Are you ready?”

“Zoe–” I began but she threw me a cold look with a slight shake of her head. “Okay, you don’t want sympathy, fine, but is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, now that we have these” –she pulled an orange pill bottle from her pocket and shook it– “you can trap Count Dracula. That’s what you can do for me.”

I plucked the tiny bottle from her fingers, analysing the two pills inside of it – one of them red and the other one blue – and then started to laugh. Zoe furrowed her brows but her lips tugged up, waiting for a cue to start laughing, too.

“Matrix pills,” I explained between laughs but Zoe didn’t join in, apparently clueless. “Keanu Reeves is offered two pills in the film, the blue one keeps him living in willful ignorance from the evil in the world and the red one is, well, freedom, if we put it simply.”

“Nevermind their colour, both of these are your red pill.” Her mouth quirked up. “Follow the white rabbit.”

“Hey, you know it!” I grinned. 

“Yeah, I’m a cool kid.” Zoe chuckled but was interrupted by a cough that soon left her out of breath. She waved me off before I offered help, so I stood there, waiting for her to cough up a lung anytime. “I made two–” another series of coughs “–two pills–” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath “–just in case... but I can replicate them if this fails and we need more in the future. I ran out of blue cases which is why they’re different colours.”

Remembering the day I first met Zoe and how she mentioned that studying Count Dracula might help with finding a cure for her cancer, I was filled with a determination I didn’t feel often in my everyday life. This plan wasn’t all about me. I needed to do this for Zoe so she could have a chance, too, no matter what.

“I’ll take the red pill for good luck,” I told her. “Does it actually work?”

“Yes, it works. Before they ingested the medication, the subjects were asked to memorise sequences from a card deck and play a memory game with them while we monitored brain waves. We continued mapping their brain all throughout the test, including the moment of the pill’s ingestion–” Zoe stopped, taking several breaths and sounding like she’d just ran a marathon.

“Okay, no need to explain the science behind it. If it works, I’m fine with it. What about the side effects?”

“Still the same ones, unfortunately. Short term memory loss is still a possibility which is why the plan needs to move fast after you take the pill. Here, you’ll need this, too.” From another pocket, she pulled a mobile phone and gave it to me. There wasn’t a scratch on the screen so I assumed it was brand new. “There are a few numbers saved in the contact list, one of them is mine. In my condition, it’s best that I stay in London, and if I go anywhere near Berkeley I bet Dracula will be able to scent me. Anything feels weird to you, anything at all, you text me and we abort the plan. Remember, text this time. We’ll destroy the phone later anyway. If you call me from inside the Berkeley Castle, the Count might be able to overhear it. Raoul’s and Sylvia’s numbers are saved there, too. Who are them, again?”

“Zoe, we’ve been through this–”

“I know we have but I need to be sure you remember. Parrot it back to me.”

I took a deep breath.

“Raoul is the burly french guy you showed me a picture of last time we met. He’ll pose as a waiter at the reception; when I’m ready, I ask him for a Manhattan. Terrible drink, by the way, I’m absolutely not drinking that.” I made a face of disgust and Zoe snorted. “Raoul will leave to ‘get the drink’”–I made air quotes–“ but he’ll take too long, so I tell Dracula that I’ll go look for the waiter because I’m really thirsting for a Manhattan. Then I slip out to the ladies’ room and take one of the pills. I’ll return to Dracula, annoyed because I couldn’t find the waiter, and ask him to join me in the garden.” Now, for the scary part. “Away from everyone, I’ll let him bite me and pray that this bloody pill works and he doesn’t kill me.”

“It’ll work.” Zoe clasped my hand and squeezed it.

“Sylvia is the tiny girl with short red hair disguised as one of the wedding planners,” I continued. “She’ll be outside all night, controlling who can go in and come out of the castle and she’ll have a panoramic view of the gardens. When Dracula is, huh, distracted drinking my blood, Sylvia will turn on the UV lights in the garden. If I’m still alive, I’ll run as your team moves in on him.”

“Now, for the final blow,” announced Zoe as she rummaged through her purse. She showed me a pen, black and slim. It looked like one those fancy, expensive ones posh people usually had. “It’s not an actual pen,” she explained as if reading my thoughts. “Looks like one, yeah but it’s a modified insulin pen.” She opened it and my nose was attacked by a wave of lavender, rosemary, and cinnamon. Not a nice combination. I was still grimacing when I noticed the tiny needle at the tip. “Inside of it, there are essential oils to disguise the scent of our true weapon, my blood.”

My mouth dropped open. It was sick, and genius at the same time. 

“You didn’t tell me about this part of the plan.”

“I didn’t think of it until three days ago.” Zoe closed the pen and handed it to me. I took it like it was made of crystal. “When Dracula bit me, my blood crippled him enough for the Foundation to take him into custody without any casualties. It was surprisingly easy once he was poisoned by it, I expect it’ll work perfectly this time, too. The pen is pressure activated. Jab him with it when you think he’s sufficiently distracted drinking you and he’ll go down like a ton of bricks.”

“Brilliant,” I said, turning the pen between my fingers. “Can we still keep the UV lights, though? Safety and all.”

“We’ll keep them. You’re all set now. Are you leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll take a train to Gloucester at 9pm. It’s twenty minutes away from Berkeley by car, so it should be fine.”

“Are you staying in Gloucester or Berkeley?”

“Gloucester. There weren’t vacancies in Berkeley anymore. It’ll be a full wedding, I guess. Will you need samples today? It’s all healed up now.” I pointed at the side of my neck where Dracula had bit me.

Apprehension made me hold my breath. What if Zoe collected my blood and somehow found out it was different because I drank the Count’s blood? I hadn’t told her about that, and I frankly had no plans to, whether it impacted her research or not. As much as I would like to deny it, that moment at the park was terrifying and sensuous at the same time, and entirely mine to remember. Zoe would only ruin it with her scolding and I wanted to keep at least a few good memories. 

“No,” said Zoe, assuaging my worry. “Now that it’s healed there aren’t any antibodies and white blood cells being produced specifically to combat the wound. There’s no point in collecting samples.”

Zoe and I stared at each other as silence fell, our resolve making our gazes nearly clang in the air. 

I trusted Zoe to make this work; trusted her because I knew she not only wanted this but needed this to survive. How far that trust reached was an entirely different matter. She was hiding something from me, and now, after overhearing Jack spouting at her, I knew it involved the Foundation and what happened to those poor students in Surrey. The fact that she had lied to me that day meant that I wouldn’t like the truth if I heard it, which is why I needed to know.

“Do I have to worry about what happened in Surrey?”

Zoe shut her eyes and threw her head back as she blew out a breath.

“You heard all of that?” Her voice was calm. Not such a bad liar, after all.

“Most of it. So. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not really. Two of Jack’s friends from the Foundation got conscience heavy about some things and committed suicide.”

“The news are saying it was murder,” I countered.

“The news are making a spectacle,” Zoe said with a touch of finality. “It was suicide.”

I watched her carefully, shooting her one of my most piercing stares but she simply stared back without crumbling. 

I wouldn’t be quick to trust Zoe’s word on that matter; she’d lied before about it. It confirmed my suspicion that the Jonathan Harker Foundation was shady but as long as it didn’t affect me under these extraneous circumstances, I didn’t care what had weighed enough on those boys’ minds to commit suicide, or murder each other if the news were right. I knew damn well I should care like any person would and I found myself wondering if my ability to be stone-cold was something that appealed to Count Dracula.

What did it matter what appealed to him? In the next 48 hours I would be free of him. I’d never hear his voice again or look upon his face. I’d never live in fear of him again. 

But why wasn’t I dancing with joy at the prospect of going back to my normal life?

“Who’s Lucy?” I blurted. 

From what Jack said, I had a pretty good idea of who she was to Count Dracula but I needed to hear Zoe say it. I needed to be reminded that I wasn’t special, and it was more than my life on the line.

“A friend of Jack’s,” Zoe breathed. “Dracula has been feeding from her ever since he got here. She’s a willing donor, it seems. Jack thinks she’s very fond of Count Dracula.” Zoe stared at me with raised eyebrows to let me know just what type of fondness she was talking about. “Protective of him, too. Jack said she threw a massive fit when he questioned her about the bites on her neck.”

