#everything circles back to self-loathing with that guy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevieeland · 2 months ago

Text

title: normal girl

pairing: ex boyfriend!k.namjoon x reader

synopsis: if someone were to ask you why you'd broken up with kim namjoon, you'd tell them it's simply because you weren't compatible. which was partially true. you wouldn't tell them it was because of a debilitating self loathing, or a lack of communication, or the fact that he was so embarrassed of you he didn't even tell his parents of your existence. but it was an amicable breakup, all in the past. or it would be, if he didn't have a habit of popping up everywhere.

rating/warnings: pg ; angst. party, drinking, mentions of weed. reader and namjoon make out. miscommunication if you squint. not proofread.

last updated: 11.02.25

word count: 6.8k.

the first time you see him after the breakup is at a party.

you don't know why you're surprised to see him there. all of your friends are his friends, and vice versa. you ran in the same, tight fucking circle.

so why does your stomach practically lurch out your throat when he laughs with one of your mutual friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. why does his presence here bother you so much?

you don't know.

you don't know why you're standing there, watching him from across the room like some fucking stranger. the same guy you used to tell everything to, the one who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt. he’s talking to someone else now. laughing like he’s got it all figured out. and here you are, just staring, trying to remember when it stopped hurting.

you told yourself you were over it, but you’re not. you can feel it creeping up, the ache, the fucking tightness in your chest. you thought seeing him would make it easier. it’s not.

so why the hell is he standing there, looking so... fine?

jimin’s hand is warm on your shoulder, grounding in a way that makes you blink, makes you realize you’ve been standing there, stuck, for way too long.

"are you gonna spend the whole night staring at your ex, or are you actually gonna have fun?" he leans in, his voice pitched low so only you can hear. "because if you’re just gonna be weird about it, i’ll take your drink and your dignity right now."

you scoff, finally tearing your eyes away from namjoon—who hasn’t even noticed you, by the way, which somehow makes it worse. "i’m not staring," you mutter, even though you definitely were.

jimin gives you a look, one that says don’t lie to me, dumbass, before tipping back the rest of his drink and setting the empty cup on the nearest table. "sure. and I’m not the hottest person in this room."

you roll your eyes. "you’re unbearable."

"and you’re deflecting." he tilts his head, studying you like he’s deciding whether to push further. he must see something in your face, because his tone softens. "you good?"

the question makes your throat tighten. you swallow around it, force a shrug. "yeah. just… wasn’t expecting him to be here."

jimin hums like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he loops an arm through yours and tugs you toward the crowd. "come on. if you keep standing here looking tragic, he’s gonna think you’re still in love with him."

you make a noise of protest, but jimin’s already dragging you away. you let him. anything is better than standing still.

jimin tugs you deeper into the party, past clusters of people you barely register, past the pulsing bass of the music that thrums in your chest. you try to focus on the warmth of his hand around your wrist, on the familiar comfort of his presence, but it’s hard when you can still feel namjoon in the room. like gravity, like muscle memory—like the aftertaste of something you don’t want to admit you still crave.

"drink," jimin announces, shoving a red cup into your hands. "dance. flirt. do literally anything other than mope in the corner like a sad victorian widow."

you glare at him over the rim of your cup. "that’s dramatic."

"and you’re predictable." he nudges you with his hip, grinning. "what happened to i’m totally over it, jimin, it’s fine, i’m fine?"

you sigh, tipping your head back as you take a sip—cheap vodka, too much mixer. "i am fine."

"uh-huh. that’s why you looked like you were about to throw up when you saw him."

you don’t have an answer for that, so you take another sip instead.

jimin huffs, his expression softening. "look, i get it. it’s weird. but it’s been, what? two months? you don’t have to let him ruin your night."

two months and thirteen days. but who’s counting?

you press your lips together, exhaling slowly. "he’s not ruining my night."

"great," jimin chirps, too fast, too pleased. his hands find your shoulders again, squeezing before he turns you toward the crowd of dancing bodies. "then let’s go. if i don’t see you at least attempt to have a good time, i’m calling a priest to exorcise the ghost of your failed relationship."

you let him pull you along because you know he’s right. because standing still feels worse than moving. because you can pretend for a little while that the memory of namjoon’s laugh isn’t still echoing in the back of your head.

and because, if nothing else, jimin will make sure you don’t drown in it.

the bass thrums in your chest as jimin pulls you toward the dance floor, the heat of too many bodies pressing in around you.

someone’s perfume lingers in the air, something sweet and floral, but all you can focus on is the way jimin spins you around, his hands landing on your waist like he’s daring you to let loose.

"you remember how to do this, right?" he teases, close enough that you can hear him over the music.

you roll your eyes but sway your hips anyway, letting the beat carry you just enough to keep him satisfied. jimin grins, triumphant, and starts moving with you, rolling his body like he was born to do this. which, honestly, he probably was.

"see?" he says, his voice light, easy. "way more fun than standing in a corner looking like you just got dumped."

you give him a halfhearted shove. "i did just get dumped. two months isn’t that long."

"feels long enough to me," jimin shrugs, his hands still on your hips, keeping you anchored. "besides, it’s not like he died. he’s just some guy you used to date. and if he can act like everything’s cool, so can you."

you want to argue. want to tell him that it’s not the same, that namjoon has always been better at pretending things don’t affect him the way they affect you. but you don’t, because that’s exactly the kind of thing jimin would pounce on.

instead, you let yourself focus on the music, on the way your body moves without thinking, on the way Jimin keeps you moving forward instead of looking back. for a few minutes, it almost works.

and then—

then you feel it.

a prickle at the back of your neck, the weight of someone’s eyes settling over you. it makes your movements stutter, just slightly, but jimin notices immediately. his hands tighten, grounding, but it’s too late. you already know.

you don’t have to look to know who it is.

but you do anyway.

and there he is.

namjoon, standing just a few feet away, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. his drink is half-forgotten in his hand, his jaw tight. and the moment your eyes meet, something shifts in the air between you—something heavy, something unsaid.

jimin follows your gaze and sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping closer, like he’s preparing for impact.

"okay," he murmurs, his fingers curling around your wrist, "i know I said you should act like everything’s cool, but if you want to bail, just say the word."

you swallow hard, pulse thrumming in your ears.

you should look away.

you should turn around and let jimin drag you into the crowd and pretend this never happened.

but you don’t.

because Namjoon is still looking at you.

and for the first time since the breakup, you think maybe—just maybe—he’s not as okay as he’s pretending to be.

jimin must sense it, the shift in your energy and the way your breath catches just slightly, because his grip on your wrist tightens.

"hey," he murmurs, barely audible over the music, "don’t do that."

"do what?" you say, but it’s weak, barely a protest.

jimin sighs, tilting his head toward namjoon. "that thing where you look at him like he still belongs to you."

you flinch. "i’m not—"

"you are," jimin cuts in, no softness left in his voice now. "and i get it. i do. but if you let yourself go down that road, you’re gonna end up right back where you started. and i’m not picking up the pieces again."

that stings more than it should. You don’t want to be a burden. don’t want to be someone people have to fix. but it’s hard when namjoon is still looking at you like that—like you’re something familiar in a room full of strangers.

your fingers tighten around your cup. "i don’t know what to do."

jimin exhales sharply, his lips pressing together before he shifts, stepping fully in front of you, blocking your view. "then do nothing," he says. "don’t go to him. don’t let him come to you. just… let it be, for once."

you chew on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to nod. jimin’s right. you know he’s right.

but then you hear it.

your name.

low and careful, spoken in a voice you know better than your own.

you don’t even get the chance to think before jimin reacts. his eyes flick past your shoulder, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

"not tonight, namjoon."

jimin says it like a warning, like he already knows how this ends.

but namjoon—stubborn, stupid namjoon—only sighs. "i just want to talk."

you hate how much your body betrays you. the way your shoulders tense, the way your breath shudders just slightly. the way you feel yourself swaying toward him before jimin gently pulls you back.

"you don’t have to do this," jimin murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.

and maybe you don’t.

maybe you should walk away.

maybe you shouldn’t look up, shouldn’t meet namjoon’s eyes, shouldn’t let yourself get caught in whatever storm is brewing in them.

but you do. you never were very good at letting go.

jimin’s grip is still firm around your wrist, an anchor you could hold onto if you wanted. if you were smart.

but when you finally meet namjoon’s gaze, something in your chest folds in on itself.

he looks… tired. not just in the way he always does, like he’s been thinking too much again, but in a way that makes your throat tighten. his shoulders are tense, his jaw is tight, and despite how carefully he said your name, his eyes are anything but steady.

you shouldn’t care.

you shouldn’t feel anything.

but you do.

jimin must see the way your resolve wavers, because he sighs sharply and lets go of your wrist. "fine," he mutters. "but if you start spiraling, i’m dragging you out of here myself."

you swallow, nodding once before turning back to namjoon. he watches the exchange, his fingers curling around his drink like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t—not yet.

instead, he jerks his chin toward the back hallway, quieter, less crowded.

"can we talk?"

you hesitate. you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t.

but then you nod.

namjoon exhales like he’s been holding his breath, and that alone makes you feel like you’ve already made a mistake.

jimin doesn’t say anything as you step away, but you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s mentally tallying up every bad decision you’re about to make.

namjoon walks ahead, leading you toward the hallway, and you follow.

because of course you do.

because you never learned how to walk away from him first.

the music fades the farther you go, replaced by the distant hum of conversation. the air back here is cooler, less suffocating, but it does nothing to settle the uneasy weight in your stomach.

namjoon stops near a closed door—bathroom, maybe, or just some random room in whoever’s house this is. he turns to face you, fingers dragging through his hair like he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

you cross your arms over your chest before he can say anything. "if you’re gonna ask me if i’m okay, don’t."

namjoon huffs a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "i wasn’t."

you shift your weight from one foot to the other. "then what?"

his jaw flexes, and for a second, he looks like he regrets pulling you aside at all. but then he meets your gaze again, and something in his expression turns serious.

"why did you do it?"

your breath catches.

"do what?" you ask, even though you already know.

namjoon’s eyes don’t waver. "why did you break up with me?"

the words settle between you like a stone, heavier than they should be.

you could lie.

you could tell him what you told yourself—that it just wasn’t working, that you needed space, that it was for the best.

but the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s begging for something real, you’re not sure you have it in you to lie to him again.

you inhale sharply, feeling the weight of the question press into your ribs. namjoon is staring at you like he expects an answer that will fix everything—something clean, something that will finally make sense of it all. But there is no clean answer. there never was.

"i ask myself that all the time," you say slowly, carefully, "and every time the answer is the same. we weren’t compatible."

namjoon’s lips part slightly, but you don’t let him interrupt.

"and that’s true," you add. "we weren’t."

it’s the easy answer, the one that doesn’t dig too deep, the one that keeps things polite and distant. the one you’ve told yourself over and over again so it doesn’t hurt as much.

namjoon exhales through his nose. "that’s it?"

you let out a humorless laugh. "what else do you want me to say?"

his fingers tighten around his drink, his knuckles going pale. "i don’t know," he admits. "something real. the truth, maybe."

the words hit harder than they should. you shift your weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. "it is the truth."

namjoon scoffs, shaking his head. "no, it’s the version you tell everyone else. but not me. never me."

your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold your ground. "you don’t get to be upset about that," you say, sharper than you mean to.

his jaw tightens. "why not?"

"because you never told your version either," you snap. "because I spent a year feeling like i was screaming into a void while you just—" you pause, forcing down the lump in your throat. "you never even told your parents about me, namjoon."

silence.

his expression doesn’t change, but the way his grip tightens around his drink tells you enough.

