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marlahey · 4 years ago

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under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren. masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly. There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary. You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.” “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.” He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan. “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.” “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night. He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?” You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.” You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.” Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe. He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror. Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet. “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead. She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied. You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open. “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?” As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.” “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?” She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks. “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson. “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax. Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room. Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.” Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.” You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return. He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #utsr redux

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idga-buck · 4 years ago

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use somebody || four

pairing: harry x plus-size!reader

word count: 1,700

warnings: harry is a randy gentleman with wandering hands, less douchebaggery, slightly improved attitudes toward women

summary: things progress with harry but that ends abruptly when his date finds you

challenge: @baezen‘s the Other Guys Writing Challenge

previous // masterlist // next

gif: @clintfbarton

After establishing a clean slate, it was another week or two before Harry saw you again.

Another party, this one even less exciting than the last. Same people, same trashy outfits, same annoying cement and pebble water feature on someone else’s big patio overlooking the Valley. Harry was exhausted from work, but came out anyways at the behest of a girl he used to fool around with before she landed the coveted “woman on table” role in CSI and insisted she needed a boyfriend who was more supportive of her creative endeavors. She was fun but apparently that wasn’t what the big execs were looking for because she’d called him instead of Chad Michael Murray. He didn’t care much, but now that Nikki was off his couch and staying with a new woman until he managed to screw that up too, he wanted to go out. Alone. And have fun without cleaning up someone else’s mess. The beer was expensive and the food had been sitting out on ice too long to look appealing, but no one ate at these things. They were there for something else, something primal. To perform, to cultivate a tribe that would bolster them, to find a mate. For a night. Longer if the sex was good.

His cynical spiraling stopped short when her arms found his waist from behind. Harry’s smile wasn’t entirely fake, content to have someone who wanted him there and was excited to see him. She clung to his hand then his wrist when their palms stuck with clammy sweat from the warm evening air. He took plenty of opportunities to slip his hand into her back pocket, so tight his rings caught on the lip. Harry sword in his head and spun her close to kiss her, distract from the way he pulled his fingers free before palming the entire seat of her low rise jeans. There was nothing to grab so he slid his palms over the pockets until he found thigh with little warning and climbed back up, hoping it was hot and not weird. Girls already thought he was weird, he couldn’t lose those early moments when his kisses and his cute smile was enough to keep them around. He was painfully aware of his strengths. Nikki could con a woman into needing him for months, years in some cases, he groaned every time he saw Lindsey, too sweet to still be pining after that asshole. Harry had a couple weeks, max, before getting lost in his own head, staring at a hurt face on the cusp of tears without a thing to say. He knew he couldn’t make it better, so he froze. Every. Single. Time. This girl was different. She wouldn’t make it that long and he didn’t care.

He didn’t. Until he spotted you. He watched from a distance for a while, the way you wove through a room it looked like you’d rather not be in without looking smug or self righteous. The kitchen lights bounced off the shiny material of your jacket and Harry was determined not to lose you.

“Need a drink,” he mumbled while pulling away from her grabby hands.

“No, I’m okay, I’ve- hey!”

It wasn’t a question. Harry removed her legs from his lap, tossing them onto the lounge as gently as he could before holding up his hands apologetically and ducking into the crowd.

Through the giant windows, he could see you perusing the interior. It was a beautiful night and most people were huddled around the pool or one of the many diy bar carts scattered around. Slipping inside, he realized how much quieter it was and snapped the sliding door shut behind him. He briefly considered locking it. You looked up at the sound and your eyes softened remarkably. If you were happy to see him too, he’d have hit the jackpot.

“Didn’t take you for a creep.”

The half laugh half scoff that followed was cute. “Excuse me?” Your eyebrow cocked up and Harry put on his best smirk before letting it melt away into something more innocent and befitting the tone.

“Everyone else is outside,” he pointed out, crossing the room to plant his palms flat on the black marble island between you. “But you’re in here, alone… lurking.” You shook your head at him, but you were smiling.

“I’m not a party guest.”

“So this is breaking and entering?” Harry pushed up off the counter and threw an accusatory finger in your face.

“I haven’t broken anything!” You held your hands up in surrender.

“Then, I can only assume you’re some sort of spy.”

It wasn’t a half laugh that time. It was real and full and even though you turned your body away from him, your eyes drifted back over the counter top to his. “I don’t think Darius is important enough to spy on,” you turned away again and started walking away. So that’s whose house we’re in. Harry shrugged it off. Most of the time he made a point to know, but he hadn’t that night and suddenly he was curious. If there was a connection between you and this Darius would he find it by following you around like a puppy? Couldn’t hurt.