Something tore inside me. I tried to push it aside but my nose started to burn like I was about to cry.

This was what I’d wanted when I asked Zoe about Lucy, wasn’t it? Another reason why my entire ‘relationship’, if one could call it that, with Count Dracula wasn’t real. He had been manipulating me from the very beginning, and I should’ve been smarter than to fall for it, yet here I was: feeling betrayed and rejected, wishing to be swallowed by the ground for ever having thought that I mattered to him when I was just a conquest to keep him entertained while he drained Lucy. I should feel glad that he wasn’t that infatuated by me because it would make things easier but I felt the furthest thing from victorious in that moment.

I blinked to clear the tears that had threatened to spill. 

“I’m being ridiculous,” I murmured, looking down at my hands because I was too ashamed to look at Zoe. “Anyway. Why don’t we review plans B, C, D and all the rest of the alphabet in case things go south and I can’t stab Dracula with this?” I shook the pen.

“Y/N–” Zoe’s voice was gentle, and I gritted my teeth.

“Oh, please don’t be nice. You don’t want sympathy and neither do I. Come on, plan B. I think I’m still a little off on the details, so help me out.”

“It’s the bond, Y/N. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not real.” 

I nodded, meeting her eyes briefly before looking down at my hands again.

“Right. So, plan B…”

When we were done reviewing the other scenarios, I barely remembered what I’d been so sad about but my chest still felt constricted as I headed home.

_______________________________________________________________

I thought I had it all figured out as I closed my suitcase. The jealousy and rejection I’d felt earlier must have derived from the bond I shared with the Count; much like Renfield had gone into a fit upon finding out his ‘master’ had bitten me, I had felt a figment of that when Zoe told me about Lucy. 

Simple as that. 

But when my phone rang and I saw the name Count Dracula, I almost didn’t answer him out of spite. 

“Stupid fucking bond,” I cursed, staring at the screen. “It’s not real, Y/N. Just answer him. He probably just wants to ask how to get to Berkeley.” I noticed my reflection on my window and frowned. “Talking to myself, excellent. I’ll be like Renfield in no time.” I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”

“What are you wearing?” Dracula asked, making my eyebrows shoot up.

“Usually there’s more foreplay before phone sex,” I blurted, and smacked my forehead as soon as I said it. 

Silence. And then a hearty laugh.

“I meant the wedding. But, I’m delighted to know that’s been on your mind. Would you care to elaborate, darling?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It was a joke,” I managed to say, throwing myself on my bed and placing a pillow over my face as if that could keep my cheeks from blushing.

“Of course it was,” he said, still laughing. “So, what colour is your dress? People tend to match for occasions like this, right?”

“Purple,” I replied, hoping my smile didn’t come through in the word. Was he worried about us looking good together? And why was this so endearing to me?

“Ah, perfect.”

“Is your tie purple, too?”

“No, but it’ll match. You can come down, now.”

“Come down to where?”

“I’m outside of your house,” he said. My doorbell rang as evidence, making me fling the pillow I had on my face across the room. “I’d only thought of the tie when I got here and I feared we would be late in case I needed to return home to–”

“No, I will be late.” I sat up. “I’ve got a train to catch for Gloucester in an hour. I can’t go on a date with you tonight.”

“It’s not a date and you’re not taking the train. I bought this car and I mean to use it, so I’m driving us there tonight.”

I didn’t know where to start; the fact that he had probably planned this and not warned me in advance – better yet, asked me! – or that he expected me to simply comply and come down because he said so. 

Instead, what came out of my mouth was, “It’s a three hour drive!”

“We can make it in less than that. Are you all packed?”

“Yes but I’m not going with you. I already bought train tickets. I’m not wasting my money and I’d much rather go by train and arrive there earlier than travel with you.”

“I’ll pay you back, and I promise I’ll be fun company.”

I stood up from the bed and started stomping around my room.

“You can’t make demands and expect me to obey. I don’t know how women were during your time but I certainly won’t–”

“Yes, yes, you bow to no one. We’re very clear on that,” he said with plain impatience and mockery, which made me huff in affront. “Take this road trip” –he chuckled– “as part of your deal. Like I said before, you didn’t specify how I was to convince you to accept immortality, and this is one of my many ways. You’re bound by your contract conditions, Y/N. Unless you want to rescind your deal,” he drawled “in which case I’ll go up there and make you mine. Right now.”

I stopped walking in front of my bedroom’s door, staring down the flight of stairs to the front door like I could burn a hole through it with my gaze and strike Count Dracula. 

I’d once won an entire case in court because I gave an expert at the stand a death stare so powerful that they suddenly changed their opinion on the crime scene’s blood splatter pattern. Sadly, I’d tried that death stare with Dracula already and it hadn’t worked. Knowing him, he had probably taken it as flirting. He couldn’t see me right now but I still hoped he felt the burn of my stare.

“In short, you’re giving me no choice,” I muttered, marching around my room again because I was too wired to stay put.

“Quite the contrary, my darling. Denying our deal is still a fair choice if you have a sudden change of heart. As much as I would be disappointed if you gave up so easily–” he sighed dramatically “–I wouldn’t pass the opportunity to savour you as you so deserve.” The silent threat of desire in his tone made my pace falter and my hair to rise in its ends. “I’m not a total beast.”

My belly coiled in unwarranted need and I bit the insides of my cheeks in an attempt to ground myself. All it did was make my mind run wild with ideas of Dracula kissing me and piercing my lips with his fangs, tasting me, and slowly willing my blood into his mouth in excruciating passion as he–

“Mmm,” he made and another stab of desire attacked my body as I wondered if that’s how he would sound if I knelt before him. “I can smell your lust from here.” A chuckle. “Say the word and I’ll go up there.”

It would be easy to say yes, and easy shouldn’t be a word concerning the Count. Besides, I wasn’t a quitter.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I bit out. 

Blowing out a breath, and with it some of my sanity, I ended the call. Next I grabbed my suitcase, backpack and threw the black garment bag containing my dress over my arm. Before I started descending the staircase, I took a moment to squash my sex drive. After much needed concentration, no intrusive thoughts remained but my body still felt like someone had set me ablaze. 

Count Dracula was waiting by his car when I opened my door. I took in his appearance before I started mouthing off at him. 

So far I’d only seen him in blazers and slacks but tonight he was sporting dark jeans and a leather jacket, and for a second I was so in shock that I forgot why I was mad at him. The jacket was one I was most used to seeing bikers wear – straight cut around his neck in a way that framed his chiseled jaw and simple details on the shoulders that faded before reaching his arms. And it fit him perfectly. 

The man was sophistication incarnate in his manners and way of dressing but somehow the leather didn’t look out of place on him. In fact, he looked… cool, which wasn’t a word I would ever thought of attributing to him. Chic with a touch of menace? Yes, but cool while slightly less threatening? Not at all.

“I’ll take your blank expression as admiration,” he said, rolling his shoulders and making the jacket accentuate muscles on his arms that I hadn’t had the opportunity of noticing before. 

“It is. Look at you… All modern-like.” I swept my gaze through him again, nodding. 

“I’m modern,” he protested as he walked towards me.

“Modern-er, if that exists. I’m not complaining but why the sudden change in style?” I gave him my suitcase when he extended a hand for it.

“A road trip calls for comfortable clothing. At least that hasn’t changed in the last century.”

Since I was exchanging an hour and a half train trip for the double of that in a car with him, I was more than thankful for choosing to wear a large sweater over leggings and trainers. As for Count Dracula, there was no denying he looked good in a leather jacket but I wasn’t sure if it could be considered comfortable. What would he have worn to his travels centuries ago? Fur and armour? That’s a sight I would be curious to see.

I followed Dracula to the BMW’s trunk when he opened it and frowned at the earthy scents that drifted to my nose. 

“Are you planning on gardening in Berkeley?”

He laughed as he pushed the wood box where the smell came from to the side and fit my suitcase next to his. 

“No. Just a little something I need to travel with, in order to rest properly when I’m away from my own home. My former home, that is.”

Former home; another way to say Wallachia, I supposed. I sniffed the air and prayed that by the end of the trip my clothes wouldn’t smell like Diana’s garden after she decided to plant new seeds.