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "what? you didn’t think i knew?"

he doesn’t say anything.

"you think i didn’t notice? the way you changed the subject every time i asked about them? the way you made sure I was never around when they called?" you swallow, throat burning. "i spent so much time making excuses for you, telling myself i was being paranoid, that maybe you were just private, maybe it wasn’t that deep. but it was, wasn’t it?"

namjoon shifts, exhaling slowly, like he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. but you don’t want careful. not anymore.

"did i embarrass you?" you ask, voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

his head jerks up. "what?"

you force yourself to hold his gaze. "was I embarrassing? is that why you never told them?"

namjoon looks pained now, like the question physically hurts him. "no," he says quickly. "god, no, it wasn’t—" he exhales roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. "it wasn’t like that."

"then what was it like?" you push. "because that’s what it felt like, namjoon. like i was something you wanted to keep hidden."

his shoulders rise and fall, and for the first time, he looks almost… small. like he’s carrying something heavy, something he never figured out how to say.

"i was scared," he says finally.

you blink. "scared of what?"

namjoon lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "i was scared of fucking it up. scared of them not approving. scared of what would happen if i let them into that part of my life and they decided you weren’t—" he cuts himself off, jaw going tight.

you stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears. "weren’t what?"

namjoon hesitates, looking at you like he knows whatever he says next is going to break something.

"enough," he says quietly. "weren’t enough for them."

something sharp twists in your chest, and suddenly, you feel sick.

"right," you say, stepping back. "so you just made that decision for them, then. for me."

"that’s not what i—"

"do you even hear yourself?" you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. "you didn’t want them to decide i wasn’t enough, so you just... never gave them the chance to know me at all?"

namjoon presses his lips together, but he doesn’t deny it.

and that—that hurts worse than anything else.

you nod, even though it’s not really for him. it’s for you, to ground yourself, to remember.

this is why you left. this is why none of this matters anymore.

it’s in the past. or at least, it should be.

your heart stumbles.

"you’re ridiculous," you murmur.

"am i?" he meets your gaze, something raw in his expression. "because i know you, and i know how hard you are on yourself. i know that you think you ruined this, that you walked away because you thought i deserved better, but—" he exhales, shaking his head. "it wasn’t just you. you weren’t the only one who didn’t know how to talk about things."

your breath feels shallow, like there’s not enough air in this hallway.

this isn’t how you thought this conversation would go.

you thought he’d be angry. thought he’d want some kind of closure. thought he’d say something to make it all easier to leave behind.

but instead, he looks at you like he’s still holding on.

and you don’t know what to do with that.

the walls feel like they’re closing in. the air is too thick, too heavy, pressing against your ribs, making it hard to breathe. you don’t want to hear this. you don’t want to know this.

namjoon is still looking at you, still waiting, like he expects you to say something, to offer him some kind of reaction—but you can’t. you won’t.

so you don’t.

you inhale sharply, then push past him before he can stop you. your shoulder brushes his arm, the touch fleeting and electric, but you don’t let yourself look back. you just move.

the bass of the music hits first, a welcome distraction as you step back into the crowded party. the sound drowns out the lingering weight of namjoon’s words, the heat of his gaze still burning into your skin. you weave through the bodies, through the noise, searching for the only person who can pull you out of your own head.

jimin.

you find him by the drinks table, chatting with someone you don’t recognize, his mouth twisted into a lazy smirk. but the second his eyes land on you, the expression drops.

he takes one look at your face and sighs.

"that bad?" he asks.

you grab a bottle of vodka off the table, unscrewing the cap with shaking fingers. "i need to get drunk tonight."

jimin blinks. then his lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile but almost—something that says i told you so but also i’ve got you.

"okay," he says, plucking the bottle from your hands before you can take a straight swig. "but let’s do it the fun way, yeah?"

he pours a generous amount into a cup, mixing it with something vaguely fruit-flavored before handing it back to you. his eyes flicker over your shoulder, like he’s checking to see if namjoon followed, but he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t need to.

instead, he clinks his own drink against yours and grins. "let’s make some bad decisions."

and for the first time all night, you let yourself breathe.

the world is spinning.

or maybe it’s just you.

you don’t know, and you don’t care, because everything feels light—your limbs, your head, your fucking heart.

the music is loud, pulsing through your veins, and you’re pressed between jimin and yoonah, both of them laughing as you sway, barely keeping balance. jimin’s boyfriend—taehyung, you think?—is off to the side, watching with amusement, while jungkook keeps up with the reckless pace of your movements, grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

"you’re gone," yoonah giggles, gripping your waist to steady you.

you throw your head back, laughing at nothing. "i needed this," you slur, arms flinging around jimin’s shoulders. "you’re the best for making me do this."

jimin huffs a laugh, his hands tightening on your hips as he keeps you upright. "i always know what’s best for you, babe."

"you do," you say, nodding so hard the room tilts. "you’re so smart. sooo wise. like a little… glittery buddha."

yoonah practically shrieks with laughter at that, doubling over.

"glittery buddha?" jungkook echoes, barely holding it together. "oh my god, i’m using that forever."

jimin rolls his eyes but smiles, shifting to keep you from stumbling as you sway too far to one side. "alright, okay, i think you’ve hit your very drunk quota for the night."

you pout, leaning against him heavily. "but i like being drunk."

"i know you do," he coos, smoothing a hand over your hair like you’re a particularly chaotic pet. "but i like you alive, so maybe let’s get some water, yeah?"

you open your mouth to protest, but the dizziness catches up with you, making your head spin. you press a hand to your forehead, giggling again. "whoa."

jungkook reaches out, steadying your arm. "okay, yeah, we need to sit her down before she actually eats shit on the floor."

taehyung, who’s been mostly observing, finally steps in, shaking his head with a fond smile. "come on, let’s get her outside for some air."

jimin nods, already shifting to loop an arm around your waist. "good call."

yoonah pats your cheek gently. "you good, babe?"

you grin, leaning into her touch. "never better."

and it’s true.

because in this moment, with the alcohol buzzing in your veins and your friends keeping you steady, you’re not thinking about namjoon.

not even a little bit.

the cool night air hits your skin like a blessing, crisp and fresh after the suffocating heat of the party. you breathe in deep, letting it settle in your lungs, hoping it might clear some of the haze from your head. it doesn’t. you’re still warm, still loose-limbed and giggly, still swaying slightly where you stand.

taehyung watches you with amusement, fishing something out of his pocket. “cigarette?” he offers, holding one out between two fingers.

you blink at it, then at him. “are you trying to corrupt me?”

he smirks. “wouldn’t dream of it. but you look like you need something to do with your hands.”

you hum, considering. then, just to be a little shit, you ask, “you got any weed?”

taehyung barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tucks the cigarette between his lips and lights it. “i’m not trying to be responsible for your overdose tonight, babe.”

you gasp dramatically. “you can’t overdose on weed.”

“yeah, but you can pass out on the grass and wake up with ants in your hair.” he exhales a slow stream of smoke, tilting his head toward you. “and i really don’t feel like carrying your ass back inside when that happens.”

you laugh, leaning back against the railing of the patio. “fair point.”

for a moment, it’s quiet. just the distant bass of the party, the hum of cars on a nearby street, the flickering glow of the cigarette between taehyung’s fingers.

you close your eyes, letting the dizziness settle into something softer, more manageable. the night air is nice. It makes everything feel farther away—the party, the noise, the weight of namjoon’s voice still lingering in your head.

“you okay?” taehyung asks suddenly, voice lower now, gentler.

your lashes flutter open. he’s watching you, smoke curling around his face, his expression unreadable.

you shrug. “i’m drunk.”

“no shit,” he says, amused. then, after a beat: “but I mean… are you okay?”

something tightens in your chest, and you look away, down at the wood grain beneath your fingers.

“i’m not not okay,” you murmur, noncommittal.

taehyung hums like he expected that answer. he takes another drag, then flicks the ash off the edge of the railing. “breakups fucking suck,” he says, like it’s just a fact of life.

you let out a breathy laugh. “yeah. they do.”

another pause. more silence. more space to breathe.

then Taehyung nudges your arm with his elbow. “want a hit?”

you glance at the cigarette, then at him, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel like running.

so you take it.

you bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling just enough to feel the burn at the back of your throat. it’s been a while since you last smoked, and it’s probably not the best idea when you’re already drunk, but at this point, what’s one more bad decision?

taehyung watches you with a lazy sort of amusement, like he’s waiting for you to cough. you don’t, but the way your nose scrunches at the taste makes him smirk anyway.

you exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “how do you and yoonah do it?” you ask suddenly.

he raises an eyebrow. “do what?”

“be so… normal.” you gesture vaguely, handing the cigarette back. “especially considering, y’know. everything.”

taehyung hums, taking a slow drag before tilting his head at you. “you mean the part where i’m dating her brother?”

you nod. “yeah. like… wasn’t that weird at first?”

he exhales, flicking the ash off to the side. “not really.”

you blink. “seriously?”

taehyung shrugs, passing the cigarette between his fingers. “i think she always knew.”

you frown. “knew what?”

“that i liked him,” he says simply. “probably before i even knew it myself.”

you stare at him for a long moment, trying to imagine what it must feel like to have everything fall into place like that—to have someone just know, to have things unfold without the weight of self-doubt and miscommunication crushing it before it even has a chance.

you press your lips together, glancing down at your hands. “do you think i’ll ever get over it?”

taehyung doesn’t ask what you mean. he doesn’t have to.

he leans against the railing beside you, looking out over the backyard, the glow of his cigarette the only bright spot in the dark.

“time will tell,” he says finally.

you sigh, tilting your head back to stare at the sky. the stars are faint, barely visible against the city lights, but they’re there.

you rub your hands over your face, exhaling hard. the alcohol has loosened your tongue, made your thoughts spill out faster than you can filter them. but maybe that’s okay. maybe, for once, you just need to say it.

“i hate him,” you murmur, staring down at the ground. “but i still love him.”

taehyung doesn’t react, just smokes his cigarette like he’s heard this kind of thing a thousand times before.

“i want to punch him in the face,” you continue, voice thick. “and then i want to kiss him. and then i want to hit him with my car.”

that makes Taehyung snort, but you’re not done.

“and then i’d stay with him at the hospital,” you add, chest aching. “i’d be the one sitting in that awful plastic chair all night, making sure he’s okay.”

you swallow, throat burning. “i just want to be his again.” the words feel raw, fragile, like they might break if you say them too loud. “but i can’t.”

taehyung takes another drag, eyes steady on the horizon. “no,” he agrees. “you can’t.”

it’s not cruel. it’s not dismissive. it’s just the truth, and you hate how much you need to hear it.

your arms wrap around yourself, like that’ll somehow hold you together. “i don’t know how to stop loving him.”

taehyung hums, flicking his cigarette away before turning to you fully. “maybe you don’t have to.”

you furrow your brows, confused, but he just shrugs. “maybe love isn’t something you stop doing. maybe it just… changes. maybe one day, you wake up, and it doesn’t hurt so much.”

you scoff, bitter. “you sound like a fortune cookie.”

taehyung grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. “i have my moments.”

you shake your head, but your lips twitch despite yourself. the ache in your chest is still there, still deep and gnawing, but at least now you’re not alone with it.

the night air is cool against your skin. the party hums in the background, voices and music blending into something distant, something that doesn’t belong to you right now.

you let out a slow breath, watching it disappear into the night.

maybe taehyung is right. maybe one day, you’ll wake up and the weight of namjoon won’t feel so heavy.

but tonight isn’t that night.

teh night air has cooled further, the party still pulsing behind you, but out here—alone on the patio—it’s quiet. the alcohol has loosened its grip on you, dulled the edges of your thoughts without making them disappear entirely. you’re sober enough to think clearly but tipsy enough not to care too much.

taehyung had gone back inside a while ago, leaving you with nothing but the distant hum of laughter, the glow of porch lights, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clinging to your fingers.

and then you feel it. that subtle shift in the air. a presence behind you. familiar, even without turning.

you don’t have to look to know who it is.

namjoon.

for the first time in months, his presence doesn’t make your stomach churn. it doesn’t feel like a gut punch, doesn’t send you spiraling into a mess of emotions you don’t know how to handle.

you feel… still. at peace, almost.

neither of you speaks at first. he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t try to force the moment into something heavier than it already is. he just stands there, quiet.

eventually, you break the silence.