Harry watched your fingers drift over certain surfaces, but your eyes were everywhere, taking in every inch of the space. Some corners received more scrutiny than others and he couldn’t make out why. You’d sent him more than one flirty smile, but he’d kept his distance in case it was just hopeful thinking. At least until you opened a sleek silver door with a wink and descended the freshly revealed stairs. The passage was dark and narrow with strips of lighting under each step to illuminate the way down and nothing else. It was a confusing combination for a house so big and bright, but at the base of the stairs, you’d stopped and turned to face him and he suddenly didn’t care. Harry took the last step down and found one of his feet sandwiched between your shoes. He shuffled forward until he could feel your thighs on either side of his. Not how he pictured the night going, but he had no objections. Reaching forward, he found one of your hands quickly and pulled you closer to him. He imagined your face just in front of his and with his free hand, reached up to find your cheek. It was fast, faster than he usually went, but why else would you have beckoned him into a dark secret room and squeezed his fingers so alluringly. He was going to kiss you, he’d already decided weeks ago, when he suddenly realized the hand he wasn’t holding had been groping the wall next to him. The large overhead light flicked on at your command and nearly blinded him in surprise. Your hand slipped from his without resistance and you laughed at him as you backed away, but it only made him want to kiss you more.

Ignoring the almost moment between you, you were already off, brushing your fingers along the dimpled glass bottoms of rows and rows of wine bottles. A cellar. A nice one too, Harry noted before looking back to you.

“I wanted to see the new addition,” you explained without being asked and gestured around above your head toward the party that continue without you two. Harry wasn’t missing it all at the moment. “I didn’t know I’d have so much company when I stopped by.”

“It’s just me now,” Harry pointed out, pulling a bottle from its resting place to peruse the label. It meant nothing to him, but he let out a mumbled ‘good year’ before slipping it back into the hollowed out groove. Just in case.

“That was a surprise,” you said.

“A good surprise?” He looked up again, hopeful. You only smirked and twirled around again, suddenly finding something that needed your attention more than him. Impossible.

Harry stepped up behind you, close enough to hear the gasp when the curve of your butt was suddenly pressed up against him. He leaned over your shoulder to speak into your ear, both hands resting on your waist. “Is this okay?” You nodded and his body was vibrating when you leaned back against him. His hands tried to slip forward to your stomach, but you quickly caught his wrists and pulled them higher. He didn’t mind at all, especially when you released his hands just before they slid over your breasts. They were more covered than the last time he saw you, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t allowed to touch them that night, not like he had before, making this moment an instant favorite.

Your sigh was quiet and yet it bounced around in his head lighting up memories of your night together like a cerebral pinball game as he squeezed the ample flesh and groaned himself at the feeling. He squeezed again, but let one hand travel even higher. Harry stuttered over the neckline of your tank top, briefly considering a deep dive underneath, before letting his fingers continue on their journey to your jaw. The slow turn gave him a moment to lick his lips and then they were on you. Your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then hungry for more, he was shocked to find your lips already seeking his out too. The kiss was hard, but a quick adjustment of his head and Harry was in control, moving his mouth slowly and trying every combination he could think of. His lip on top, his on bottom. When you sighed again, he tried more, liking the way his tongue felt under yours. Wet sounds and soft moans drowned out the approaching footsteps, or maybe he was choosing to ignore them, until an unfortunately familiar voice was letting his name ruin the moment with zero regard for how hot it was.

Your head turned to the stairwell quickly and Harry’s lips chased yours to no avail, landing behind your ear as she drew closer. You tried to pull away, but the blessed wine racks in front of you slowed your escape. He followed you up the stairs again, stopping for half a second to remind the rude interruption in a sparkly blue tube top that he was nothing to her. He tried to make his eyes sympathetic. Nikki wouldn’t have and he’d have Harry’s balls for wording his exit that way, when she was also nothing to him. That wasn’t his way. He could admit to himself that she was no one, someone fun from the past, but he’d always cling to the fact that she only saw the same in him. A warm lap to sit on when she was bored. Which is why he didn’t care what she thought about him practically sprinting away from her without much explanation, but as he hustled through the party crowd and out into the empty street, he knew that he didn’t want you thinking of him the same way. Or worse.

#use somebody #spread (2009)#harry x reader #sorry to all the hp blogs that get diverted to this shit show #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan character fic #togwc #the other guys writing challenge #baezen #nerdy frog dad #you are a sensitive guy #plus size!reader

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pasteljeon · 6 years ago

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Nymphet Garden 02: Apple Blossoms (m)

Apple Blossom - Malus pumila is an ancient plant with ancestral origins in Central Asia. Long associated with the story of Adam and Eve in the garden of eden, the apple is forever deigned as the symbol of temptation, glowing a fiery red among the garden, yet it may also be depicted as the the sign of rebirth when Christ is portrayed with the fruit. With both interpretations battling for dominance, the boys themselves will have to decide if you are the bringer of sin or virtue.

➟ Based off this request: I’d like to request a multi-part fic with the reader being a solo!idol and the bts boys perhaps being big fanboy of hers? I’d love to see your take on this. I’d love some down and dirty smut too please! from @/stxrlxghtsora

➟ Summary: He was just a fanboy, they got dragged into it, and so blooms your love story.