“What’s inside the box, dirt?” I joked with a smirk. When Dracula nodded, my smirk vanished. “Are you serious?” Another nod as he shut the boot. “What? Why? Is it a vampire thing?”

“It’s very much a vampire thing. One you’ll have to learn to live with when I make you my bride.” 

Too stunned as I tried to mull that piece of information, the Count opened the door to the backseat and took my dress from me, carefully placing it on top of another garment bag. Next, he held the passenger’s door for me, gesturing for me to enter. Last time he opened a door for me, things got a little sidetracked, which reminded me of why I was mad at him. 

His mouth opened in a large grin as I strode over and anger flared up again.

“Keep in mind that I’m only accepting to travel with you because the other option, well, isn’t an option,” I told him.

“Oh, yes, of course. How preposterous,” he leaned closer, smile growing sardonic “you consenting to relentless nights of pleasure for the next hundreds of years at my side. We can’t have that, can we?”

How in the hell he managed to make his voice feel like a caress and a whip at the same time was beyond me, and I had no intention to find out. 

“No, we can’t have that,” I declared. “For the next hours, I expect you to keep your full attention on the road. Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of surviving a car crash. So hands and legs to yourself at all times.” He chuckled at the emphasis, switching his weight on his feet so that his knee touched my thigh; I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to move. I’d rather die than let him know how much he got to me, then again, not dying was the entire point. “No funny business.”

“I don’t see it as business. It is incredibly fun watching you squirm, though.”

“Yeah, must be a riot.” I rolled my eyes. “Are we agreed? Oh, fangs, too.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. 

“Sadly, yes.” He stepped aside, unblocking the way so I could enter.

Once inside, I looked up at him.

“You owe me 30 quid for the train ride.”

“Consider your dinner paid,” he said and shut the door.

I was still smiling, wondering what 30 pounds could buy in rural England – a feast, presumably – when Dracula entered the car, turned it on and started accelerating down the street, all in 5 seconds. Understanding dawned on me when he said we could make the trip in less than 3 hours. Vampire speed combined with a BMW obviously resulted in him developing a leadfoot.

“Oh, are you staying in Gloucester, too?” I asked as I hurriedly pulled on my seatbelt.

He glanced at the navigation system on the car’s dashboard that indicated our trajectory towards Gloucester and then at me. 

“Yes, in a hotel. I couldn’t find anything available in Berkeley.” He clicked the screen in the dashboard a few times and music started playing softly. Hungry Like The Wolf, of all things. “Whose wedding are we attending? I seem to recall from our last date that you don’t consider this person a friend.”

I blew out a breath.

“Evelyn Seymour. I work with her. She’s done some awful things to me when we were starting at the firm and I’ve said some pretty terrible things back at her. She would’ve found a way to get me fired if it wasn’t for Renfield intervening.”

“What did she do?”

“I thought you knew everything there was to know.”

“The important things, yes, they’re easy to make out from your blood. Her name rings a bell and I know that you hate her but that’s it.”

Even my blood didn’t consider Evelyn important? Sweet.

“Remember those girls you met the other day when you picked me up from my office?” I asked, and he nodded. “All of us interned together plus Evelyn. Oftentimes the interns were paired together to run errands for our bosses, such as running to the courts to file motions and request subpoenas, things like that. Renfield and Talbot, the partner who Evelyn responded to, felt that she and I had different enough profiles yet skilled in our own ways to learn from each other, so we did most of those things together. Quite the learning experience,” I scoffed. “Everything is a competition to Evelyn, so instead of helping each other, she saw this as an opportunity to get ahead and fuck me over in the process, especially because I was being regarded as one of the most promising attorneys in the firm’s future.”

“It didn’t work,” said Dracula. He looked at me. “Renfield told me that you’re in line for becoming a partner if he doesn’t get better, so whatever Evelyn did was worthless.”

Becoming a partner at a big firm was something that I’d dreamed of since I got my degree. Until not long ago it was something I thought about often and I expected to be happy if I ever received those news, however, to my surprise, I felt absolutely nothing when hearing those words come out of Count Dracula’s lips.

Maybe it wasn’t as important as I’d imagined. 

“Yes, she tried her damndest to hurt my career, though, and me. She even went so far once to accuse me of having an affair with a judge from a case I was working with Renfield. Claimed to have ‘photographic’ evidence and everything. The partners insisted I be investigated and Renfield managed to prove that it was all pure slander before the other partners took any decisive action towards me. I think the only reason Evelyn didn’t get fired for this was because the firm practically belongs to her family, but she still got suspended for a week. She’s stopped trying to get in my way since then but she never loses an opportunity to take a jab at me, be it an outfit she deems unfashionable or a case I lost.”

“Which is where I come in,” Dracula remarked.

“Yes, as much as I try to be the bigger person when she’s involved, I’m not above a tiny bit of retribution,” I chuckled and he smiled at me before turning his eyes back to the road. “What’s with the box of dirt? I’m curious.”

“Because I’m not in Wallachia anymore, I need to rest in soil from my own land,” he explained like it was perfectly logical.

“What happens if you don’t?”

He shrugged.

“I’d rather not find out.”

I frowned.

“Fairly inconvenient, isn’t it? Sleeping on the earth?”

“I don’t sleep in it. Not anymore. I just need it near me when I sleep.”

“But why?”

“It’s one of the rules of the beast,” he said, chuckling. 

I didn’t see how that was funny but he obviously knew something I didn’t. 

When he wasn’t looking at me, it was easy to watch him without feeling like I was doing something improper, so I decided to keep up the conversation.

“Did you travel a lot? Back in Wallachia?” 

I imitated how he said the word and he immediately opened a smile. I tried not to smile back at how delighted he seemed but he must’ve caught me trying to hide it because his smile grew into a full-fledged grin.

“Except when I was traveling to battle, I didn’t really travel as a ruler. It was dangerous to travel and leave my land unguarded. Afterwards, though, I traveled to most of Europe.”

“As a vampire?”

“Yes. But the world’s changed so much, now, I doubt I would recognise all the places I’ve been to.”

“Did you have a favourite?”

“Oh, yes. I spent an entire month in Moscow when I first went there in 1785, I think was the year. Unlike anything I’d ever seen... There was this cathedral there, just stunning. I had to force myself to go in there but I couldn’t leave without seeing what it looked like on the inside.”

“I think it’s pretty famous now. You’re talking about the one that’s all colourful and has crazy shapes, right?”

“That’s the one. We can go there once you're a vampire.”

“Stop saying it like that, it’s disconcerting.” I said, making him glance at me. “You still have to convince me and so far you’re not doing very well.”

He laughed and gooseflesh trailed my skin as if he had touched me.

“Somehow I doubt that but I’ll stop since you asked so nicely.”

I raised my eyebrows, unable to conceal my surprise.

“Well, if I had known it was that easy I would have asked you to leave me alone. But we both know that’s not happening.”

“Depends how nicely you ask me. I might be open to hear you pleading if you fall to your knees.” He gave me a grin that could only be described as naughty. 

I prayed that he couldn’t see me blush under the high-tech lights coming from the BMW’s dashboard but I was deluding myself by entertaining the idea. Not less than 20 minutes ago, I had thought about doing exactly what he had just proposed. I wasn’t telling him that, though.

“Ha-ha. You got jokes.” I said without any humour, fussing with my backpack as if it suddenly felt uncomfortable on my lap. Something popped into my head that made me put my questions about Moscow aside. “How did you come to be a vampire?”

“Ah, that’s not a story for travels.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good one.”

“Not everything is made up of good stories.” I shrugged. “I think you’re avoiding the question and I’ll let you slip this time but I’ll ask again some other time. You never know, maybe it’s something that can convince me, Count.”

“Maybe.”

For a moment there I’d forgotten that tomorrow I would have to carry out my plan with Zoe. I’d spoken to him as if we would have all the time in the world. And I almost wished that we would have more time, at least time for him to tell me about Moscow or Romania. Share with me all his experiences that I was curious about. We would spend hours talking freely about what he’d seen and how people changed, how history passed before his eyes; and how could he learn things from a person’s blood, and didn’t he miss discovering secrets by himself? How was his life when he ruled as a prince? And how did it differ from now after centuries had passed? 