"you always do this," you murmur, not turning around.

"do what?" his voice is careful, measured.

"pop up when i least expect it." you tilt your head, staring at the night sky. "like some tragic ghost of relationships past."

namjoon huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. "not a ghost," he says. "i’m still here."

you let out a slow breath. "yeah. you are."

another pause. another silence. but it doesn’t feel suffocating this time.

"you seemed like you were having fun tonight," namjoon says eventually.

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "i was."

he shifts behind you, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. like he was bracing himself for something else.

"i’m glad," he says after a beat, and you think he means it.

you glance down at your hands, at the faint smudges of ash still on your fingertips. "i was thinking about you earlier," you admit, voice softer now. "about how much I hate you."

namjoon hums, not sounding surprised. "and?"

"and how much i still love you." you exhale, shaking your head. "how i want to punch you and kiss you and run you over with my car."

you hear him huff out a laugh, short and breathless. "that bad, huh?"

you shrug. "you’ve always had that effect on me."

another pause. another breath of silence. then, "do you think we’ll ever be okay?" namjoon asks, voice quiet, almost tentative.

you turn slightly, not enough to meet his eyes, but enough to glance at him from the corner of your vision.

and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to run.

"maybe," you say honestly. "but not yet."

namjoon takes that in, his lips pressing together. then he nods, like he understands. like, for once, you’re finally on the same page.

the silence stretches between you, neither heavy nor light, just there. a shared moment in the quiet of the night, both of you lingering in something neither of you knows how to name.

then, after a beat, you ask, "are you still studying philosophy?"

namjoon exhales, a small, familiar huff of amusement. "yeah."

you nod, staring at the railing in front of you. "that makes sense." another pause. another breath. then it’s his turn.

"are you still…" he trails off, the rest of the sentence left hanging between you. you don’t need him to finish. you already know what he’s asking.

you hum, eyes flicking up to the stars. "yeah. still doing nothing with my life."

namjoon shifts beside you. "that’s not what i meant."

"it’s fine," you say, waving a hand dismissively. "i know what i am."

"do you?" his voice is quiet, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something frustrated, like he’s tired of you talking about yourself like this. you don’t want to go there. not now.

so you take another breath, pushing past it, keeping your voice light. "we were never gonna work anyway."

namjoon exhales, but it’s not quite agreement.

"we’re too different," you continue. "you with your philosophy books and your big ideas, and me with…" you gesture vaguely at yourself. "this. we were always fighting an uphill battle."

namjoon shakes his head. "that’s not true."

"it is," you say simply. "you can’t flog a dead horse, namjoon."

his jaw tightens. "i don’t think we were dead."

you shrug, smiling faintly. "then we were dying."

namjoon doesn’t answer right away. he just watches you, eyes flickering with something unreadable. then, after a long moment, he sighs, shaking his head.

"maybe," he says. "but that doesn’t mean we didn’t matter."

you swallow, the words sitting heavy on your tongue before you let them slip free. "i miss you," you say, barely above a whisper.

namjoon inhales sharply, like the words winded him. he doesn’t hesitate. "i miss you too."

you press your lips together, staring at the railing, at the wood grain beneath your fingers. "i wish things were different."

namjoon shifts, and you feel the weight of his gaze settle on you. "me too."

that’s all it takes for you to turn, finally, fully, to face him. and when you do, when you finally meet his eyes, you realize just how close he is—close enough that you can see the crease between his brows, the flicker of something raw and aching in his expression.

and then he steps closer.

the space between you shrinks, the air between you charged, crackling like something fragile and electric.

namjoon’s voice drops to a whisper. "do you want to know what i would have done differently?"

you don’t answer. you just watch him, heart hammering in your chest.

his hands find your waist, slow and deliberate, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he’s anchoring himself there.

"i would have told them about you," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. "i would have been better at talking to you. i would have told you how much you meant to me, over and over, so you never had to wonder."

your breath hitches.

namjoon tilts his head, eyes flickering between yours. "i wouldn’t have let you walk away so easily."

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s him.

but suddenly, you’re leaning in, and he’s pulling you closer, and before you can second-guess it, before you can think at all, your lips meet.

it’s soft at first—tentative, almost careful, like you’re both testing the waters, seeing if this still fits, if this still works.

but then namjoon exhales against your lips, and his grip on your waist tightens, and the kiss deepens, and suddenly it’s not careful at all.

it’s desperate. It’s aching. It’s everything unsaid spilling into the space between you, mouths moving like they never forgot how to fit together.

namjoon kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he never really let go in the first place. jis hands tighten at your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you steady. and maybe you would.

maybe if he weren’t holding you like this, you’d come to your senses, step back, remind yourself why this can’t happen.

but you don’t.

you let yourself fall into it, into him. into the way his lips slot against yours, warm and familiar, the way his breath hitches when you tilt your head just right. his hands slide up, trailing along your sides, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight like you need something to ground you.

like you need him to ground you.

a shuddered breath leaves his lips as you press closer, chest against chest, the space between you vanishing entirely. his hands slide up your back, one settling at the nape of your neck, tilting your head just enough for him to kiss you deeper.

it’s dizzying.

it’s dangerous.

it’s everything.

when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, foreheads resting against each other, his hands still gripping you like he’s afraid to let go.

your heart is pounding. you don’t know if it’s from the kiss or from the weight of what it means. you close your eyes. "namjoon…"

"i know," he whispers, his thumb brushing over your hip.

you swallow, fingers still curled in his shirt. "we shouldn’t have done that."

he exhales, a soft, almost defeated sound. "i know."

but neither of you moves. neither of you steps back.

because even though you both know, it doesn’t change the way your body still leans into him, how his hands still linger at your waist, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

it doesn’t change the fact that you still love him.

the silence between you stretches, thick with everything that neither of you are saying. his hands are still on your waist, your fingers still curled into his shirt, but the moment is starting to settle now, starting to shift into something more fragile.

you let out a slow breath and step back just slightly, just enough to put a silver of space between you. "i should go inside."

namjoon’s fingers twitch against your skin before he lets them fall away, hands curling into loose fists at his sides. he watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression.

"do you have someone to take you home?" he asks, voice low.

you nod, swallowing. "yeah. jimin’s got me."

namjoon hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line before he asks again, softer this time. "are you sure?" you know what he’s really asking.

he’s asking if you’ll let him be that person tonight. if you’ll change your mind, if you’ll let this moment spiral into something neither of you will be able to walk away from in the morning.

and for a brief, reckless second, you consider it.

but you don’t.

instead, you give him a small, sad smile and nod again. "i’m sure."

his shoulders deflate just slightly, like he was holding onto some last shred of hope, and now it’s slipping through his fingers. but he doesn’t argue. he just nods, looking down, jaw tight.

your heart clenches.

maybe you shouldn’t, but you do anyway—you reach out, sliding a hand up to his cheek, guiding his face back up so he’s looking at you again. his eyes flicker with something heavy, something pleading, and you think about how easy it would be to let yourself fall back into this.

so, just this once, you let yourself have it.

you lean in and press a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, like a goodbye that neither of you is ready to say out loud. namjoon doesn’t move at first, like he’s afraid this is a trick, like he doesn’t trust himself not to pull you back in.

but then he exhales into the kiss, and his hands ghost over your sides, barely touching, like he’s memorizing the shape of you one last time.

when you finally pull away, you let your hand trail down to his, giving it a small squeeze. then, before you can second-guess it, before he can try to stop you, you say, "find a girl your mother would be proud of."

namjoon’s lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but you just smile at him, soft and bittersweet.

and then you let go.

you step back, turning toward the door, walking away before the moment can swallow you whole.

#𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗘’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗠 (n). NORMAL GIRL !#nevie writes.#kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts au fanfic #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #bts fanfiction

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sodapopwrites · 7 months ago

Text

a ballad of flame and shadow part three

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

summary - azriel refuses to tell her about the mating bond. she refuses to acknowledge it. instead she sees a small opportunity to revisit a love lost and takes it. to her horror it only brings her and the shadowsinger closer.

word count - 2.5k

a/n- okay this might be my favorite of the chapters so far guys. ugh all these people do is yearn and refuse to acknowledge things because they're scared they don't deserve to be like normal and content. not with everything going on at least. the usual i can't let something good happen to me if something bad is happening to anyone else.

read the rest of the series here!

Nobody mentioned it to her. Whatever was going on between her and Azriel. As soon as the inner circle noticed the shift in their dynamic he swept them all into a room and insisted none of them mention it to her.

They swore their silence. Less for the shadowsinger and more for her. More because they knew why she was doing it, probably more than she did. Those centuries of longing and jealousy that had passed between Rhysand’s sister and the spymaster were not unnoticed.

But she couldn’t let it mean something. The repeated visits to his room. The way she stopped being able to sleep without him. The way she constantly craved his warmth to fill some missing part of her. She couldn’t let it mean something.

And her family knew it.

So they let her mourn a lost lover and take comfort in their shadowsinger…for years.

“How long are you going to let this go on?”

Cassain threw the words at Azriel with a swift punch to the shoulder. Azriel barely moved. His stance wide and set. They’d been training in silence since breakfast.

Cassain had watched Azriel trail after her, knowing they were coming from the same room. He had watched his friends share lingering touches. He had watched as Azriel whispered something in her ear and her gaze softened, her posture relaxed.

The reverence the shadowsinger treated her with was almost startling. The golden thread reaching out from him towards her was so palpable it was almost visible.

But looking at him now? Cassian couldn’t see it. All he saw was shadowy adamant.

“What are you talking about?” Azriel’s voice was quiet and stern.

“You have to tell her at some point.”

Azriel shook his head and Cassian bristled at his brother's dismissal.

“You can’t just keep following her around like a lost puppy while she wishes you were someone else.”

Azriel lunged, swift and direct, he pinned Cassian to the floor of the training ring and dug his elbow deep into the former's chest. Cassian knew it was uncalled for. He knew that the only person she wanted was the male currently pining him to the ground. But still he pushed. In the hopes he could sway Azriel's unrelenting refusal.

“I’m right” Cassian managed to huff out “She’s your mate. You have to tell her.”

His sparring mate relented, pulling himself up and away from his friend.

“She doesn’t want it.” Was all Azriel said as he walked away, his shadows furling and unfurling around him in an angry flurry.

Cassian watched him go and let his head fall back to the ground. That fear of losing people. The self loathing that swam around Azriel. Cassian knew it well. He knew that his friend really had convinced himself she didn't want him. It was easier for the spymaster to think he was letting her use him. Easier to handle the mating bond she didn't feel yet, if he could have her even in the smallest, most self deprecating forms.

Cassian let out a groan of frustration. If Rhys was there, maybe he could talk some sense into their brother. But Rhys wasn't there, and that was what was keeping her from accepting that golden bond. The guilt.