➟ Pairing: OT7/Reader, non-idol!BTS, idol!Reader

➟ Warnings: *pours holy water over self* switch!reader, dom!namjoon, sub!yoongi, multiple orgasms, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, daddy kink, creampie, sloppy seconds, lowkey pwp lmao

➟ Length: 5.3k

➟ In collab with @/sugarcookiesandsins - please give her some love! ♡♡

➟ Notes: hellooo lovelies, hope you enjoy this next part! Both Jae and I are both very busy now that second term has started but we’re trying our best to deliver what we’d promised. Please bear with us!

Prologue. Prev. Next (links are still broken, please refer to my masterlist)

Since that day at the studio, almost everyone had noticed the shift in relationship between the three of you. Skinship was as common as air, neither boy hesitating to pull you into a hug or to lean up against you when you sat down for dinner on late nights. The other boys could do nothing but share questioning side-glances at each other in the hopes that someone, anyone, knew what the hell happened to cause this transformation. But the two males had made a silent agreement on their way back home that night; in order to protect your reputation, and theirs, they would not tell anyone about this, not even the boys they considered their brothers.

You were not oblivious to the change and the slight jealousy rising in the other boys, but you promised yourself that you would come clean soon. For now, you simply wanted to relish in the feeling of being loved in the purest way possible as the three of you curled up together, watching a movie that had long faded into background noise.

It had been a week, and you had started to become curious about the rumors regarding Yoongi and Namjoon. They had been working with your producers for a while now and it seemed like they got along really well; not a single complaint fell from their lips. In fact, it seemed like they couldn’t stop praising the two for their work, going on for hours about their lyrics and seemingly supernatural ability to create the perfect beats.

Your curiosity reaching its peak, you snagged a drive from your desk and made your way over to the studio that company had decided to grant them for the time being. It was not as personalized, but it had the basic equipment they needed. You were in comfy clothes, trying to fight the heatwave that seemed to mug up the entire building, something about the air conditioning being faulty. A pair of your training shorts and a tank top that let the air caress your skin keeping you cooler than most, yet still exposed.

Stopping outside the studio, you listened in the crack of the doorway, a familiar melody reaching your ears. You knew they were involved in the album, but to the point where they would be editing one of the main pieces. Still you smiled; you trusted them enough to know that they would do nothing less than perfect on it. Leaning back, you rapped on the door, not loud enough to disturb their focus but loud enough that someone could hear. Only moments later did the door swing open to the wide eyes of Namjoon, who glanced back at Yoongi leaning sideways to catch your eyes from behind him.

Both boys seemed just as affected by the heatwave as you were, opting for muscle tanks and basketball shorts.

“Hey guys! I was working on something, but no matter what I do, something still feels off. So, as the resident production geniuses, could you help?” Your tone was subdued, embarrassed to be asking for help and interrupting what seemed like super important work.

Seeing them still blankly staring at you, you rushed to apologize, thinking that they were annoyed at you for appearing unannounced. “Oh! I’m sorry. You must be busy. I can go ask someone else.” you quickly backtracked and turned to leave, until you felt a warm hand encase your arm and pull you back. It was Yoongi who had gotten up during your ramblings and tugged you into their studio space.

It was pretty bare, save for the two cushioned office chairs standing to attention in front of the computer screens. The pale company logo was illuminated by the soft lit keyboard, the sound equipment glowing sporadically in different colors. It was pretty similar to yours, save for the lack of posters and missing bookshelf with your overnight supplies for those nights when the trip home was just too far.

Lithe fingers let go of your wrist to snatch the harddrive in your hand. “Let’s see what you got, Princess.” Namjoon’s deep voice echoed in the small room and felt closer than the three feet distance he was standing at. Still, you were a professional, and you weren’t about to let some baritone, good-looking man throw you off your cool.

You smiled a little at the nickname. “Feel free to listen, just don’t be too harsh. There’s a reason I don’t produce everything for my own album,” you giggled remembering the reactions the first time you tried. You had grown since then, courtesy of the producers of your company who you hung out with from time to time, but there was no way you were ready to actually show the world anything.

Seeing that both boys had occupied their chairs, you opted to plop down on the black sofa against one of the walls. Leaning your head back, you closed your head and relished in the song playing in the speakers. It was along the lines of your album, a grind-out song that set the mood with a saxophone punctuated with synth melodies and heavy background beats. You had been feeling in the mood considering your newfound relationship with Jimin and Jungkook and the album in general. Losing yourself, your petal lips parted and sang along, throathy and breathy, just as the song required.

Once the last resounding note faded with the fleeting image of you singing, you opened your eyes to two men, who seemed very into the music. Their mouths were parted slightly with lips red and swollen from biting as they watched your throat move with each sound.

Deciding that you would ignore their flushed states, you raised a single eyebrow as you broke them from their reviere. “So. What do you think? I like it, but there’s something missing I feel.”

Yoongi was the first to catch himself, and cleared his throat before slipping back into work mode as he began dissecting your work, commenting on the melody. Namjoon refused to break eye contact with you when you turned to ask him what he thought. Then like waves breaking on white-sand beaches, the expression receded, only to be replaced with a challenging eyebrow-raise.

Something in you told you that Namjoon knew exactly what you were trying to do; though you were hardly being subtle. Yet that same voice also whispered the quintessential truth - that he was willing to participate in whatever little play you were putting on for their benefit.