With a jolt, I realised I felt a great need to know him down to the bone. Even the worst things about him, and the best, too. Perhaps that would cast a light into what made him so compelling to me or perhaps I just craved listening to him talk. Either way, exploring that was as dangerous as staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

As silence fell, music hailing from the 70s, 80s and 90s filled the car with melodies I knew well enough to hum along. Dracula surprised me by tapping his fingers on the wheel to the rhythm of INXS’s Need You Tonight; he even had a little Queen thrown in there which made me nod in approval. If he was trying to catch up with all the classics he had missed, then he was doing a good job of it. For over an hour stuck in London traffic, we talked about music and he let me connect my phone to his car to show him songs that perhaps weren’t iconic but just as good.

We’d gone from Queen to Billy Idol to Heart to Garbage and finally Nirvana. When I started yawning, Count Dracula changed Heart-Shaped Box for a piano version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Reminding myself to congratulate him later, I allowed myself to close my eyes for a nap. 

I knew I was dreaming when the piano chords were replaced by the repetitive tone of a music box. 

The miniature ballerina spun slowly inside the box, forever trapped in dancing to the same old song. A song I knew but couldn’t decipher it on account of sounding distant and off-tune. As I watched, I wondered if she was happy but then laughed at what a silly thought that was. Why would the ballerina be happy? She was just a pretty toy, made precisely for the purpose of dancing in circles whenever someone opened the box. 

I closed the box but the song kept playing, now mixed with the cries of anguish of the ballerina, imprisoned in the haunting darkness of such a small space. My fingers struggled to open the box again, now afraid that I’d suffocated the ballerina but it wouldn’t open. In my battle, it fell to the ground and shattered as if it was made of glass instead of wood. The ballerina was nowhere to be found among the debris but blood pooled around the shards. More blood rose up from the floor as if I’d been standing in it the entire time and coated my bare feet, making me slip as I retreated from it. In my panic, I fell on my back and was quickly engulfed by a sea of blood. 

I started gulping large quantities of blood, smiling at the pleasant taste as I tried to keep myself from drowning. Suddenly, the sea was gone but I wasn’t breathing anymore.

There was something hard in my mouth and I gnawed at it, trying to find out what it was. Movement beneath made me draw back and I realised, horrified, that I’d been biting Count Dracula’s neck. Mocking laughter drowned all my other senses and I spit his blood from my mouth, noticing that it tasted the same as the sea of blood. I tried to scramble away but he held onto me, his fingers digging hard into my flesh during the struggle. 

“Shhh, shhh. Take me. Do it,” he urged. 

“Take what?!” I swatted at his hands, still trying to get away.

“All of me,” he responded, snatching my wrists in his grip to stop by blows.

“That’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want me to be yours as you are mine?”

His taste was still in my tongue and I frowned, knowing that was the only part of him I would ever possess.

My lips moved in the dream but I didn’t hear my answer. 

Whether it was yes or no, Dracula’s face transformed into a distorted version of his features. I watched in complacency, too fascinated by staring death in the face to get away. He buried his head in my neck and, as he started to drain me, I looked up at the reddened sky above us with the same ingenuous revere cherubs held in their gazes. 

I’m not sure what woke me up; the lack of movement from the car, Tori Amos singing about being crucified or Count Dracula’s voice sounding distant as he talked to someone that wasn’t me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the dream. If I hadn’t been disturbed, I was certain I would have remained in that dream forever. Nothing significant could have pulled me from the peace I felt when Dracula bit me in the dream, yet there I was, awake and trying to understand why I was sitting alone inside the car parked outside a gas station. 

I quit fiddling with the car’s GPS to find out where we were when the Count’s words reached my ears.

“Because you’re not invited.” He laughed. “No, darling, I’m not neglecting you...” A pause. “Do that and I’ll bite you in a way you won’t enjoy. Stop being childish, Lucy, you know I don’t like it when you act this way.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn’t know I was awake, I slowly turned in the direction of his voice. Dracula had his back to me, a few metres away from the car, standing in the glow of blue neon lights coming from a convenience store. I hoped it was my fertile imagination playing tricks on me but I could swear I heard affection in his tone for a moment there. 

“Who I’m with doesn’t concern you,” he said into the phone, and this time there was only irritation in his voice. “Lucy, Lucy,” he laughed grimly. “This isn’t a relationship, and it never will be.” Another pause. “Yes, I still want you. I’ve got to go now. Goodbye.”

As he turned around, I got out of the car and stretched as if I had just woken up. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said upon laying eyes on me. “I bought you dinner, as promised.” He showed me a brown paper bag in his hand that I hadn’t noticed. 

“How did you know I was hungry?” As if on cue, my stomach growled. “Oh.” I blushed as I took the bag from him, peeking inside. “Oh! Pizza! Thanks.”

“I wanted to stop on the way so you could eat properly inside a restaurant but you slept more than I expected. If I’d waited for you to wake up, there wouldn’t be anything open so I stopped for fuel and went to get you food. I recognise it’s not the best–”

“No, I love pizza,” I cut him off. “Can I sit on top of your car to eat or are you becoming one of those guys who has a crush on his car?”

He answered me by sitting on the hood and patting the spot next to him.  The car must have been off for a while because the metal was cold on my butt when I took a seat.

“Where are we?” 

“Oxford,” he said. “An hour away from Gloucester, I think.”

I looked at the block we were in, searching for traces of the medieval architecture Oxford was so famous for but there was nothing special about it; we could just as well have been in London.

“What time is it?” I asked after finishing the first slice of pizza.

“Almost ten.”

“We made it all the way to Oxford in 40 minutes?” I raised my eyebrows and Dracula grinned, looking proud about that. “You can expect speeding fines in your mail during the next few weeks.”

He shrugged, apparently unbothered.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about her?”

I stopped reaching into the bag for another slice of pizza upon fully registering the implications of his question. He knew I’d been listening. Like he’d told Lucy, this wasn’t a relationship and he didn’t owe me an explanation any more than he owed her, but him bringing it up made it seem like I deserved one.

My dream from earlier flashed in mind. Freud only knew what the ballerina in the music box meant but I didn’t need a psychoanalyst to explain what it meant to bite Dracula in my subconscious.

My throat tightened as I thought about what I’d told Dracula in the dream, that it was impossible to have him. But I wanted to, I knew I did. I wanted this part of him, the part that knew I was bothered by him paying attention to someone else and cared enough to check on me, even if he wasn’t subtle about it. I wanted to believe it was the same part of him that had thought about taking me to V&A and broke into the Painted Hall because he’d seen how enthusiastic I was about it. The part of him that carried me to bed and laughed at me when I mumbled nonsensical phrases. 

I wanted something that wasn’t real. Something that I would never have because at this time tomorrow I would be injecting him with Zoe’s blood. And because it wasn’t real, I could play along for a little while.

“What’s to ask? It’s pretty obvious that you’re feeding from her.”

“Don’t play coy, Y/N, just ask me.”

“Fine. Are you fucking her?”

“No.”

I’d braced for a confirmation but his reply made my courtroom face fall apart. I scrutinised his face but nothing came to the surface.

“Really? It sounded a hell lot like you are.”

“I have fucked her but I haven’t made a habit out of it. Lucy is awfully… needy.”

It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d heard him swear and I had to purse my lips not to laugh like a nervous teen. Maybe it was the f-bomb that made me want to burst into laughter, or the sudden joy I’d felt when he called Lucy needy with obvious exasperation.

“Will you make her a vampire?” I continued since he was granting me the freedom to ask.

“Yes.”

“Does she want to be one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to convince her like you’re trying to do with me?”

“No.”

“Then why–” I exhaled “–do you still want me if you can have her?”

“Lucy is fun and wild and she wants to die but she doesn’t understand. You do.”

I frowned.

“Understand what?”

“What it takes to live forever.” He grinned but there was no humour in his eyes; I found a sliver of heat in his gaze, though. “Your pizza is getting cold.”

Dracula slid off the hood, like that was the end of the subject and I stalked after him, ignoring my pizza. He started rounding the car towards the driver’s side and I grabbed the back of his jacket to make him stop.