That loss was poisoning all of them. In uniquely horrible ways.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

She tried to sneak out unnoticed. A feat that was damn near impossible in that house, crawling with her hawk eyed friends. But she tried nonetheless. She managed to get down the stairs and halfway across the foyer without any question.

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

Amren.

She cursed under her breath and hung her head, turning to face the silver eyed fae.

“I have something I need to do.”

Amren shook her head, “It’s too risky.”

She looked at her friend. How was it that Amren always knew exactly what she was planning before she even managed to do it? She sighed.

“Please”

It was all she could muster. A pathetic attempt.

“Does he know?” Did Azriel know where she was going? That was the question Amren was really asking. She stiffened. He wasn’t her keeper. Why did it matter if he knew where she was going?

That thrum of golden light. That connection. It pulsed.

She stifled the feeling. No. Not now. It had been tugging at her for years now. That thread. But no. She couldn’t bring herself to let it snap. Couldn’t bring herself to let it mean something. Not now.

“Please”

Amren’s shoulders slumped. It was almost an imperceptible movement. Just barely noticed. One nod. That was all she gave her before Amren turned around and let her go.

Mor waited in the dining room and looked up from her folded hands as Amren took a seat beside her.

“This is not going to end well”

“Does Calanmai ever really end well?” was Amren’s only response.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

In the years since Amarantha’s curse Tamlin had grown tired and hopeless. He stopped sending sentries across the wall. Stopped trying to find a way to break the curse that reigned over his court. And Lucien had let himself grow angry. Resentful. Every word he spoke was biting even in the most casual of conversation.

Every silent dinner. Every fruitless hunt. Every look in the mirror. Every unyielding day.

A reminder of his resentment.

“The war may be over, but there are still enemies to be dealt with. People who we shouldn’t be so willing to put our trust in.”

Her words echoed constantly. Why could she not have been more specific. Why not give him a real warning? Why issue vague cautions against unspoken foes? Why?

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault.

It didn’t matter how many times he thought it. The sour taste in his mouth only grew every time he thought of her. She was safe somewhere. Untouched by the blight that spread through Prythian. And there he was in a shell of a house, barely able to remember what he looked like.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Calanmai came in a swift rush of flames. As it did every year. Why they still bothered with it? Lucien didn’t know. Why bring any magic back? Why let their lands flourish only to live each day under a malediction.

The sound of the drums cascaded over everything and everyone. Inescapable and too loud. The bonfires too bright and too blistering.

If he could have been anywhere else he would have. He would go back to the manor to sulk in some corner and let his anger simmer, as he did every day. But his presence was needed. Was expected. So he roamed through the crowds. Eyes lingering on those unmasked. Those blessed enough to just be visiting. And then he saw it. The flash of a shadow black cloak. The glimmer of its glittering blue embroidery. Night court attire. He followed it, the end of the cloak, as it weaved its way through the throng of the celebration, flowing behind its wearer.

His hand reached out and finally he grasped it. The soft fabric flowing through his fingers in a silky caress. She whipped around at the tug on her cloak.

The breath she sucked in was urgent and shaky as she let her eyes meet his.

One russet and furious. The other golden and cold metal.

He took a quick step back. The sight of her shook him. She reached for him once but he winced away, shaking his head. Not here.

He took her hand in his and dragged her away. Through the beat of the drums. Through the flame. Into the woods.

They reached a small dark clearing and he rounded on her.

“What are you doing here?”

His question came out more accusatory than he meant it to.

“I…wanted to see you”

He brought his hands to either side of her face, and then he felt it, he smelled it on her. The feel of someone else. The scent of someone else. He pulled away as quickly as he’d come.

“Where have you been?” His voice was low and angry.

“I can’t…Somewhere safe”

She thought the words would comfort him but all they did was make him draw back further. She took a step towards him, the movement almost begging. She couldn’t tell him. Not really. Not without giving up Velaris. The thing her entire family held sacred. The thing her brother had sacrificed himself to protect.

“Somewhere safe?” He almost laughed it out. Unbelieving.

“Just trust me”

It was all she wanted from him. It was all she could ask of him. A hopeless plea. He grew closer to her in a flurry of quiet rage. His lips inches from hers. That breath they once shared ripped from her chest as he spoke.

“How can I? You never know what’s hiding in the shadows of night.”

She recoiled. Away from the searing heat of his words. His heat once familiar to her now burned. Too bright and too harsh. She shook her head slowly, “I tried.”

It was all she could think to say. She wanted to reach for the fox like mask covering his face. Wanted to rip it away and see his features soften to something she was used to.

“It wasn’t enough”

His retort hung in the space between them. Heavy and devastating. Landing like a slash of steel against her skin. Opening a gaping wound. All the guilt that Azriel had tried to soothe away. All the torment and self mutilation coming back to her in waves. All the work the shadow singer had done to ease the taught of her shoulders and the crease of her brow in the last few decades. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. Not as Lucien’s words sunk into her very bones. That flooding guilt didn’t crush her like it did before. Not when he was looking at her like she was to blame entirely for what had befallen him and his people. No. It filled her with a cold rage. Why had she even bothered to come. She nodded once in shuddering defeat and turned to leave the spring court emissary. To go back home. To go back to him.

“How is Azriel?”

His question cut her deeper, twisting into that gaping wound of remorse. She straightened at the sharp pain of it. The horrifying realization that Lucien had even a clue what she had been doing, while he festered in his damnation. That anger, towards his clear resentment, in her twisted into something brutal. Her reply was cutting in tone,

“I don’t see how the company I keep while you rot is any of your concern.”

All she wanted to do was go home. Away from the drumming and the heat. Away from this sickly sweet place. Away from him and all that came with him. It wasn’t fair. She should have warned him what was really about to happen. But she couldn’t have. Not without betraying the trust of her brother. Her brother who was worse off than the male before her. And he should have understood that. Should have seen it. But maybe he couldn’t. Not anymore.

His golden eye scanned her slowly. Calculating.

“I suppose the company you keep was never my concern”

She let out a clipped laugh.

“Wasn’t that your only concern?”

Her warning.

“My brother wishes to meet with Tamlin.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow at her.

“Is he going to try and kill him again?”

The ever present mistrust of her people. Of her family. The unwavering wedge between them.

Lucien let out a sigh as he turned away from her, “Go back to your shadows”

It was all he could bring himself to say.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Azriel felt her presence before he saw her. Felt something in him tug towards her as she winnowed into the house. But he didn’t move. Didn’t dare to. Amren had told him where she went and watched him with careful reproach, as if she couldn’t believe that the spymaster didn’t know.

He felt her as she climbed the stairs. Felt her as she moved swiftly down the hallway. And was already at the door before she knocked. Opening it to see her. Crestfallen and exhausted. Her face crumpling into something near devastation when his eyes found hers.

He let her fall into him. Let the scent of autumn and embers burning wash over him. Pulling her closer to him, he let his fingers brush through her pitch black hair. Desperate to claw out and untangle those knots of cinnamon and vetiver. Desperate to coil roots of his own cedar scent through her tresses.

He let her push his body further into the room with every careful step. He stilled. Forcing them both into an unmoving embrace. He wrapped himself around the anger that was seeping from her. Diffusing it into a night chilled mist. He felt her pulse slow and her muscles relax. He relished in it. The ability to soothe her.

She pulled away from him. Her eyes searching his in a desperate question. One he couldn’t quite make out.

He let her turn away and leave his room. Felt her rush back down the stairs. Felt her fear. Knew her fear like it was his own. It was his own. The way she sought him out in distress. The way she craved him and his comfort. That tugging thread in her soul. It was his as it was hers.

He heard her voice faintly and he heard a low response from Cassian, who had been pacing the lower level of Rhysand’s townhouse, awaiting her return. He felt something twist in his gut. Jealousy. Yes she had come to him first. But she couldn’t bear to stay with him. Instead seeking out someone warmer. Someone easier.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

The cold hit her the second she left his room. It crawled its way down her throat and tainted her voice as she spoke softly to Cassian.

"Did he know where I was going?"

Cassian looked her up and down, scanning her for a sign of injury. But he couldn't find one. Not a physical one at the very least.

"Yeah he did."

She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. Cassian watched her carefully. He wanted to ask her if she knew how Azriel always knew where she was. If she knew how Azriel was seemingly able to feel everything she felt. But he saw the answer when she opened her eyes. There was something deep and sad behind them. Some centuries old torment of quiet longing. Of quiet repression. It all seemed to spill out in a heavy onslaught of tears.

Cassian froze for a brief moment before wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Why can't you ever just let anything be easy?" he whispered to her.

Her whole body shook with desolation.

"He doesn't want this. Not now."

It was all she could choke out before letting the tears whisk her away once more.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Azriel closed his door. Trying to block out the sound of her crying into his friends embrace.

“How long are you going to let this go on?”

#azriel x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x you #lucien vanserra #cassian acotar #morrigan acotar #amren acotar #rhysand #the night court #bat boys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc · 7 months ago

Note

isn't . isn't that incest???

isnt what.

oh Zjoxoa and Tirent? yeah, as close as trolls can get to human conceptions of incest, theyre genetically identical, theres no way that wouldnt affect any hypothetical descendants. So yeah.

Zjoxoa's a wierd little freak and i needed to remind myself that lest i make him too normal. Everyone hates it.

Nothing like. Happens. If thats what youre worried about. Tirent and Zjoxoa meet, they talk until TIrent gets pissed off, Tirent tries to intimidate them, Zjoxoa flirts, Tirent nopes out of there, just a little more convinced that this is literally hell.

Zjo's wierd little freak undercurrent to his normal guy crust manifests in a lot of ways. Beforan highblood culture didnt just not affect him unlike some people (Atchab Moibie)/hj. The flirting with a young alternate self of his ancestor isnt really a way Beforus fucked him up specifically but it is part of his character.

With how Diazni acts, being a cullee of Beforan Tirent Bawurz, you can tell what The Skeptîîc is like. Zjo's got the curse of having a really fucking famous ancestor, one who is loathed by most of the people in the circles he stays in. He has a bit of a, 'white boy joker moment,' if you get what i mean. He feels ostracized for this like. Him specific original sin of being genetically identical to famous awful person he was raised to aspire to be, and part of him finds it easier to snap back to that ideology, maybe going further than he ever was before, than to keep weathering all of the jokes about his ancestor. His willingness to flirt with an alt version of his ancestor is one of the ways that his fucking wierd parasocial relationship with his ancestor manifests after his death.

So yeah. Zjoxoa Bawurz is like... The rich white kid who you can almost forget is an old money baby, until he says or does something so alien you have a triple take just for it to process in your brain that he was fundamentally born into a system with a different set of rules. totally not based on anyone i know. Anyone whose name starts with an E.

He and his dancestor both walk thin lines of Not being an absolute piece of shit-- In Bard's College au anyway.

Tirent's story is one about him grappling with the vast differences between the fledgling ideology that Plexus incepted into his brain, and that crocomom fostered just enough before vanishing, and the moral compas of the clown faith, which tells him he has a moral obligation to God to kill. 3 of his 4 friends.

Zjoxoa's story is one about him grappling with the vast differences between the ideologies of his friends, and the community that accepted him after he lost faith, and indeed inspired him to lose faith, and his own nature as someone partially outside of the perview. An old money baby trying to be friends with people who arent his peers like that, and force him to think about how little he deserves his everything, that theres nothing special about him that makes him inherently more worth the stuff he was just handed at hatching, and his constant temptation to just. Snap back to a deluded and far more comfortable worldview.

Anyway yeah thats why Zjo flirts with his teenage dad.