You tilted your head towards an unassuming Yoongi, who was keenly avoiding you by focusing on your music. Namjoon only nodded, once.

“Mm. I like that new sound, Yoongi. It's an echoer right? How about we add it behind the main chorus?” You glanced back at Namjoon, a conspiratorial smile lighting up your face as you motioned. His turn now.

“That would sound dope! Wanna try it hyung?” Namjoon couldn’t hide his smile either. You were definitely more interesting than he expected.

You got up from your seat, and approached Yoongi from behind, delighting in the tiny squeak of surprise that you elicited with you leaned against his chair, making a seat from one of the unoccupied arm rests. He leaned away, much too away of the presence of your bare thigh pressing against his arm, but his retreat was blocked from the other side by Namjoon, who leaned in under the pretense of viewing the screen.

“Have you … been working out?” You ran a hand down his arm, squeezing his bicep lightly. You thumbed the dimples of his shoulder blades, marvelling at the expanse of his chest. Yoongi licked his lips, eyes lidded as he leaned into your touch.

“Just a bit,” he rasped, voice a rumbling pressure beneath your fingertips as you flattened a palm over his stomach, trailing it up slowly.

“Breathe,” you whispered, lips brushing over his neck. Yoongi exhaled shakily, plaint as his head rolled back, dark gaze never leaving yours as he rumbled your name. You giggled as his pale skin flushed against your fingertips that had traveled up to his cheeks, cupping them gently before you leaned down for a kiss.

Namjoon took that moment to shift, his basketball shorts suddenly very uncomfortable for him as he watched you weave your magic around Yoongi. It was fantastical, like your singing, like your dancing, hell even the way you moved was unreal. Yoongi suddenly realized that he was not the only male in the room and jumped when he felt Namjoon wriggle, pulled quickly out of his fantasies.

Jerking his head back, he tried to pretend that the last couple minutes had not happened, but those attempts were stopped as Namjoon took the initiative to hold Yoongi down by the waist. It was overwhelming, the large warm hands on his waist contrasting the soft digits stroking his skin at the sensitive juncture when collarbone met neck. His head was too busy trying to make sense of the situation that he didn’t notice when you pulled the chair away from the desk and spun him to face you. Setting yourself firmly on his lap, you raked you nails lower until they just caught on the elastic of pants, so close to his hardening member. Your eyes met Namjoon’s over Yoongi’s shoulder and you let loose a small smirk. “He seems to like it, doesn’t he Daddy?”

In all honesty, the ‘Daddy’ bit was guesswork based on what you had seen of the man, but with the way his jaw clenched, you could tell that Namjoon didn’t mind it one bit. Still keeping your eyes locked with Namjoon, you leaned forward and latched your lips to the smooth expanse of pale skin within reach. You eyes fluttered closed as you sucked a large hickey just below Yoongi’s collarbone. Feeling quite satisfied with your work, you moved to another spot, opening your eyes again as you forced Namjoon to watch you suck more blossoms on the producer.

Yoongi, threw his head back in ecstasy, colors spinning around in his head as he tried to swallow reality. Your teeth nipping at his skin introduced just the tiniest bit of pain before it bloomed into pleasure when your tongue laved the abused spot. He let a loose curse slip as he felt you move with calculated precision, your hands never stopping their piano playing on his ribs.

Namjoon felt his cock pressing against the confines of his boxers as he watched you, wide eyes contrasting with the sinful actions of your mouth. There was mirth in those crystal depths, like a child playing with their favorite, but there was something darker, more mature hiding behind it all.

“It seems he does, Princess.” Namjoon’s voice seemed to have gotten deeper than you had ever thought possible, but you didn’t mind as the sound waves went directly to your core, causing them to leak just a little. Imagining that voice and mouth between your legs sent more shocks to your system as you moaned against skin. Pulling back from your artwork, you admired the contrast of purple against alabaster, lovingly tracing each mark with a nail, only pausing when Namjoon groaned out, “Why don’t you ask him baby? He can use his words.”

Focusing back on the limp man, you looked deep into his eyes as you questioned him. “Did you like that sweetie? Did you like my lips on your skin, marking you with my teeth?” Crude as they were, they were a wake-up call for the elder man. Half-delirious with your scent surrounding him, he gasped out a quick answer. Anything to feel you closer to him like before.

“Y-yes. I l-liked it.” Yoongi paused for a moment, clueless on what to call you, your name sounding wrong in that moment. And any other name that came mind still made him feel uncomfortable. Still, there was one he could try, the name had lived in his head since the day he saw you perched on the throne with Jungkook kneeling before you. “Can you do it again, Mistress?”

“Are you going to be a good boy for us?” You purred, teeth scraping his earlobe. A shudder racked his body, nodding mindlessly. “Yes,” he murmured.

You rolled your hips, Yoongi letting out a choked gasp as his head fell against the rest, fingers ghosting over the curve of your waist. “M-may I touch you, Mistress?” He groaned.