“What does that mean?” I questioned as he turned to look at me. This time his smile was slow, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes.

“The fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about only solidifies my beliefs about you.”

“Being cryptic isn’t helpful,” I snapped. 

“I’m not trying to be helpful.”

“Well, try!”

He took a step towards me and held my face in his hands. The shape of his lips distracted me and it took me a second to register his next words.

“From the start you’ve asked me for a reason to live forever. Don’t you think that means you value more than simply existing as you do now?”

“No. It’s just logical,” I countered, although I was suddenly frowning. “People don’t usually make big choices like this on impulse, you know? Of course I needed a reason.”

“Of course,” he repeated sarcastically.

“I don’t know what it takes to live forever!” I protested, flailing my arms.

I waited to see if he would contradict me but he just stared at me, eyes filled with mockery and confidence that served to further aggravate my mood.

“I barely know what it takes to live this life I’m living, how could I possibly fathom eternal life?” I continued, speaking so fast I could barely understand myself. I carried on when he didn’t reply, “Have I considered it since my deal with you? Of course I have, kinda hard not to but, but– I don’t know! I don’t know what I want! Or or or– how! How can I just give up everything and live forever? I’ve built things, things that I’m proud of, things that matter! And you want me to give them up! For you!”

Rambling wasn’t something I was used to and I forced myself to stop. Every word that came out of my mouth was usually carefully calculated to persuade a jury but this was my life and there was nobody to persuade, so why did it sound like I was trying to do just that?

“What matters in this life that could make me want to live forever?” My voice was so tiny that I scarcely heard my words. 

Suddenly I was literally swept off my feet and before I knew it, Dracula’s lips were on mine and I forgot all the things I was so confused about. 

My eyes shut into the kiss and my breath left me like my lungs had stopped working. Heart beating so fast I could feel it fluttering inside my chest, I wrapped my arms around him in senseless thought as our tongues met, sending sizzles all throughout my nerve endings. As soon as it had started, it was over, and I was standing with my feet on the ground again, body screaming in abandonment because Dracula’s hands weren’t touching me.

“What was that for?” I asked, trembling like I was cold.

“You were being emotional and looked like you were about to cry,” he said, stepping back from me and looking indifferent to what he’d just done as he ran his hands through his hair. “A kiss seemed like a good idea to stop that from happening.”

“That was a terrible idea.” 

“But it cleared your head,” he assured.

It did but it didn’t solve anything.

Looking at him suddenly became a challenge because I knew that at any second I could throw myself headfirst at this, despite the danger, despite feeling like I shouldn’t… All I wanted in that second was to not think and to drown in his kiss again. 

Instead, I turned my back on him and grabbed the brown bag from the car’s hood on my way to the passenger’s side.

“Let’s just go,” I told him, stealing one last glance at him. He was watching me with the same fascination he had when gazing at the Painted Hall but when I blinked, his face went back to that sarcastic mask he always wore. “We’re halfway to Gloucester.”

.

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Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @apocalypsenowish​ @rheabalaur​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @girlonfireice​ @deborahlazaroff​ @dreamer2381​ @a-dorky-book-keeper @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @saint-hardy​

[marauders70s]

a collection of dumb hp-p&r text memes

dumbledore, gesturing: could a depressed person make this???

mcgonagall: your hand is literally rotting off

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harry: sometimes I feel like arguing with you is like arguing with the sun.

hermione: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT I AM SUPER CHILL ALL THE TIME.

---

pansy: you look awful

draco: what up bitch i just ran a 5k

pansy: really?

draco: no i threw up blood in the shower

pansy: that fight with potter really got ya down huh

---

harry: hey ron are you okay

ron, wearing the locket, staring straight ahead at a tree: yeah i'm fine it's just that life is pointless and nothing matters and I'm always tired.

harry: hermione it's your turn

---

sirius, at any minor convenience: everything hurts and i'm dying

---

goyle: I once knew a guy for seven years and never learned his name. best friend i ever had. we still never talk sometimes, because he's dead.

---

oliver: sometimes you gotta do a little work so you can ball a lot.

mcgonagall: that is incorrect

---

james, during house arrest: If I keep my body moving, and my mind occupied at all times, I will avoid falling into a bottomless pit of despair.

lily, from the couch: oops

---

snape, at a christmas dinner: I can still smell her hair at night

dumbledore, pouring a generous amount of mulled wine: Put some alcohol in your mouth to block the words from coming out.

---

ron: hermione, i'm not using your color coded talking planner

hermione: we need to get good grades on our OWLs!

ron: there's nothing that could motivate me to use it

hermione: well, there's nothing we can't do if we work work hard, never sleep, and shirk from all other responsibilities in our lives.

---

harry: Professor, I wanna go home early. Ooh, hold on actually, hang on. Yeah, no, I wanna quit and never come here again.

---

ron: i'm going to tell you all my secrets

hermione: you don't have to do that

ron: I once forgot to brush my teeth for five weeks

ron: I didn't actually break charlie's wand all the way I just hid it and forgot where

ron: I don't know who scrimgeour is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

ron: when they have 2 sickles a scoop on salamander eyes i'm not sure where the rest of the salamander goes

ron: when i was a baby fred turned my teddy into a spider and i got so scared my mum took me to a mindhealer and they wrote a textbook about me

ron: i once threw a garden gnome so hard that it hit my sister in the face and began attacking her

hermione, looking up from her book: what did ginny do?

ron: she bit it and it ran off.

hermione: classic

---

severus: no matter what i do nothing bad can happen to me. i'm like a white wizengamot official who pretended they were mind-controlled after the fall of the dark lord

lucius: I resent that

---

sirius: thank merlin my great uncle alphard just died so I am fluuuuusheeeeeed with galleeeeooonsss

remus: I'm going to regret this flatshare

---

seamus: i passed up a gay halloween party to see this troll. Do you know how much fun gay Halloween parties are? Last year I saw three Peverell Brothers make out with three Viktor Krums. It was amazing.

---

luna: We need to remember what's important in life. Friends, unpredictable creatures, and school. Or unpredictable creatures, friends, school. It doesn't matter. But school is third.

---

tom riddle: I totally hear you, but I also don't like what you're saying. So if you say no, I will release a giant snake in the bathroom

---

luna: would you like some -

hermione: no! I am going to run for minister of magic someday, so no, thank you. I mean, not that I haven't - I ate a brownie once at quidditch cup party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable, actually. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there wasn't any potions in the brownie, it was just an insanely good brownie.

---

sirius: do i look like the kind of person who drinks water

---

neville: flying is the worst. I know it keeps you healthy, but merlin, at what cost?

ron: okay, you don't have to join the pick up game -

neville: no no i want to be included. i'll come

---

james: What I hear when I’m being yelled at is people caring really loudly at me.

sirius: that's not right

---

mcgongall: I think you’ve got several options. They’re all terrible…but you have them.

peter: this career counseling session is getting a bit intense

---

neville: how are you handling the...breakup...

ginny: I’m gonna buy some sweat pants and a Gilderoy Lockhart novel. Might as well lean into it.

---

dumbledore, in the staff room, extremely intoxicated: Who hasn’t had gay thoughts?

---

james: Goodbye, Lily Evans, my head girl partner. Hello, Lily Potter, my fallopian princess.

lily: i should have never married you. or at least made you wear a condom

james: what's a-

---

sprout: I’m a simple lesbian. I like pretty, dark-haired women, and man-killing plants.

---

sirius: A couple more rules: if you ever read a sad book, you have to wear mascara so we can see whether or not you’ve been crying. There’s no noise allowed on Mondays. And no magic after breakfast.

peter: er i'm sorry this was the dorm assigned to me...

---

remus: Hogwarts Library is headed by the most diabolical, ruthless bureaucrat I’ve ever seen. She's like a death eater but instead of avada kedavra and crucio she uses shame and shhhing.

james: she wouldn't let him into the restricted section without a note

remus, choking back tears: I AM A PREFECT

---

pansy: I have never flown the high road. But I tell other people to ‘cause then there’s more room for me on the low road.