TL;DR Everyone wishes he didnt do that so they could go back to pretending he's not an old money wierd-little-freak.

#zjoxoa bawurz #tirent bawurz #ask that turned into a ramble #anonymous

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glassautomaton · 2 years ago

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incomprehensible lightlament tagger here so I feel obligated to defend my honor.

I think for me it comes down to 1) a lot of the (especially earlier) senior staff writing kind of sucking objective ass but then having these brief flashes of the most intriguing shit you’ve ever seen in there. mediocre stories with a great deal of potential are like crack to me (at least when it comes to actually making fanwork) bc they get my braingears turning as to how to expand on them (+ of course the handful of fucking brilliant senior stuff tales hidden in the clutter that will fuck you up forever that work precisely bc of the notoriety of the characters theyre about and that, I suspect, were created by people who felt very similarly to me) and 2) I just. rlly like the foundation as a setting and like pretty much every goi-associated character the senior staff all ultimately offer some unique perspective on foundation doctrine; clef is interesting bc of his shitty self-loathing deflection complex motivated by his past on in the goc & the fact he doesnt even work here of his own accord (see: the vanguard side of the no return canon for some pretty cool recent writing on this), light is interesting bc of her determination to hold on to a veneer of morality despite the general fuckedness of everything which, given the prominence of her being in some way entangled with the o5s, can turn her downright hubristic in some tales (see: the new faces splintercanon on the resurrection hub for this). which isnt to say original characters cant be that but having these established fairly iconic characters can be a useful shortcut and with the sheer context of everything that already exists on these guys you can usually end up somewhere very interesting a lot quicker than if you were to build your own characters from the ground up.

I will say though I immensely respect the notion of just straight up not caring about any of the big name characters, I kind of envy you if I’m honest. I think like stroytelling enjoyer motivations aside part of the senior staff’s appeal does also stem from people especially in fandom being more willing to engage with stories that have characters they’re already emotionally attached to in them which, y’know, isn’t a sin, people like what they like, but I do think people miss out on some real bangers hidden on the wiki because of it. I recognize I am part of the problem here, but, yknow, I dont control what the brain attaches itself to.

anyway, cheers! sorry again about the lightlament, i will say that isnt normal youve just accidentally stumbled into a mutuals circle of people who are categorically not normal about dr light. spiders georg etc

I think I get what you’re trying to say here, and again, it’s largely similar to why I wanted to write Resurrection-family articles in the first place. There is a bit of a difference though: I read Resurrection when I was a lot younger, when it first came out. Back then I hadn’t really been as discerning or critical of what I read on the wiki, so I either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the flaws in the story, and I liked it pretty uncritically. Even back then I wanted to write for it, and years later, when I decided to write for the Wiki, I still did. At that point, I noticed a lot more issues with Resurrection on re-read, but I was already attached to the canon. It was really influential to how I viewed the wiki, so in spite of its flaws it’s important to me as an SCP writer. These days, though, I’m probably far too critical to get attached to things in the same way, hence my general apathy towards staff stories (though it might be worth noting that even back then, I found senior staff stories annoying as I outlined in a previous post).

I also understand your second point about the staff representing interesting aspects of the setting. As a writer, though, in a lot of cases I just kind of figure “why bother with all that baggage when I can just write my own character that I’ll enjoy writing more and is better tailored to my needs?” And, again, these characters just seem too ill-defined to get a good bead on. That sort of falls back to the whole “why bother with wrangling all that when I can make my own character.” I wrote Iris because I find her whole deal as an established SCP to be interesting at a basic level, even if I find the original SCP-105 article itself to be bland and uninteresting. I am aware that by trying to write one solid interpretation of her I am only adding fuel to the fire of her having too many interpretations but one day I’ll have the majority of 105 tales under my name. Then who’ll be laughing.

And I definitely get just wanting to use characters that people already know. From a more cynical standpoint, it would help with interest in your content - as I’ve said before, my tales featuring more original characters haven’t done well - but just on an “I have an interest in this thing and I want people to talk to about it” level I get it. Lord knows how many times I’ve latched into a character from something only to see a grand total of two dudes and an ambitious octopus who also like them on the internet.

#scp #asks #Thanks for the response #I really enjoy just talking about SCP stuff

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ravenloftgm · 2 years ago

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Who is your Mage character?

ok my keen was low for a hot minute there but it's bACK and im ready to ramble

Bonnie Raith-Ballantyne is an absolute monster of a mage - she doesn't have much arete, or dots amongst her spheres, or anything really: except for the three things she does have.

Monstrous willpower.

A 5-dot avatar.

Money to burn.

She is VERY Scottish, VERY enthusiastic about academia, and VERY ready to do anything and everything that she wants.

She's a totally self-indulgent character, in that I went, "hm, what's an aesthetic I like?" and just built someone who is very 'dark academia'. She's a daughter of the wealthy elite, with easy access to academic circles, and the plotline of our mage game revolves around all of us, as newly-awakened orphans, all moving into the same house, previously owned by an archmage. This is, of course, no accident, but it wasn't arranged by us, and we have very fuzzy memories of why any of us moved here, or our landlord.

The setting is peak dark academia, the character is peak dark academia, and the storyline is peak academia, it's been insanely fun.

Her awakening happened at her pretentious friend group's faux-Bacchanalia party, and the Storyteller has been dropping hints that in a past life, Bonnie may have been the oracle at Delphi, or at least in some way relevant to Apollo's cult. He's weaving plot threads that had me veer violently off my very Prime/Mind course and hurtle down Time instead.

She's the Party Face, but also the one with all the willpower, so a lot of the time she's like "right, ok, we're doing this." She's usually the first volunteer for magic experiments - although her best friend, another PC, has recently had her promise to stop almost dying, which is valid I suppose! So she's chilling out on that stuff.

She's made good friends with a local mage's familiar, but the guy all but loathes her, so that's been a fun dynamic to play out. She's also had her life saved by another guy repeatedly, but they both have incredibly manic vibes, so the closer they get, the more antics are on the horizon. I'm very, very excited about the character, and absolutely adoring playing her.

#mage the ascension #mta #wod #world of darkness #bonnieposting

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t0wardthesun · 2 years ago

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My Body and Me; a Love Story.

There was a time when I thought I would never write this post. The battle against my body seemed to be the one mountain I would never climb. I would go around in circles, coming up against the same obstacles; bingeing, emotional eating, restrictive dieting and hating what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I honestly thought it was something I would struggle with for the rest of my life. I think every woman knows this journey, some have walked the path before, others are waiting to begin - each of us up against years of conditioning, programming and subconscious messaging designed to keep us small (literally). This is the story of how I took my power back, went from self loathing to self love and healed my relationship with food and my body.

It’s Australia Day, 2008. My sister and I are riding our bikes around the small town we grew up in, jumping in and out of the crystal clear water wherever we can find the space. The path along the creek is teeming with families and kids our age walking around drinking UDL’s and cans of Smirnoff. Despite already being self conscious about my fifteen year old body, I’m feeling particularly brave wearing just a pair of shorts and my bikini top.

As we climb out of the water and mount our bikes to head home, a guy a few years older than me walks passed with his girlfriend. He looks me up and down and slurs, “Yeah, keep riding,” with a smirk on his face. His girlfriend slaps him playfully, looking back over her shoulder to mouth an apology, but it’s too late. My stomach drops, my world crumbles. Everything I ever feared about myself is true. I'm not attractive, I'm not desirable, I’m not worthy and I’m not enough.

I scroll pro-ana blogs and experiment to see how long I can go without food. I practice putting two fingers down my throat, trying to dredge up the shame I swallowed with that second chocolate brownie. I lament to my mother about the size and softness of my stomach, she shows me which ab exercises reduce belly fat.

My breasts grow almost overnight and suddenly I’m the subject of gossip and the butt of jokes. Relatives and strangers comment on my changing shape, as though my body is public domain to be deliberated. I learn that my body is not my own. I walk into the kitchen after dinner out with friends, “You can’t possibly still be hungry.” I learn that my bodies signals can’t be trusted.

I hold myself up against billboards and pictures on the internet and they all tell me one thing; shrink. Shrink and you will be beautiful, and before anything else, beautiful is what you should aspire to be. I stand in front of the mirror and pinch, suck, poke and prod. I squeeze a tape measure around every inch of skin, using the numbers to define how much I’m worth that week. I hide in the pantry, looking for something to fill me. My mind blanks as I reach for packets and jars, a brief reprieve before the guilt kicks in and I berate myself ceaselessly for a lack of self control.

I’m desperate to be noticed. I crave being seen. I take photos on my phone and send them to boys. When I’m drowning in a sea of insecurity, their shallow compliments keep me afloat.

I grew up believing that “big” was the worst thing a person could be. Worse than being mean, selfish or boring, it was the ultimate failure. The subconscious messaging I received was that being skinny was synonymous with being happy. That having the perfect body somehow made you immune to sadness or other negative emotions. Like, how bad could things possibly get if you looked amazing in a bikini? If you were thin then people paid attention to you; boys wanted to be with you and other girls wanted to be like you. To be thin, was to be beautiful - and to be beautiful was to be adored, cherished, loved. Life was an endless exodus away from fatness and toward thinness.

You can imagine the war that started internally when my e-cup boobs came in overnight. Dance costumes had to be altered, bras and bikinis had to be special ordered and I was constantly asking for a bigger size in change rooms. The changes in my body sparked a downward spiral in my self esteem. In my mind, with every kilo I gained I was becoming less important; my ideas less valid, personality less loveable and my dreams less achievable.

By the time I was sixteen, my body was a tool I used to validate my dwindling sense of self worth. I used it when it suited me, to get attention and validation from guys. The more I was willing to show of it and the more I was willing to do with it, the more approval I got. It made me feel powerful. I traded recognition for respect and mistook attention for love. The rest of the time I either berated it with criticism or ignored it completely.

For most of my teens and early twenties, I felt like a floating head walking around completely disconnected from my body. I didn’t identify as my body, it felt like an annoying attachment that kept betraying me by not doing what I wanted it to do or looking the way I wanted it to look. I hated how easily I could be brought down or carried away by the emotions that arose inside me; a wave of insecurity that would leave me hiding under the covers for days, a flash of anger that always left a wake of destruction in its path. It was too risky and far too painful living in my body, so I checked out. For almost a decade, I didn’t look down in the shower and I couldn’t touch my stomach without a wave of nausea flooding through me. I dreaded walking past mirrors or shop fronts and I used to yell at my mum for taking photos of me when I wasn’t looking.

By the time I left home at eighteen, it became apparent that in addition to my negative body image, I had also developed a pretty damaging relationship with food. Food was my anchor and my security blanket. When everything else in my life was uncertain, I could always count on the jar of peanut butter in the fridge. I would use food to suppress negative emotions; discomfort, anxiety, boredom. Even positive emotions - excitement, joy, happiness - were always accompanied by something to eat. It was as though I couldn’t bare to feel anything fully, so I sought a way to dull the experience.

I would spend hours researching different diets and exercise programs, getting confused and overwhelmed by the mass of conflicting information. Was yoghurt good for me, or bad? Should I be eating carbs with every meal or cut them out altogether? Should I be vegetarian, vegan, paleo or #sugarfree? Is running 5k’s burning fat or telling my body to hold on? I would walk around the grocery store with tears in my eyes, totally overwhelmed by all the choices and torn between what I wanted so desperately and what I thought I should be eating.

“Compulsive eating is basically a refusal to be fully alive. No matter what we weigh, those of us who are compulsive eaters have anorexia of the soul. We refuse to take in what sustains us. We live lives of deprivation, and when we can't stand it any longer, we binge.”