“What do you think, Daddy?” You carded a hand through his dishevelled black locks, Namjoon hovering over you as he dipped down to seal his lips over your bare shoulder, suckling gently.

The man in question hummed, parting with a satisfied pop as he admired the bloom beneath your skin with satisfaction. “No,” Namjoon murmured, brushing back your tresses. “I don’t think he’s earned that privilege quite yet.”

Yoongi gritted his teeth but did not object, arms dropping to rest limply at his side where he curled his hands into fists.

“Come here, baby girl,” Namjoon lifted you up easily, your legs coming to wrap around him automatically. The feeling of your wet heat pressing against his throbbing length had him grunting as he settled onto the other chair, with you tucked snugly on top of him.

“But I wanted to play with him more,” you whined, pouting as Namjoon slipped a hand beneath your tee, pulling it up as his large hand palmed your bra-clad breast.

“Are you going to listen to Daddy’s orders, baby? Or are you asking to be punished?” He rasped, his mind lost in the thousand things he could do and the thousand fantasies he could make reality in the next moment. Still, his voice never lost that dominant tone that forced you from one producer into the lap of another.

Namjoon took a moment to soak in the image of you. Hair mussed, lips a swollen mess, and completely at his mercy. He cupped your face in his hands, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, a small groan erupting as you kitten licked his finger in response.

Only being used to constant action, this prolonged moment of silence made you feel awkward so you decided to bring his attention back to the part of you that yearned for him most. You squirmed in his lap purposely letting your core brush the bulge in his pants. “Help me. Help me feel good, please.”

His hands flew down to your hips and gripped them tightly to stop them from bringing him closer to his high. Seeing you dominate Yoongi had already put him on edge, and your begging wasn’t going to be resolving the issue anytime soon. “Patience, baby girl.” You relished in the pet name said over you. “Let me enjoy looking at what’s mine.”

Looking up, you locked eyes with Namjoon again, a small gasp escaping you at the emotion in Namjoon’s eyes. There was happiness, as if he had completely forgotten about the erection digging into your thigh, and there was peace, like if he died in this very moment, he would have no issues with it.

He ran his hands higher along your torso, catching your tank in his hands and tossing it to the side, your bra following quickly before he latched to nipple, giving it same treatment you had given to Yoongi only moments ago. His other hand grabbed your other breast and fondled the soft flesh, enjoying the weight of it against his hands

The feeling made you grind yourself against him once again, fervor lighting up your muscles to bring you that sweet, sweet release that you craved. His movements stopped immediately as your mind flashed in warning. “I said that you need to wait, Princess.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again.” You mewled out, willing to do whatever to get his hand moving once again. He tapped you once on the ass, before pushing you in the direction of Yoongi.

“Of course you won’t baby. Because you’re gonna be helping out Yoongi hyung.” You pouted at Namjoon, dissatisfied with the ache between your legs that should have disappeared long ago. Still, a strangled moan cut you off. Yoongi was just watching you, the way your breasts moved as you made your way over to him, the way your lips parted to take in air, the red on your skin, proof of the strong emotions running through your veins.

Kneeling before him, Yoongi would only gasp at the view. He was a man, and not an inexperienced one. He had dreamed of you before, as despicable it was to admit, but no dream could ever compare to the real thing. Wordlessly, he looked on as you dragged your fingers down the front of his chest, not forgetting to catch his nipples through the fabric, making him arch his back. You hooked your digits on the edge of the shorts and the boxers, and dragged them down.

His cock sprang out and smacked against his chest, the sound pushing your blood pressure to higher echelons. Once the articles of clothing had been forgotten in a random corner of the studio, you wasted no time in wrapping your fingers around his base. Yoongi could only hiss in pain, holding back the urge to release all over your beautiful face. You would look so good painted in his cum.

Still, a single glare from Namjoon stopped any fantasies he had. He knew his place, but it became hard to remember the specifics when you started moving your hand up and down, squeezing intermittently and following in stroke with a slight scrape of your nails.

With his shoulder covered in your marks, and hooded eyes boring into your own, Yoongi looked good enough to eat. With one hand still on his cock, you turned slightly to Namjoon. “Can I taste him, Daddy?”

“I don’t know. You should be asking him.” Namjoon had already stripped down, lounging on the couch and lazily stroking his own member to the same rhythm of your hands

Yoongi wasted no time. If he was able to get your mouth as well as your hands, he would lack nothing in that moment. “Yes. For the love of god, yes. Please. I wanna feel your mouth too.” His words came out rushed as if had been waiting the entire time to say them, and it would be no surprise if it had.

A single nod from Namjoon was all it took for you to lower your head. One hand remained at the base, while the other reached under and fondled his balls. You bobbed your head once you have managed to take in a decent amount, sucking in to hollow out your cheeks. Yoongi jerked against your hold, letting go of the chair to tangle himself in your hair, pulling your head further down until you felt him hit the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex. Saliva escaping the corners of your mouth and running down the length of his shaft.

“Yoongi.” A name. That’s all it was, but that’s all it took from the boys’ self-appointed leader. Yoongi removed his hands from your hair and placed them back at his side. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms as he continued to watch you make a meal of his cock. Letting go with a pop, you licked your lips.