---

hermione: If I had a stripper’s name, it would be Equality. for house elves and all beings.

ron: if i had a stripper's name it would be sugar striped candy pole for my -

harry: hermione, DON'T -

---

sir cadogen: You know, in the 1880’s, there were a few years that were pretty rough and tumble here at Hogwarts. This depicts kind of a famous fight between Morpheus Rane, a prefect in Slytherin house, and Wilhemena Batlock, a Hufflepuff seventh year. The original title of this painting was ‘A Lively Fisting.’ But y’know, they had to change it for…obvious reasons.

---

bellatrix, in the afterlife: i regret nothing. the end.

---

harry: I don’t want to be overdramatic, but today felt like a hundred years in hell and the absolute worst day of my life.

tofty: I'm sorry but you WILL have to repeat your history of magic OWL

---

james: Lucky for me, I’ve processed all my feelings. And I’ve gone through the five stages of grief - Denial, anger, picking on Peter, cat adoption, reckless dueling, cat returning to the adoption place, reading all Martin Miggs books in the series (what i was picking on peter for actually), and not giving a flying fuck.

remus: you can't say fuck

james: oh great i'm going to have to start the process all over again.

remus: peter, you'd better run

---

dudley: I’m allergic to magic candy. Every time I eat more than 80 sweeties I barf.

fred: how about...81

---

sirius: I’ll have a glass of your most expensive red wine mixed with a glass of your cheapest white wine served in a dog bowl. Silly straws all around, please.

remus: this is why we can't date in public

---

neville: I’m gonna get drunk and then I’m gonna order a three course meal where each course is made of dessert.

---

arthur: I promised myself I was not going to cry tonight, and I’ve already broken that promise five times. But I will not break it a sixth.

bill: dad maybe you shouldn't give a toast while fleur's family is still here

---

gilderoy: I have no idea what I’m doing, but I know I’m doing it really, really well.

---

pansy: Use him. Abuse him. Lose him. That’s the Parkinson motto.

draco: I thought the Parkinson motto is don't look at me you whore.

pansy: the motto is really more like a chapter book.

---

harry: You’re ridiculous and pureblood rights is nothing.

voldemort: wow

---

tonks: I would like a glass of red wine and I’ll take the cheapest one you have because I can’t tell the difference.

sirius: cheers i'll drink to that

remus: put. the bowl. down.

---

eh, and just one for the road: “I wonder who else was born in Eagleton. Voldemort, probably.” – Leslie Knope

[hallowxiu]

You’re Hot

Pairing: Satan x gn!mc

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary:  After your attempt with Lucifer, you decide to try your luck with pick up lines on the next brother in your sights… Satan.

A/N: I got this idea from prompt 340 from the account Creative Writing Prompts :) 

Part 2 of the MC isn’t good at pick up lines series lol

part one

“Do ya really think this’ll work?” Mammon asks with a bored tone, the male picking at his nails as he sits on your bed while you pace back and forth in the middle of your room.

“Well, no, not really.” The two of you are having an emergency meeting, as you personally like to label it, after your failed attempt of using a pick up line on Lucifer. To say that Mammon laughed when you explained just how much you failed would be an understatement. You’re convinced he grew a set of abs with how much he enjoyed your misery. You won’t dwell on it though, no, this is a challenge that you’re set on winning. “But, I figured using pick up lines on Satan would be good practice.”

“Good practice for what, exactly?” Mammon asks with a raised eyebrow.

You stop your pacing and think, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. With a shrug of your shoulders, you look at Mammon with a smile. “I dunno.” Mammon stares at you blankly before sighing in defeat.

“Ya sure are weird.” He huffs and leans back on your bed to get comfortable. “Have ya thought of any pick up lines to use on him?”

“Nope.” You admit with a sheepish grin and he sighs again.

“Have ya even considered the type of pick up lines he’d like? Ya can’t just waltz up to him and expect him to like the shit ya tried on Lucifer.” You feel your eyebrow twitch at Mammon’s words. You hated it when he was right.

“Man, Lucifer didn’t even like the pick up line I tried on him!” Well, more like he didn’t understand the pick up line you tried on him. “And now I have to sit through a lecture of his later on the history of fallen angels. I just have to try and make sure I don’t end up running into the same issue with him, though Satan doesn’t really strike me as the lecture type.”

“I think Satan would rather drop dead than give ya a lecture if it’s not about a favorite book of his.” Mammon snorts before sitting back up; that man’s always restless. “That being said, ya should probably find out what type of pick up line would work best on him. Ya can’t use the same type for everyone. Ya gotta find one that matches his interests.”

“Since when were you so good with pick up lines?”

“Ya picked me, didn’t ya? Besides, I’ve spent time with Asmo. The man’s practically spewin’ out pick up lines on the daily.”

“Things that match Satan’s interests…” You tap your chin with your index finger. You sit yourself down on the floor, hands resting on your knees as you stare up at Mammon in thought.

“And what type of pick up lines are ya goin’ for? Are ya tryin’ to romance him? Or do ya just want to throw him for a loop?” You hadn’t thought of that either. Really, when did Mammon become so knowledgeable with this stuff? “Satan’s the type of guy where if ya bat your lashes at him, he’ll probably end up followin’ ya around all day like a lost puppy. Don’t wanna lead the guy on or anythin’.”

“You’re being significantly more helpful than you were earlier. If you had done this with Lucifer, I probably would be free of a lecture tonight.”

Mammon’s eye twitches as he glares down at you from his place on your bed. “Hey, keep that shit up and I’ll leave ya here on your own!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave him off with a disinterested sigh. You needed to make a list of things Satan likes, which shouldn’t be too hard. You jump back up to your feet, Mammon startling where he sits from the sudden burst of energy. You grab a notebook from your desk, flipping to an empty page and grab a marker. After a minute or two of you quietly scribbling things down, you show off your list to Mammon, similar to a proud child showing their parents a drawing they made.

“Cats...books...uh,” his eyebrows furrow as he looks at the list closer, “did ya actually write ‘smart things’?” You let out a sheepish chuckle as you scratch at the back of your neck. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve been hanging out with you too much. I’m losing brain cells by the minute; maybe I should charge you a fee for killing so many off.”

Mammon shoots you a scandalized look before scoffing loudly, “ya were stupid before ya arrived to the Devildom! Don’t act like this is on me.” Before you can counter his attack, Mammon begins to speak again. “Satan isn’t the type who would like pick up lines about books. I also don’t think he’d appreciate cat ones either; they seem a little too cheesy for him.” You take his words into consideration before turning the list over in your hands and scribbling the first two options off the list. “So that just leaves us with…” Another sigh escapes Mammon from where he sits. “And what on earth does that possibly suggest?”

“I don’t know!” You let out a flustered shout as you squirm under his gaze. “Just smart things! Things smart people would enjoy! Physics? Science? Wait-- physics and science are the same thing, right? Oh god, what are smart things? Frogs?”

“Frogs?”

“It’s the first thing that came to my mind, don’t judge me!” You’re a little too flustered now.

“He likes politics. Why don’t ya look up pick up lines on politics? Maybe there’s some out there on the internet; some weirdo has got to like them.” He comments while digging his D.D.D out of his pocket. Within a few seconds there’s a frown on his face. “There aren’t many… and the ones that I found-- well, they’re fuckin’ awful.” Just before you can both give up and admit defeat, an excited gasp leaves Mammon’s mouth and his phone screen is immediately shoved in your face. “What about this one?”

You move your face back just enough so you could actually read the words on his screen. A grin forms on your lips when you read it over once. “This is perfect! He’ll be swooning, I just know it.”

“He’ll probably be impressed too that ya know so much about global warmin’ and what not. We really outdid ourselves with this one.” There’s a smug smile on his face that’s nearly identical to yours. “So, what are we doin’ wastin’ time here? Stop sittin’ around and find Satan!” You want to argue that Mammon’s the one sitting around, but you decide to let it go just this once.

❀❀❀❀

“Target sighted.” You find yourself reporting to Mammon via an old walkie-talkie. It wasn’t your idea, and you didn’t know why you couldn’t just text Mammon yourself, but the white haired demon insisted that this would be a more convenient means of communication. You didn’t even know that Mammon had these hidden around in his room, but you guess you shouldn’t be too surprised. With the antics Mammon’s always up to, you probably didn’t want to know why he had these in the first place.

“Awesome. Where’s he at?” Mammon’s voice, accompanied with static, rings through the speaker.