- Geneen Roth, Women, Food and God

Before I even knew what it was, bingeing was a regular part of my life. If had a bad day, a fight with my parents or an assignment due, bingeing offered an incredibly effective distraction. There was no thought or awareness, I would stand at the fridge and put whatever was on the shelf into my mouth. Because I refused to have anything unhealthy in the house, bingeing usually meant raiding my housemates cupboards for whatever had the highest sugar or fat content; four slices of toast with tablespoons of honey, two wraps, half a packet of biscuits and coconut oil straight from the jar. It wasn’t until after I had consumed the entire contents of my kitchen that the guilt kicked in. I felt totally helpless and completely out of control.

The promise of a diet is not only that you will have a different body; it is that in having a different body, you will have a different life.

In 2013, I lost nine kilos leading up to my twenty first birthday. I was eating broccoli with chicken or tinned tuna for every almost meal and smashing myself in the gym 5-7 times a week. Everything in my life revolved around getting the numbers on the scale to drop. I kept a food diary on my phone and wrote down everything that passed my lips and at the end of the day I’d give myself a rating based on how ‘well’ I’d done. A smiley face meant it was a good day, an angry face meant I better try harder tomorrow.

I would measure and weigh myself in the morning and my mood for the entire day, and how I treated myself, depended on what I saw on the scale. I was obsessed with #fitspo blogs and instagram accounts and would spend hours drooling over photos of girls lifting weights or posing effortlessly in bikinis. I would deprive myself all week and have a ‘cheat day’ on the week end, which usually meant buying a block of chocolate on the way home from the gym and making myself sick by finishing off the whole thing in one sitting. A few weeks before my birthday I started taking OxyElite and would happily pop four a day - made me shake and pee constantly - completely ignoring the liver failure warning on the label.

But even when I was at my skinniest, my anxiety didn’t fade and I wasn’t any happier. I still had bad days and moments when I felt unworthy and insecure, and I was so preoccupied maintaining my new weight, I didn’t have time to focus on anything else or enjoy my life. As soon as my birthday was over and I didn’t have a goal to work towards, the weight came back and the battle raged on.

As I watched women my mums age berate themselves for eating an extra slice of cake, apologise for taking up too much space and obsess over their physical ‘flaws’, I started to think maybe this was just part of life as a woman. I hated the idea of passing my insecurities on to my future daughter, but I couldn’t see a way to break the cycle.

So I started working with coaches, and read and listened to every intuitive eating, eating psychology and body positive book, blog post and podcast I could get my hands on. There wasn’t one pivotal moment, but a series of small but deeply significant revelations that helped me improve my relationship with food and lead me back to my physical body…

1. I got angry.

When I discovered the extent to which mainstream media tries to keep us small - literally - as a form of disempowerment, I got angry. By making thinness the ideal and celebrating women who shrink, we get the message that we are not allowed to take up space, a subconscious belief that ingrains itself in our collective psyche. It’s the same belief that stops us from speaking up when we are being taken advantage of, it stops us demanding more from partners who mistreat us, and it stops us creating epic shit and sharing our unique gifts with the world.

As I continued pulling back the veil to expose the corporate agenda behind our BS beauty standards, it got easier to rally against my own inner critic because I knew they were both just trying to stop me wielding the full force of my power as a conscious woman. A woman confident in her own skin is no longer an obedient consumer, she no longer drains her time, energy and resources trying to “fix herself”. She shows up fully as her authentic self. She is a force to be reckoned with.

2. I focused on my strengths.

That insta-famous bikini model posting photos of herself looking toned and tanned in various exotic locations? Yes, she could have done a lot of editing/had surgery/spend thousands on a celebrity trainer, but you know what? Some girls really look like that - and that’s amazing! Go them! You have your own set of unique gifts and God-given talents that are exactly what you need to enact your purpose on this earth, and they might not have anything to do with how you look. Say it with me now, “I was not born to be an instagram model.” (Unless you were, then carry on your merry way). Being trapped in jealousy or comparison usually means we aren’t fully embracing our Genius. Ask yourself, ‘What am I really good at? What do I LOVE?’ then go do that.

BODY IMAGE CHALLENGE: Take a look at the people you follow on social media. Do they make you feel more confident, or less? If you feel ‘icky’ every time you scroll through instagram, it might be time to do a social media cleanse and get rid of any accounts that don’t inspire you to feel good about yourself.

3. I shifted my perspective from the external to the internal.

My journey this year has been letting go of the belief that people will only listen to what I have to say if they like the package it comes in. As women, we are taught from such a young age that beauty equals success, and for so long I was hung up on this idea that in order for my thoughts, opinions or ideas to be taken seriously, I would need to measure up to societies standards of beauty. That belief kept me from showing up fully in my business and in my life. Bullshit!

How many of us are held back from the work we are meant to do and the joy we are meant to experience because of our obsession with living up to someone else’s idea of beauty? How many of us delay happiness and postpone joy, waiting until after we’ve lost the weight or dropped a dress size, to be active participants in sucking the marrow out of our lives?

These days, I’m focusing less on impressing people with my looks and more on empowering them with my energy. I realised I would so much rather invest my time cultivating compassion, sharpening my intellect and developing the kind of inner radiance that inspires people than forcing my body to take on a shape that isn’t natural for me.

I get that some people absolutely love pushing their body to see how far it can go, but when I think about how much effort it took to maintain my ‘goal weight’, I can honestly say - for me, and my standards - it’s just not worth it. As with anything in life, you have to ask yourself, do you want it because that’s the experience your Soul is longing to have, or because everyone tells you that’s what you should want? Is it your dream or someone else’s?

BODY IMAGE CHALLENGE: Start a creative project that you can work on in your spare time. It could be a collection of short stories, a sketch pad full of drawings or a line of your own handmade clutches. Passion projects are good for the soul and you never know where they might lead ;)

4. I let go of my obsession with losing weight.

After nearly a decade of trying to get smaller, the thought of giving up scared the shit out of me. I clung to diets because they gave me a purpose, losing weight made me feel accomplished. It was easier to write a meal plan than it was to map out a plan for my future. And it was easier trying to change my body than it was to change the world.

I also thought that if I wasn’t following a strict eating and exercise ‘plan’, I would completely lose control and binge until I was the size of a house. And for a while, I did go a little crazy. I had to rebuild the trust between me and my body. I needed to prove that I was sticking to my word this time and I wasn’t going to deprive it any more.

But when I stopped labelling foods as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and started giving myself unconditional permission to eat whatever I wanted, eating an entire block of chocolate lost its appeal. I could have it, so I didn’t want it. If I did end up over eating, I quickly forgave myself and moved on. No judgement, criticism or shame, just unconditional acceptance. I quickly learnt that most of the time I didn’t actually want the chocolate, I wanted the way it made me feel; worthy, deserving, full.

Instead of using food to suppress my emotions, I wanted to tap into my bodies natural wisdom. I started by opening up the lines of communication. I wrote her letters in my journal, apologising for all the times I had ignored her, made her sick and used her to satisfy my ego desires. I promised to take care of her, trust her and always ask her what she needed. I spoke to her like I would my best friend or little sister. Much to my delight, she started talking back.

I’m sorry.

I know.

I love you.

I love you too.

Today, my relationship with my body feels like rekindling a romance with a long lost lover; we’re both still marvelling at all the things we can do together, getting excited about what this means for our future and falling more in love with each other every day. Like any great relationship, ours is based on trust, communication and mutual respect. I speak kind words to my body, I don’t make her do things she doesn’t want to do, and I trust that she knows what she needs in any given moment. Sometimes that means making a big fat pasta dish, sometimes it means stopping when there’s still food left on the plate. I still apologise if I drink too much wine and wake up with a hangover. She forgives me and we go and do something to make us feel amazing again.

Exercise doesn’t feel like a chore, it’s a way to expend all the beautiful energy that runs through my body. I don’t slog it out at the gym to burn calories or punish myself for overeating, I move in ways that feel good. Lifting weights makes me feel powerful, dancing makes me feel sexy as hell. My body is an incredible vehicle I have been given to fully engage in this earthly experience, and I love it regardless of its shape or size.

I know this is an ongoing process - as my body changes, I will need to continue practicing self love and some times are going to be harder than others, but never again will I let insecurity hold me back (for too long).

The beauty standards set by society will continue to change, but I reserve the right to decide what’s beautiful to me, and my definition of beauty is all encompassing - there is room for everyone. I am so excited to see - in our lifetime - a generation of women liberated from the shackles of self loathing, free to share their unique gifts with the world and I am so grateful for the women before me who have publicly embraced their bodies at every size.

Wherever you are on the journey, may these words guide your way home.

Do not be afraid to take up space. Consciously expand until your presence rivals galaxies. Should your body say anything about Who You Are, let it say nothing of willpower or self-control, let it tell the story of your curiosity, your bravery, your compassion. Should you seek to be less of anything, may you be less worried about making yourself look acceptable.

May the only picture of your progress be the feeling of expansion in your Spirit. When you go looking for validation or your sense of Self, may you go only to the Source of all Love that lives inside of you.

May you appreciate your body as the temporary home your soul chose to inhabit. May you honor her sovereignty and listen to her wisdom. May you praise her in public and pleasure her in private.

When you look at your body may you see our mother earth incarnate; in every crevice and fault line, in the veins that run like rivers, in all the mountains and valleys that ripple across your skin.

And when the time comes for you to leave, may it be with gratitude as the veil is lifted and the joy of returning to the infinite oneness from which you came... can no longer be contained.

Jae x

If you are looking for more on this topic, check out the recommended resources below. I also run a weekly circle called ‘Love the Skin You’re In’ and I’d love to have you along. (If you’re based in SE Qld / Northern NSW, check it out here > https://www.eventbrite.com.au/e/love-the-skin-youre-in-tickets-626697347637)

Recommended Resources

Embrace the documentary - https://bodyimagemovement.com/embrace-the-documentary/

The Well-Fed Woman - www.rachelwcole.com/blog

Poodle Science - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H89QQfXtc-k

I Didn’t Wake up Like this - https://www.buzzfeed.com/sonamkapoor/i-didnt-wake-up-like-this?utm_term=.clmdDBLaw#.kboeY8g6O

10 Principles of Intuitive Eating - http://www.intuitiveeating.com/content/10-principles-intuitive-eating

Psychology of Eating Podcast - http://psychologyofeating.com/podcasts/

Lauren Beckett, Body Love Coach - http://dropthestruggle.com/

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shiteating · 2 years ago

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this is the most painfully unfunny thing ive seen all week not even bc its a 9/11 joke mostly because the "everything is yuri" joke is wearing so thin. i dont know how to express my feelings on it, but i always thought the memes himejoshi made were incredibly derivative, they were always edits of fujoshi memes. i was happy to see a joke that is at least somewhat original come out, but i foresaw it getting old quickly because if the english speaking himejoshi community is good at anything it's beating the dead horse. it got old VERY fast.