“Was that good?” Your kneeling figure looked back at Namjoon expectantly. He was still in the same position as before, one hand thrown haphazardly on the back of the couch and the other still wrapped around his cock.

“You’re doing great, love.” He lifted his hand from the couch and crooked a single finger in your direction beckoning you over. “Let’s let Yoongi rest for a while, Princess. Can you come help me now?”

You squeezed Yoongi once more before approaching Namjoon, losing your shorts and panties somewhere along the way. Crawling on top, you allowed your dripping cunt to coat his cock arousal, your own juices provided lubricant. “Can I put it in, Daddy? I wanna feel you.” You rocked your hips, just barely catching the tip every time you moved.

“Make me feel good, baby girl.” You sank down at his approval, not caring about the slight burn that was quickly replaced with pleasure as you felt full. Not wanting to stop, you began moving up and down, this angle reaching depths that you had never thought possible.

A strangled sound of frustration tore itself from Yoongi’s throat as he watched you thrust yourself back onto Namjoon’s cock. You had teased him to the limit before abandoning his cock to satisfy your own ache with Namjoon. Now he was stuck in his chair, the fabric sticking to his damp skin, as he tried to achieve some relief from the pain of his throbbing cock, but the air provided no relief and after experiencing the wonders of your mouth, he doubted that anything less would do.

A loud moan drew his gaze to your figure on the couch, clothes littering the floor, as you rode Namjoon like your life depended on it. The male’s palm gripping your hips to help you find utopia on his body as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“You’re almost there, Princess. Can you make Daddy come for you?” Namjoon gritted his teeth through the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his cock.

“P-please, wanna feel you fill me up,” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck as you nibbled on his skin, laving at the sheen of sweat that coated it. “Want you to come inside.”

“Shit,” he hissed, a strangled moan ripping from him as he came hard, white painting his vision as he rode out his high. “Let go, baby. I’m right here.” With shaky fingers, he blindly reached between the two of you to twist at that sensitive bud. You shuddered, crying out his name before you followed in suit, walls clamping so tightly around him Namjoon struggled to breathe, his cock twitching as he squirmed from the overstimulation.

“M-Mistress.” You rolled your head to the side from where you were resting against Namjoon’s shoulder to meet the desperate gaze of Yoongi. His lips were swollen, crimson-bitten and he looked positively fucked out, chest heaving and thighs spread apart, member achingly hard and dripping obscenely with precum, pooling on the studio floor and against his stomach. Yoongi looked at you pleadingly, nerves frayed after having been edged and touch deprived for hours.

“Please, please touch me,” he sobbed. “I need to come. It hurts.”

You peeled yourself from Namjoon slowly, the man smirking at you as he cupped your sex, carefully ensuring his cum remained inside you as you hitched a leg over Yoongi. He moaned in sheer relief as you pressed your heat against his pulsating length. As you sank down, he rocked into you, unable to help himself. God, everything was so wet, he was practically fucking Namjoon’s release back into you with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Yoongi mewled, scrabbling at your hips. “‘M sensitive! C-can’t hold it, I’m n-not gonna last!”

“Come,” you panted, digging your fingers into his chest. Yoongi writhed beneath you, back arching as he shot his load deep into your caverns, warmth spreading through you as you collapsed against him.

You blinked up sleepily, Namjoon’s smiling face appearing above you as he started wiping you down gently with a wet towel, helping you slide on your panties. You cringed at the stickiness, their combined release trickling down your thigh.

Yoongi peered up at you, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he offered you his sweater, something he’d actually forgotten a few weeks back, reaching behind you to reclip your bra and tug it on.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Yoongi redressed slowly, lethargy coursing through his veins as he slumped back into his seat, you straddling him and resting your head against his chest. Namjoon took a seat behind you, hugging you close as he nuzzled the juncture of your neck.

You knew what was missing. It wasn’t anything in the song at all. It was these boys. With that realization, you let yourself go, focusing on the here and now, and the comforting scent of Yoongi’s cologne and Namjoon’s comforting touch.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #bts smut #sub!yoongi #dom!namjoon #sub-bts-network

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writersblock2point0 · 6 years ago

Text

Twilight, Alec Love Story. Seeing Nightmares, Chapters 2 and 3

Emberly wakes to her new captivity, and meets Alec. Alec introduces her to the Masters. I put two chapters together because other wise, the chapter 2 would have been super small by itself.

Tags: @katrodriguez99

Chapter 2

The bed was warm, and the sheets were silky as I shifted onto my side. The air wasn’t cool, like it was before, as if the room was closed off and didn’t have any ventilation. I frowned, my eyes still closed as I took a deep breath. It smelled, of...stale soap? I sat up, opening my eyes and looking around.

The room was dark but from what I could see, the room was bare and had no windows, hence the lack of light. I sat up, and looked down. From what I could see, the bed was smaller than the one in the hotel, and the sheets were dark. I slowly crawled off the bed, my bare feet hitting something hard and cold. I shivered at the cold floor, stone. It was made of stone. How peculiar. I ran my hand along the wall, again, stone. I furrowed my brown when I hit wood. Patting it with my hand I started to bang on it.