“The library; where else?”

“Fair enough. Alright then, go make your move. Wait,” he quickly cuts himself off and for a second you’re worried that Lucifer somehow found out about this, “do ya remember the line?” You breathe out a sigh of relief before rolling your eyes while turning the volume down. You’ll be amazed if Satan didn’t already know you were lingering outside the library with how loud Mammon is.

“Of course I remember the line. It’s just a sentence.”

“Alright, alright. Jeesh, I’m just tryin’ to help; sue a demon for tryin’.” Just before you can switch off your walkie-talkie, you hear the static pick up again with your name being called. “Wait, leave it on. I wanna hear how it goes.”

You debate for a moment, you could easily leave it off and tell him that you turned it off long before he asked for you to leave it on. You sigh though, already knowing that he wouldn’t buy it. “Fine, but you better not make a single peep, Mammon.” With him confirming to stay silent, you turn the volume nearly to zero before stuffing it in your back pocket. Clearing your throat once, you knock on the library door before pushing it open. “Satan?” You call out, your eyes scanning the room for the familiar blond.

“Over here.” His voice calls from the back of the room. As you approach the fourth oldest, you smile to yourself when seeing him surrounded by a pile of books on the library couch.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” You ask gingerly as you peer over the pile. “Have you been in here all day?”

“Nearly.” He responds, barely looking up from the book that held his attention from his current stretched out position. He reminds you of a cat with the way he’s laying around. You look down to see what he’s reading, a smirk forming on your lips when seeing the title. “You’re reading a book about global warming?” Sometimes you’re amazed with how well the universe lines things up for you.

“Mhm.” He responds lazily. “It’s a topic I’m interested in. I like learning about problems in the human realm and how they react to them. Who would’ve thought that the issue of global warming would be such a controversy there?” He’s sitting up now, though he’s still reading from his book. You wonder how he can pay attention to you while also paying attention to the book he’s reading.

“What do you mean?”

He moves over so that you can sit next to him, an eyebrow raising on his expression. “Well, both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom know about global warming, and the cause is also extremely obvious to us. It’s both humorous and disappointing that the humans don’t understand what’s causing it, and it’s even more mind blowing that some of them believe that it’s a made up concept. If anything, I look into these types of topics simply so I can see the perspective of humans.” You can’t believe how well Satan’s setting you up for your pick up line. Maybe this would actually work out in your favor for once.

“I know the cause of global warming.” You announce a little too proud.

“Oh?” There’s a look of amusement on Satan’s face as he places his book down beside him, giving you his full attention. “Do tell. I’d love to hear your perspective, this could help me further understand your species and--”

“You must be the reason for global warming because you’re so hot.”

Full silence. You can’t even hear the faint static of your walkie-talkie, and you think Satan might’ve stopped breathing. Maybe you should say something? Did he take offense to that? If you listen closer to the silence, you might hear Mammon laughing at you from somewhere in the house. “Ah, well, I suppose I did want to learn more about the human perspective…” He lets out a disappointed sigh before forcing a smile onto his face. This was too much to bear, you think dying in a hole somewhere would be a more pleasing option.

“Y-You know what? I think I hear Lucifer calling for me. Probably failed another test or something, I should go see what he wants.” You’re quick to excuse yourself as you scramble off the couch with a red face.

“Oh? But I don’t hear anything.” He says with a slight frown. “While I am flattered, actually, it’s primarily because of too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.” His eyes never leave you as you awkwardly try to step over one of the piles of books, instead tripping over your own feet and knocking the stack over. You didn’t want to sit for a lecture; you should have never used a “smart things” pick up line when you still had Lucifer’s lecture on fallen angels to listen to.

“Really?” You ask absentmindedly as you clumsily try to stack the books back on top one another. “I didn’t know that.” You need to get out of here, and fast. You could tell Satan was about to go on an educational lecture and you only had seconds to flee. Suddenly, before you can dart past the now fixed books, a hand with a strong grip wraps around your wrist.

“Tell me,” he speaks your name with an eerily serene smile on his face, “have you ever heard of a carbon footprint?”

[hufflepuffhollander]

metempsychosis: t. holland series (pt. 3)

a/n | we’re finally getting to the good stuff :-) now that i’m turning this into a submission for a competition i’m having to change all of the names and tenses (bc i can’t submit “y/n” to professionals) so hopefully there aren’t too many typos !

synopsis | A young couple whose lives were both lost in a tragic accident are reincarnated as new people. As they collide as strangers in their second lives, they must try to make sense of the innate connection they feel.

cw | reincarnation au. language, fluff, a lil angst, flashbacks. this one ain’t too sad. 2.6k words.

Read part 2, join the taglist

1993

{ He took a gulp as he opened the door to see her sweet face waiting to be let in. “Hey, glad you found me,” he laughed nervously, arm reaching up and over to scratch at a nonexistent itch on the back of his head.

She wandered through the doorframe, taking in the smell of his apartment, counting the dirty dishes in the sink, smiling at the family photos he had on display. “I’m glad we’re finally getting around to having a movie night,” she grinned back.

“Sorry, you know how crazy school has been-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Chemistry this and med school that. I can’t believe I’ve found myself swooning over such a nerd.”

“Says the girl who prefers numbers to real people.”

She gave him a dramatic slap to the shoulder, feigning offense. “Just put on the movie before I ditch you for some spreadsheets.”

He gave her lower arm a lighthearted squeeze and guided her over to the couch, putting the tape in and plopping down next to her. He grabbed a blanket off of the armrest and whipped it up in the air, letting it fall spread out across her lap. She looked surprised at his intuitiveness. “I remember you telling me you can’t watch a home movie without a good blanket,” he said.

Her eyes crinkled at the edges at his attention to detail, picking up the corner closest to him and motioning for him to take half of the quilt. “Then you shouldn’t, either.”

The rom-com had an argument scene between the protagonist and his love interest where they disputed over who took what side of the bed the first time they slept together. He laughed at the silliness of it all as she sank further into his body as their chests rose and fell.

“Do you think we’ll need to pick sides of the bed?” he whispered as the scene changed.

“This is only our second date- I won’t be sleeping in your bed anytime soon, mister,” she smiled, stare still pointed at the screen.

“Well, fine, but it seems like this is a conversation we need to have if we have any chance of making it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Let’s just pick sides of the couch then!” She looked down at her own lap, then at his. “I’m on the left side right now, so I’m claiming it as mine.”

“Wait, I didn’t even get a chance to experience the left side!’

“This is your couch,” she rolled her eyes at his playful tone.

“So I’m just stuck with the right?”

“Yes.”

“Forever?!”

“What other option would there be?”

He huffed in disapproval, but as time and movie dates passed, he had carved his own dugout in the left couch cushion that fit him like a glove. If he ever wasn’t on the right side of her, looking at her side profile from that specific angle, he couldn’t help but feel out of place. When they did finally share a bed, there was no need to fuss over who took which side, and no matter how many new couches they went through in different moves at different stages of their life, he sat to the right, learning to keep a throw pillow on his lap to anticipate her inevitably lying down and resting her head on it. }

You walked over to Tom, the soft padding of your feet against the wooden floors ringing out as the only sound in the suddenly quiet apartment.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uh, coffee, if you have it,” he replied, still clutching the throw pillow in his lap.

“Really? At 8pm?”

“Yeah, caffeine doesn’t affect me, I have one of those recessed genes or something.”

You shrugged and obliged, happy to have something to keep you busy as you paced over to the kitchen to brew the coffee, holding your hip. Tom swiveled around to watch you work.

His words sliced through the silence. “Are you feeling any better than earlier? You seemed pretty off in the car-”

“I’m fine.” You didn’t want to replay the emotions you felt while Tom was driving in your head, so you cut him off before he could keep talking about it. “Here’s your coffee.”

He took a sip and burned his tongue, scrunching up his face in such a cute way that you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, sitting down next to him on the couch.

“Fuck, that’s hot!” he started fanning his stuck out tongue like it would do something, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk when he noticed you were laughing.

“I’m sorry, you literally just watched me brew it...” You shrugged, still entertained by his dramatic display.