...months ago. i was already sick of it months ago, but it didn't super bother me or anything. but something about this just feels so... lazy... so "this has nothing to do with anything" that even casts away any excuse of abstract/absurdist humor its just.....huh. is that it? huh.

ive talked about my issues with yuri fandom sense of humor on twitter before but it was circle tweets and i am not logging back in to cap anything so i'll just say it in the fastest way possible. you guys are so scared of being cringe and vunerable like people are with yaoi or even het that it comes off as double cringe. you want to seem more cultured and mature so bad and like youre above it all that you actually come off as the opposite of all of that. anyway idk how this all came down into "you" suddenly bc i sound mad probably when i'm not, but we really do not have our own memes and when we do its stuff that gets beaten to death for years. im not gonna even get into the aquarium jokes and how much those get under my skin bc... see im not gonna get into it. im not

anyway sometimes i wanna say its NOT yuri!!! i have no idea where people get their idea of yuri from!!! its such weird self loathing and not even in a funny way, or the people who will shit on catholic yuri and/or class s but then use their "cliches" in a joke format. im so bad at expressing myself when its an issue of frustration but someone has to understand at least 20% of what im trying to get at right?? top 10 reasons i will never associate with yuri fans despite being a yurihead

#im a lesbian

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x-ceirios-x · 11 months ago

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City of Fallen Angels, Chapter 16: New York City Angels

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“I can’t find Simon.”

Rowan, who was incredibly bored now that all their friends except Izzy left, was leaning against a pillar inside Ironworks, trying their best to look like they were having fun and being a wallflower, not loathing every moment they spent alone. They looked up at Jordan through their eyelashes, eyes narrowing for a moment as they took in what he said. He was certainly an interesting guy; they heard things through the grapevine—Isabelle—about his history with Maia, the Praetor, how he and Simon actually became friends, etc. He was dedicated, that was for sure.

“Isn’t that your job?” they asked. “You’re his keeper or bodyguard or whatever.”

Isabelle, who’d gone to get herself another drink, suddenly reappeared next to them, hovering over their shoulder like a scantily-clad, weapon-for-jewelry wearing bee. They never liked bees, not that they remembered, but Isabelle was a nice bee. Things had been unspokenly awkward between them lately and they had yet to figure out the source of it, but they could bond over their mutual dislike of people they were forced to live with. “What’s wrong with Simon?” she asked.

“Everything?” Rowan offered, mostly joking. Isabelle snickered.

“I can’t find him.”

Her face suddenly turned serious. “Isn’t that your job?”

“See, that’s what I said—“

“He told me he was going to be right back. That was forty minutes ago. I thought he was going to the bathroom.”

“What kind of guardian are you? Shouldn’t you have gone to the bathroom with him?”

Jordan looked horrified. “Dudes,” he said, “do not follow other dudes to the bathroom.”

“Why would you not follow your friends to the bathroom? Strength in numbers!”

Rowan scoffed. “I’m not even a chick and I know that one. I don’t go in the bathroom, but I’ll chill outside until she’s done.”

Isabelle sighed. “Latent homosexual panic will do you in every time,” she said. Rowan had a hard time stifling their laughter at Jordan’s face. “Come on. Let’s look for him.”

They circled the party, moving in and out among the guests. Alec was sulking alone at a table, playing with an empty champagne glass. “No, I haven’t seen him,” he said in response to their question. “Though admittedly, I haven’t been looking.”

Tired of watching him wallow in self pity, Rowan grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him upright. They restrained themselves from grabbing him by the ear. “Well, then, you can join us,” they said in a fake, sickeningly sweet tone.

“It’ll give you something to do besides look miserable,” Isabelle said before turning on her heel and dragging them off in another direction.

Alec followed without argument. He leaned down to speak in Rowan’s ear, “since when are you two finishing each other’s sentences and being best friends?”

“Six weeks of missing my best friend and dealing with Jace’s sister and my father,” they muttered, nudging his arm with their elbow so he looked ahead, noticing that Isabelle and Jordan had turned.

After another few minutes of looking, to no avail, they decided to split up. Jordan went outside to check the terraces and entryway. Isabelle took the party area. Alec headed upstairs to search the catwalks and second floor. When Rowan was about to speak up to offer to search the party hall with Isabelle since there were so many people, they were yanked off in the direction of the stairs, and they decided their fate was to search with Alec. According to him, at least; they didn’t complain.

The ascent was silent, as was the searching in the first few rooms they checked. Alec had a nervous energy about him that didn’t just look miserable anymore, one that made them think he was hesitating to tell them something. “Out with it,” they said, shining their witch light into yet another empty room.

He hesitated but finally spit out the words. “Are you mad that I left with Magnus? That’s not the first time you mentioned something about it.”

They scoffed. “Guilty conscience, much?” they asked, watching as he fiddled with his fingers as they walked down the hallway. “No, I’m not upset about it. You deserved a break more than anyone.”

“I just up and left when you guys needed me, though—“

Rowan spun on their heel and stopped in front of him, holding their hand out to stop him, too. “And when we needed you, we called,” they said, their voice suddenly much softer than it had been a moment ago.

To their surprise, Alec didn’t say anything. He was known to do that, especially when he was in one of his brooding moods, but that wasn’t what shocked them. Without another word, he wrapped his arms around them and held them tight. They felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate, slowly but surely, and they relaxed into him, too. “I missed you, too,” they said, teasing him gently, but mostly serious. Because they had missed him.

Alec pulled away after a moment, one that they wished was a little longer, and sighed. “I’m sorry, I just…”

They shook their head at him. “Don’t apologize. I needed that, too.” They offered an encouraging smile, hoping it might cheer him up. Things had been so tense at the Institute that they felt like they forgot to breathe—having a moment to relax with someone they knew they could was something they didn’t know they needed.

They continued walking, up through the catwalks, watching the crowd below them. They spotted Isabelle in the crowd, and Maia, and Luke and Jocelyn. Unfortunately, no Simon.

“You’re awfully quiet for insisting you missed me,” Alec said, very obviously trying to kill the awkward silence between them. He wasn’t cheerful by any means, but he was trying to make small talk. “By now you’d usually be telling me about whatever new book you’re reading.”

“Haven’t had the energy to read,” they muttered, more interested in scanning the crowd than they were in conversation, though it wasn’t Alec’s fault. The longer they went without seeing Simon, the more this pit in their stomach grew—something felt wrong, but they couldn’t place it. They have a sneaking suspicion he was in trouble but there was no proof yet, which meant there was no reason to panic. Not yet. There was no point in lying to Alec, though—any other excuse to not read, he would have seen through.

He hummed in response. “How’re things with Clary?”

“I would really like to focus,” they said with more harshness in their voice than they intended. They took a breath and reeled themselves in. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I’m just…worried about Simon.”

“I can tell.”

Rowan turned around to see Alec, who was looking at them with a slightly smug, vaguely amused look on his face. He didn’t seem to be out of his funk he was stuck in concerning his anxieties with Magnus, but apparently they were a good distraction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I think you’ll figure it out. You’re clever.”

“I do hate when you’re cryptic.”

“You don’t, you just don’t like not knowing things.”

Rowan made a frustrated noise and swatted his arm. “I hate you, Alec Lightwood.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

They didn’t feel any lighter by the time the group reconvened after learning that no one else had found him, either. Alec stood close to them protectively as they fiddled with their ring, thinking through several plans of what to do and considering where he might be, or where they could find clues to that.

“He isn’t here,” Isabelle said.

Jordan swore, then stared guiltily at Maia. “Sorry.”

“I’ve heard worse,” she said. Isabelle, through her anxiety, found the humor to smirk and glance at Rowan, who was known to have a worse mouth than that, especially lately. They barely noticed. “So what’s the next step? Anyone tried calling him?”

“Straight to voicemail,” Jordan said.

“Any idea where he might have gone?” asked Alec, mostly looking at Rowan and Isabelle.

“Best case scenario, maybe back to the apartment,” said Jordan. “Worst, those people who’ve been after him finally got him.”

“People who what?” Alec looked bewildered. Rowan hadn’t mentioned anything to him about people hunting down Simon, metaphorically or otherwise. No one had gotten the chance to fill him in.

“I’m going to head back to the apartment and look for him,” said Jordan. “If he’s there, great. If not, that’s still where I should start. They know where he lives; they’ve been sending us messages there. Maybe there’ll be a message.” He didn’t sound too hopeful.

Rowan spoke for the first time in several minutes. They had a white-knuckle grip on the back of the chair in front of them, and shoved their opposite hand in their pocket. It stopped them from fidgeting with the ring when they needed to focus. “I’m coming along,” they said with a sense of finality that left little room for argument. They’d always been good at arguing and standing their ground when they had to—something they assumed they inherited from their mother.

“You don’t have to—“

“Yes, I do,” they said. If looks could kill, Jordan would have been dead on the floor; they shot daggers into him, challenging him to argue. “I promised him help. I promised him I was going to figure this out for him, and I plan to. And if he’s in trouble—”

“I’m having a crap time at this party anyway,” Isabelle said, giving Rowan a knowing look. They all got their point and no one was going to argue with them anymore. “Let’s see what we can do with the three of us.”

“Four,” Alec muttered, looking a little relieved that he had a way out.

“Four of you?” Maia asked, a tone of delicate annoyance shading her voice.

“Are you coming, too?” Rowan doubted they sounded as interested as they meant to but they didn’t have half a mind to care at the moment.

“It's Simon,” she said, as if that decided everything. “I’ll go get my coat.”

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natikokoarchive · 2 years ago

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Tilly, Marlon and Adrian During their first meeting

okay. Sorry for the little hiatus!!! Was working on different stuff and dealing with stuff. anyways here’s the cringefail wifefail husbandloser otp3 ever

- okay, so. Post Octo expansion. Maybe around five months after it happened. These three are complete messes but for entirely different reasons loosely strung together into one.

- Eight is still weary of Tilly because she almost like kinda killed her. She still interacts with her, though. They’re on friendly terms (she guesses) just hesitant.

- Tilly is consumed with guilt. It’s no way she allowed an evil old-timey telephone to brainwash her and almost kill someone. Thats literally something out of a cartoon and she somehow fell victim to it. and she almost SUCCEEDED.

• this is before Tilly transitioned btw. I don’t think it’s right to deadname her

- Adrian feels as if he can’t compare to the elusive Agent 3 and that he was sorta a last resort and doesn’t feel needed afterwards. He’s scared and anxious because he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go, after sleeping at tentakeel outpost every night during the campaign.

- They all meet each other. It’s awkward. Tilly shows up with a scarred, healing eye, Adrian with nervousness practically radiating off of him and Eight presenting herself a new name: Marlon.

- They’re quiet— Tilly never released there even was an Agent 4 until this moment and is reeling, Agent 8 doesn’t necessarily know how to communicate with this new Agent (even after a few months, interacting with new Inklings outside of her immediate circle is intimidating) and Agent 4 is confused as to why there’s an Octoling here when they’re goal is to stop the Octarian Menace (poor guy doesn’t know anything better).

- There sit together in a simple circle, because despite the hesitancy and uncomfortableness, they’re agents first and foremost, and you’re got to talk to each other for their partnership to work unhindered.

- Tilly eventually breaks the ice; a simple, “what’s your name?” directed towards Adrian. He’s quiet, but he murmurs his name and she proceeds to ask about his journey of retrieving the Great zapfish and saving Callie and it snowballs from there. The tension subsides and talking becomes easier. After an hour or so, they’re talking as if their first encounters weren’t marred with a sullen undertone.

• Adrian comes out of his shell, Marlon cracks a smile and Tilly realizes something about herself.

- Tilly and Marlon talk about the events of the Metro, alone. Tilly wholeheartedly apologizes for what happened— she blames herself. Marlon probably spent months trying to escape underground, and Tilly dragged her straight back down into hell. If only she hadn’t been so confrontational on Mount Nantai, then none of this wouldn’t have happened.

• Tilly doesn’t mean to cry that much; it burns her healing eye and all. Marlon’s face never changes, but, perhaps if you look close enough, her clenched jaw trembles slightly.