“Hey!” I yelled, my throat dry from not drinking anything. “Hello?”

My hands started to hurt from my constant banging, and I didn’t know how long I was doing it for, but when I stopped, my throat hurt and my hands would probably be bruised by how much it hurts to bend my fingers. I sat on the bed, after having to find it again, and I waited. I got in here somehow, so someone should be in here.

I looked around in the darkness, feeling like I was being watched. I bit my lip, feeling goosebumps rise to my arms, and let my eyes scan the room. I sat there for a while, thinking. My eyes widened when I thought of Ashley and Tessa. Where are they? Are they looking for me? How long have I been here? I felt tears sting my eyes, wincing when I tried to use my hands to lay down. I curled in on myself, willing myself to not break down and sob. I didn’t want to look weak, I didn’t want to give them the pleasure of seeing me like this.

I looked up when the door unlocked, a thick metal on metal sound breaking the silence. The wooden door creaked as it was pushed open, light invading my room and making me squint. A tall, slender figure walked in. I could tell it was the strange boy with red eyes, and I sat up when he closed the door, darkness taking over again. I lost him in the darkness, his black clothes blending in perfectly.

Suddenly, light illuminated from a medium sized oil lamp, draping an orange light over the room. I saw the side of his face, my eyes instantly taking note of how furrowed his brow was. He seemed angry. I slowly brought my knees to my chest, my back against the wall as he turned towards me, the oil lamp in his hand as he closed the distance between us. He stopped and set the oil lamp down on a small night stand. The lamp was on my left, creating shadows on our right sides as he slowly sat across from me, turning his body to face me.

I stared at him, unable to move or do anything as his eyes bore into mine. I felt like he was looking into my soul, like he was trying to read me. He raised his hand, and I barely flinched but he seemed to catch it, giving me a look before reaching for my hands. I hissed as he grabbed at them, pressing into what I saw as purple and yellow skin, swollen as well.

“You could have broken your hands.” He muttered and I felt my face heat up at his voice. It was smooth, like he had rehearsed this before coming in. He looked up at me, and I closed my mouth, looking at my hands, noting how cold his were. But they were so soft. I pulled away from him, bringing my hands to my chest and looking at him.

“Where am I?”

He smirked, “In a safe place.”

I frowned, “I want to leave.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” I felt tears come to my eyes, threatening to poor. I blinked and looked away, my breathing getting heavy.

“You’re going to kill me,” I met his stare, “aren't you?”

“No,” He shook his head, looking at his hands before placing one cold one on my knee. “I won’t let that happen.” I felt the need to believe him, this voice and the comforting hand on my knee. But his eyes, I can’t trust them.

I shook my head, “You aren’t human.”

He stood up, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at me. “Are you hungry?” I shook my head, and he nodded. “Good.” With that, he walked out and left me in here with an oil lamp, slamming the door behind him.

I was alone in there, just sitting or sleeping to pass the time. It wasn’t until my oil lamp stopped working that I was once again thrown into the darkness. I hated the darkness. My lungs felt heavy and I remember laying on my side, back against the wall as I tried to not open my eyes, to not let those shadows creep and scare me. My mind was playing tricks, I know it. It does this all the time.

I heard the familiar sound of the door unlocking, and I instantly sat up, watching as the boy came through the door and shut it. His steps were quiet before the oil lamp on the nightstand was on again.

“It wouldn’t work before.” I muttered, looking at the light before turning to him. He was standing over me with a plate in his hand. I furrowed my brow, looking into his eyes.

“Food. Eat.” He set it down, before standing still. I looked at it, then him. He quirked a brow, “If you are not going to eat, then I’ll take it and leave.” I hesitantly reached over and pulled it into my lap. It was grilled chicken with mash potatoes. I picked up the fork and knife, starting to eat my fill. I ate it all, even tempted to lick the plate, but I refrained.

He took the plate and was about to leave, but I stood and he turned to look over his shoulder. I stopped in my tracks, not even finishing my second step before I backed up and crawled onto the bed. The door slammed, the lock sounding and I looked down into my lap.

Chapter 3

I’ve been in here for days, weeks probably. I can’t do this. I need out. I need sun. I need my friends. Where the hell am I? I paced the room, my feet tapping the floor lightly and I could only walk six steps before I hit the wall and had to turn around. It was small and I could’ve sworn the room was bigger.

“What are you doing?” I jumped and turned to see the door was open, the boy standing there with a confused expression on his face. I don’t answer as he steps all the way in and holds out his hand. “Come,” I look at his open palm before giving him my hand. But instead of taking it, he drops a red silk...tie? I glance up at him, wondering what I’m supposed to do with this. “Blindfold yourself.” He states, giving me an impatient look.

I tie it securely around my head, and flinch as his cold grip is suddenly around my arm, nails digging into my skin.

“You're hurting me.” I whisper, stumbling as I try to keep up with his brisk pace.