The mood changed then and you were finally able to loosen yourselves up, able to chime in with conversation, exchanging eye contact that didn’t make either one of you nauseous. Now that you had the chance to look into Tom’s eyes for a little while longer, you was able to see just how mesmerizingly milky they were.

He continued in a panic. “I can’t lose my tongue! That’s how I make a living!”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he shot back a face of realization.

“That did not come out how I meant it to.”

You giggled again, pulling a blanket over your lap.

“I meant because I sing-”

“Yeah, Tom, I figured.”

You both had laugh lines splaying across your faces and you felt yourself settle back into the cushions a little easier, growing more used to being in his presence. Once you had given it a chance, you and Tom actually got along quite well.

“Speaking of which, can I hear something?”

“You want me to play for you?”

“Well, I’m an artist and you got to see my work...so, yeah,” you smiled, poking at his shoulder.

“Um, I don’t have my guitar,” Tom blurted out an excuse, because he was currently terrified of singing to you; you already made him excitedly nervous enough.

But you weren’t letting him off the hook that easy. “Isn’t it just in your car?”

“...so you saw it, then.” He sighed in defeat, getting up to get his keys.

“Yep.”

“You’re really gonna make me sing for you?”

You smiled and nodded at him.

“It’s the least you can do now that I’ve graciously opened my home and my coffee pot up to you.”

He shook his head as he laughed and ran out to grab the instrument. Once he was settled back down on the sofa, you watched him with your head tilted to the side as he became lost in the strings, tuning and then strumming onto them a truly beautiful melody. He saw you in his peripheral so seemingly enthralled watching him play, your bottom lip half bitten as you focused on his hands and fingers moving.

“Well, truthfully, I haven’t come up with anything good in a few days,” he said, still in denial that his dreamy muse had abandoned him. “So what’s a song you know? I’ll just play a cover.”

You pondered for too long on the question, thinking your answer would hold a lot more weight about your character than it actually did. Tom was far from that kind of deep thinking; he was too busy taking in the way your wavy hair framed your hollow cheeks.

“How about ‘Iris’?” You took a chance on one of your favorite old songs, assuming he wouldn’t know how to play it.

“Ah, a classic.” He started to pluck out the first few notes, and you were amazed that he already knew it by heart. But where you expected to hear the lyrics come in, Tom stayed silent. He looked over to your confused expression and stopped the music.

“What?”

“Aren’t you gonna sing the words?”

“It’s not really in my range. You can though, if you want?”

You sat upright. “Me?”

“Well, if you wanna hear the words that badly,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

“Ugh, fine.”

“Wow, she paints and sings?”

“Hey, do you want me to or not?!”

He chuckled at you, loving how rosy your cheeks had gotten, and started the song over, his hands on autopilot.

You sang the first few words of the first verse, and upon hearing your voice, Tom’s jaw all but fell to the floor; he was completely awestruck.

That voice. He knew that voice.

1993

{ He sat slouched on his barstool, listening to someone do a country song a great injustice up on the microphone.

“Why did you drag me to this, mate?”

“To a bar?”

“To a bar with an open mic. I can’t listen to a Beatles’ classic being sung off key for a third time tonight.” He popped the top off of another beer and chugged it down as another amateur made their way to the front of the room.

The girl on the stage started to sing and he all but did a spit take. Her voice was incredible, melting into his ears like smooth butter. And once he turned to look at her, well, that was all it took. He had waded through the bar crowd so quickly that she was barely off the makeshift stage when he approached her, blurting out “Hi, you’re so beautiful, I mean, your voice, I mean...uh, can I buy you a drink?” and kicking himself afterwards for not even trying an ounce to playing it cool. But it didn’t matter; one look was all it took for her, too. }

Tom racked his brain as you continued to sing, your voice echoing through the apartment like an angelic aura. That was it, he thought, she sounds like the singing voice in his dreams—and the day he’d met you was the same day he’d stopped dreaming—no, no...that wasn’t possible.

But he couldn’t shake the eerie thought from his head. Were you trapped in his brain until he met you in person? Had his angel manifested itself into the beautiful singing girl sitting next to him?

He stopped the song halfway through as he felt a rush of copper through his forehead and down to his nose. Shit.

“Um, where’s your bathroom?” he shot up and covered his nose with his sleeve, his guitar haphazardly falling onto the couch behind him.

“Down the hall, first door on the left,” you answered, confused. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just gotta-” Tom bolted down the hall and shut the bathroom door abruptly, uncovering his face in the small mirror to see a familiar trickle of red pooling above his upper lip. When he reentered the living room after cleaning himself up, he hadn’t realized that his blood had stained the collar of his t-shirt.

“Tom, you have...” you stood up and made her way over to him, touching your finger to his shirt. He looked down in horror and sighed heavily.

“Yeah, it’s…I’m sorry. I get these nosebleeds.”

You smiled up at him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I might have an extra shirt lying around, if you want it?”

Mortified but infatuated with how warming your touch was, Tom smiled back. “That would be great.”

You came out of your room with a t-shirt in hand. “This is the only one I have that will probably fit you,” you shrugged, tossing it to him and trying not to let your smile show as he stretched to take off his shirt right in front of you, revealing quite the body underneath. You pretended to busy yourself with something, anything, so he wouldn’t notice that you were watching him—but he did, and he didn’t mind it.

Tom’s phone lit up with a call in that moment, and he picked up to hear the tow trucker on the other end.

“Hey, sorry to let you know we won’t be getting out to your area for another few hours, turns out the truck lost its own tire on the freeway and we’re stranded,” the voice said, causing Tom to pace around the living room, speaking curtly with the man on the phone.

“Okay, right, thanks, bye.” He hung up and turned to you, pouting.

“My insurance is shit,” he shook his head. “They won’t be here for hours.”

You feigned upset, but neither of you were too unhappy about the opportunity to spend more time together.

“...do you have anything stronger than coffee?”

You winked at Tom as you made your way back into the kitchen. “Coming right up.”

You passed the night away, mixing your coffee with rum and childhood memories with the anecdotes of a broken heart. As the hours trickled by, you sank closer on the old couch; you kept track of Tom’s heartbeat, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythm, and he kept losing his train of thought in the gold specks of your eyes.

You opened up to him about your disability, and upon seeing you become so open, so vulnerable with him, Tom couldn’t help but lean forward, place a light hand around the shape of your cheek, and capture your lips in his own. Upon the contact, you both felt as if you had been delightfully tased—and it sent your head reeling.

You saw fragmented scenes in your head—images of flashing lights, a shouting couple, a tender, loving kiss frozen in time. As Tom pulled back, the fantastical man in your head followed suit, and you doubled over on the couch as a shock of familiarity churned your stomach at the realization that the man had been a dead match for Tom.

The flashes continued, and the girl on the receiving end of the kiss became less pixellated; you felt the warmth of a lifetime of memories flooding your system as you registered that the girl in the images was, in fact, you yourself.

Tom held you upright as you held your face in your hands, shaking your head softly. “y/n, what just happened? Was it the kiss? Did I read the room wrong? I’m-”

“No, Tom, it wasn’t you,  I just…” you trailed off, bolting up from the couch and quickly pacing to the kitchen. “I need some water.”

He watched you from his seat with concern, readying himself to run to your rescue, just as he heard the loud, startling sound of a horn. The tow truck had finally made it.

“You should go,” you said, refusing to turn around and look Tom in the eye for fear of making any more sense of what she’d just seen.

“y/n-”

“Please go.”

“Please tell me I can see you again.”

You thought on that for a moment, frightened but unready to let go of this mystery.

“Okay.” You remained staring out of the kitchen window.

Tom stood up and silently exited the apartment, closing the door softly behind him, wondering where in time and space he had just lost your thoughts. As he arrived home much later and finally succumbed to sleep, he wasn’t able to rest long as he was visited by his own nightmare.

He had been in the driver’s seat of his car, unidentified noises pinging here and there as he heard someone mumbling, unable to discern their words. He turned to the passenger, his vision lagging as it made its way to her, and saw none other than you, yourself but not, crying softly, the vividness of your features making the dream feel more like a memory. As he tried to lend a comforting hand—the arm in his dream seemingly extending a mile away to reach you—the car was hit with a blinding force, and the vision went black as he was jolted awake.