“Hush.” He replied sternly, and we suddenly turn to the left. I let out a small ‘oomph’ as I run into his side, not realizing he’d stopped. “You will bathe yourself here.” He rips the blindfold off and I blink, looking around to see a very large bathroom with a walk in shower and a large tub built into the floor. There was also a toilet and sink with a mirror to the left.

I look at him, and he stood there in front of the closed door, hands behind his back.

“Well?” He nodded to the shower, and I flushed.

“Not while you're in here!” I gasped when a cold hand was around my neck, my back pressed hard against the wall. His eyes were a dark red, not as bright as they had been before. His lip curled up in an ugly way, a low growl escaped his throat.

“Undress, or I will do it for you.” I nodded and he stepped back. I turned away from him, my heart beating rapidly as I pulled off my grey sweater, along with my tank top. My lace bra was on but I unclasped it and let it fall to the floor. I dropped my shorts and underwear too, shielding what little I could of my body with my arms.

I turned on the water in the shower and adjusted it to the right temperature before stepping in and closing the glass door. The warm water engulfed me, making me sigh in bliss. It was so nice to be clean after not bathing for however long I’ve been here. I washed my hair, rinsing it out and then picked up the soap, rubbing and scrubbing everywhere as I tried to get the dirt and sweat off of me.

I was rinsing my body when the glass door opened, I screamed and covered myself, turning away from the man whose name I still didn’t know.

“Hurry up.” He said after a moment of looking at me. I blushed and rinsed the rest of the soap bubbles off, getting out and grabbing a towel. He was there with a folded pile of red clothes. I watched as he set them on the sink, turning away from me and standing with his back to the door. I quickly dried myself, then picked up whatever he had for me. It was a simple robe. Oh no. I pulled it on, the red silk nice and cool, making my nipples hard and seeable through the fabric. I blushed and pulled it closed, hiding my chest from him. The robe stopped at my lower thighs, making me feel like if a breese were to fly through, everyone’s getting a show.

“I’m dressed.” I muttered, and he turned to look me over.

He nodded, handing me the tie and I put it back on. “Don’t worry about your old clothes.”

I ignored that and let him lead me through the halls of his home. It seemed to be forever, until we stopped. I heard the sound of double doors opening, heavy ones, like it those old movies with kings and stuff. His hand fell to the small of my back, and I tried to not trip over my feet.

“Ahh, Benvenuto Alec.” A gasp was heard, and I swear someone was suddenly walking. “e chi è questo?”

“Emberly, un americano in vacanza.” The stoic but somewhat smug voice of my capture rang through my right ear but he was speaking Italian, so his name’s Alec?

“Emberly, what a beautiful name.” The voice sighed dreamily. “May I?” I flinched as a cold hand made contact with me, then an unsettling feeling overwhelmed me. As soon as the feeling arrived it was gone, along with the hands.

“Hm, quite a life this one has lived.” The voice mused lowly, I could hear the smile in his voice. “I suppose you have made your choice then?” Silence, “Very good, now I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Master, if I may…” It suddenly went quiet, and I couldn’t hear a thing.

-Third Person POV-

“Master, if I may…” Alec paused, letting black smoke billow from his hands and surround the young girl beside him. He looked to his master’s when he knew her sense of hearing was lost. “I wish to request some time until the...deed needs to be done.” Alec tilted his head, trying to to figure out how to put the words together.

“Why?” Caius inquired, setting a stern stare upon Alec, “You have her, just do it and then you’ll have your child.”

“Master Caius, with all do respect,” Alec began turning to look at his other Masters. Jane, his sister was watching from the side, her eyes trained on him. Demetri and Felix were in there as well. “I have no qualms of having a child, and I don't mind forcing the act if I am to be frank.” Alec glanced at the young girl beside him, she was swaying, probably getting dizzy. He fixed his grip on her arm, knowing she could feel it. “But it would be wise to have her not hurt herself in trying to kill the baby...don't you think?”

“You want her to willingly consent to having intercourse with you?”

“I won’t need to ask her,” Alec smirked, a dark look passing over his face. Aro’s eyes twitched when he saw it, the same look Jane gives when she’s using her power to terrorise others, it made Aro giddy inside. “If I’m allowed time, I can make her do anything.”

“You want a pet.” Caius snickered, looking pleased and utterly amused as he watched Alec brush some hair off of Emberly’s shoulder.

“Don’t break her too much Alec,” Aro smiles, and the mist retreated to his sleep and the girl started to sink. Alec swiftly caught her and picked her up into his arms. “We need that baby.”

“Of course Master.” Alec bowed in thanks, smirking to himself as he stalked out of the room, careful not to let the girl’s head or feet hit the doors before the closed.

Marcus reached over and took Aro’s hand, then suddenly Aro was laughing.

What the internet told me these meant. I don’t know italian, I swear, so if they are wrong please tell me:)

e chi è questo - And who is this?

un americano in vacanza - An american on vacation (or vacationing)

#Alec #Alec volturi #jane #aro #marcus #ciaus #volturi #demetri #felix #twilight #fanfiction #fanfic #story #oc #oc girl

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