- While Tilly shoulders the blame, Marlon explains her perspective: without Tilly interruption, she would’ve made it to the surface, unguided and without resources, without a home or food. During her time underground, she met Off the Hook, Cuttlefish, and Squid Sisters; all helpful in her well-being today. Yes, it was horrendous in the Metro, but the aftermath was reawarding.

• Plus, Marlon doesn’t even remember their meeting. If anything, she could’ve been the aggressor and Tilly was just defending herself and Cuttlefish; or maybe Tilly was just in a such a state of self-loathing that she just blamed herself for everything.

- They come to a state of deep understanding and quiet trust. They’re the only ones in the world who’s experienced something like that. They can’t separate themselves now.

- They find Adrian an enjoyable companion. He’s quiet, but with a underline of confidence that’s unparalleled with anyone else. He just needs it to be nurtured.

- Their meetup ends, and everyone departs feeling satisfied. The next day’ll be different.

• Callie and Marie, the organizers of their little meetup, think to themselves, they should do this more often.

#splatoon headcanons #agent 3 (tilly)#agent 4 (adrian)#agent 8 (marlon)#splatoon ocs #splatoon #my agents #uhhh sorry for getting sentimental ig #lol hate them so much

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

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DENTIST THE BAD BOI (PART2)

Word Count: 17k.

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Y/N's much tolerable when less grumpy then more kissable, more loveable and cuddleable and Harry wants to be more than just fuck buddies that he ends up giving Y/N a tooth ache.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff, smut and domestic love.

MASTERLIST | REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN | PART 1

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

Harry’s lips quirks up into a loopish smile at that and he hoists his knee up and above, sinking his palms into her soft mattress besides her temple and blocks the mellow sunshine that peeks through her lace curtains. Her heart squeezes out of her rib-bones and turns gooey somewhere within her insides as her lungs fill with his minty and warm ardour and if she'd be not this flushed and throbbing between her sticky thighs she'd have cracked a dentist joke.

“Y’want me to lick y'cookie f'ye?” He gives her a bunny grin and his fingertips tickles her shoulder; milky skin twinkling at him from the neckline of her shirt that’s barely sitting there and she pouts raising her hands to smack his chest, but he grabs them and tugs her forward, tutting sternly, “I want an answer.” His foresty pupils darkens around rims and her throat turns scratchy. So, she bobs her head up and down eagerly, feeling the metal around his fingers smouldering into her wrist and the thought of it on her clit makes her mewl.

It dings his adam apple sexily and his eyes turn soft and cheeks rosy, Harry doesn’t know what she likes or not so he’s gonna start tentative and careful and gradually ease her into taking big things after, letting her drip onto sheets for hours if she’d like him edging and teasing her.

She watches him with doe-innocent eyes and Harry almost ruts his hips against the mattress from the way his cock twitches weepily -- sensitive against the fabric of his joggers.

He keeps their intense eye contact while sliding back down between her legs and cares his calloused warm palms under the back of her cushiony fleshy thighs and bends her knees up, his eyes flicker towards her tummy that exposes to him when she stretches out gracefully in reaction to his tingling touch.

Making sure she’s alright, his nimble taps her ankle and when she breathes out a whiny “yes.”,

He gropes the insides of her thighs and spreads them apart and presses them down letting her make puny noises when the cool air teases her folds, she smells so good for him, “Already such a puddle, Muffy. G'na gimme a sugar rush from ye'sweetness.” He darts his pink tongue out to moisturize his petal lip and his grunt pleased and heavy upon seeing her gush more arousal just from listening him talk.

He spreads her swollen pussylips apart with his middle and pointer finger and her chin tips towards the ceiling, mouth apart around a gasp when he glints a smirk towards her all while poking his tongue out and flattening it against her clenching entrance and licks her juices up.

“Does it feel good?” He hums nonchalantly nosing at her little button and paints his lips with her wetness. She stays a bit stiff. Not making any move and staying put in her position. Harry takes her clit between his teeth when she whimpers out and her body turns taut, her hands balling at her sides.

“Y've t’use y’words with me, moppet. It works two ways, always.” His hands reaches blindly for her wrists and he puts them over his poof of hair but it remains fisted and he rubs his big hands up and down where her thighs meets her sweet cunt, “Try t’ relax. Can y'do that fo'me, pet?”

His brows pinches together into a frown. His glistening lips from her turning into a grumpy pout when she doesn’t respond — was he unable to make her feel hot and excited? she should tell him if she didn’t like it.

“Y/N ...” He raises his head slowly from between her thighs and his jaw goes slack, his eyes bursting wide seeing her holding her breath and hiding her face underneath her forearm, “Shit. Shit. Y/N!” He’s quickly crawling towards her and sliding his hand under her back, brings her to his chest with his fingers wrapped around the nook of her elbow.

“Breathe, Sweetheart. ‘s okay.” Is this what she was talking about? Is this why she has specific days for touching herself? Poor bambi. He massages her back with tender circles and sighs in relief when he feels her chest calming down back to normal.

“Y/N ...” He pushes her away from shoulders to look down at her sternly and takes her hair into his grasp and slinks them to side, “What’s happenin’ with ye'muffy?” He gives her a downturn of lips and quirk of brow indicating her that there isn’t any escape for this time.

For fuck’s sake! He’s her bestfriend. He should know atleast that she’s alright!

He gauges for her eyes when she presses her palms into his knees and lifts her bum a tad from the sheets, shy embarrassment turning the tips of her ears pink, manipulating her toffee lip in her mouth and Harry pushes back the hair that are falling in her eyes.

She’s feeling hell load giddy and humiliated to tell him this.

Harry startles back, blinking rapidly when she squeaks out in one breath, “’M scared to hurt you!” He pulls her forward with his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and frowns.

His touch with her tender and un-conceit, when usually he’s a domineering in bed and riles them enough for them to beg and moan pathetically for him.

“What? Scared ---.. hurt?” He tries to piece what she said together but it doesn’t make any sense. So, he guesses that he'd have to pry some more from her, “What're ye' talkin' bout muffy?” He sighs noticing the way she clenches the hem of her shirt and mumbles something but Harry’s giving her a piercing glare and it makes her ramble anxiously.

His hand affixed at her skimmed from under her shirt and his thumb keeps on circling her hip-bone.

“’M afraid that I’ll get all horny ‘n loose all my senses and be all rough with you, ending up hurtin'y and I’ll be too engulfed in pleasure that you wouldn’t be able to stop me ....” She fiddles her fingers vigorously in Harry’s hand and he's cutting her with a tut, “That’s the point silly girl.” He chuckles amused at her and she shakes her head whining up at him with a surly expression. The corners of her eyes pinkish and watery from forcing herself to feel the pleasure Harry’s tongue was devoting her.

“But, Harry ‘m not some insatiable monster!!” His heart thuds at the concerned worrisome look on her angelic features and he’s cupping her cheeks, he curses out internally to whoever told her this and his lip grouches up, “You’re not some insatiable monster. Who the fuck fed you this bullshit?” He scolds her and it makes her fleet her gaze away from him.

“You’re not —-... what the fuck, Y/N. Tell me their name so I could break their jaw.” He gasps in shock and he spits in venom. Knuckling at her chin to prop it high infront of him and doesn’t break the cogent eye contact -– his eyes full of hatred and loath for the person.

That damn person who made his Bambi, so insecure and conscious and self-degrading about herself.

“The guy –,” She stutters. He gives her an encouraging hum and she plays with his rings, she knows that he’ll never make fun of her about it and mighty be understanding.

He has always been.

But sometimes he laughs at the worst moments. Not his fault. She has adopted that habit too from living with him.

Right now though. He looks very serious and furious, it creeps heat up her throat.

“The guy I lost my virginity to. He said – he ... umm said that I hurt him when I flipped him underneath me and was being selfish asking him to you know ...?” She mumbles, uncertain if she’s putting it out right and Harry runs his fingers through his curls gripping at the roots and groans in annoyance, properly vexed.

“Firstly muffy. Virginity isn’t a thing. It’s a term made by egoistic men like that prick of a guy, secondly did he make you cum?” His voice tones down gentle and caring. He lays her down and settles her head on the pillow and she's still fisting his shirt in her hands.

He grimaces when she shakes her head, her eyes owlish and glossy pointing down, “Everything was so dry that I wasn’t able to enjoy it ...” She winces remembering it and Harry cradles her face cooing delicately, “Oh Bambi. It was, ‘cos ye' weren’t aroused enough.” But, she’s now. With Harry ontop of her and being all warm and lovey and handling her as if she’s fine china, she could feel gooey wetness sticked to her thighs.

For first time in her life. She feels relaxed and light headed talking about it.

So, she continues, “ .. and it was bit disgusting, he came all over my tummy ‘cos he didn’t have a condom.” At this he grumps, his nostrils flares and pinches the bridge of his nose to keep him sane, “What a cheap bastard!” She giggles at his outrage and he just gives a fluttery smile to her shaking his curls.

He pets the sheen on her cheek away and gazes her sincerely, “You shouldn’t trust everyone and anyone, pet. ‘S a cruel world out there.” The fact that if he’d have came inside her boils Harry’s blood -- she'd have gotten the worst thing happen to her.

He just feels so protective of her. If he’d be able to keep her safe under his shield to scare away bastards like that guy he gladly will.

“Now, hear me Bambi eyed. We never have unprotected sex with strangers and never let ‘em make y’feel bad fo' wantin’ t’be pleasured .. if two people consent fo' it then both ‘ve to fulfil eachother’s desire. Am I clear?” His tone gruff and firm. She suckles her lower lip inside her mouth and nods quickly.

Something about him commanding and lecturing her making a fire fuse in the pit of her tummy and it makes her salivate down a whimper, which sure didn’t go unnoticed by Harry’s side and his lips are quirking into vivacious grin.

He’s retreating back between her legs keeping a cautious gaze on her as if she’s a prey and one move will wither her away, “’N fo’ being rough. I like it rough. Y'could d'all of that with me without being embarrassed.” His smirk dripping with wickedness and Y/N’s head jerks back at the thought of him seeing forward to do more of this with her.

His palm lays sturdy and pressed to her belly, his puckering lips against the inside of her thigh parts around a silent groan when he feels her belly quiver.

He embeds slobbery kisses to where she’s clenched impatiently for him and he pushes his fingers against her clit and slides them up and down between her puffy folds, love creating soppy filthy noises and gives a kitten lap to her then attaches his lip to her smudgy hole murmuring against her breathily to make her feel the electricity till her core.

“Will love havin' ye'tiny fingers pullin' at me hair with a swimy brain. Buckin'y hips into my mouth begging me to ruin yer cunt with my tongue and ‘ave me dancin' on y'palm, extractin’ out glutinous grunty moans within me chest -- it’ll not be just moans, no! —- a viscous toe curlin' sound that’d rumble savagely in my throat a warning fo’ you to keep these gorgeous thighs open fo' me to eat you out as I wish and my large hands will belt ‘round y'waist digging my nails into your dimples when you'll scratch my back ‘n it’ll leave angry marks behind — a reminder fo’ you how much I fuckin' loved you being horny as the deepest burnin' of hells.” She’s panting and sobbing for a cusp of breath manoeuvring her fingers in the tufts of his silky mess of curls and tugs at it and shoves her cunt, grinding against his chin. The softness of his cheeks glittering her bones and she’s falling wider apart from him, and he grins.

Noses at her throbbing clit and sucks it in her mouth and massages her pussy with her own lubrication and how much he picks it on his tongue she’s ready to give him more and he’s moaning with fierce ruby lips wrapping around her fluttering pussy folds, moving his mouth every where and it elicits a choppy whine from her.

“Fuck. Look at'y ... s'innocent but such a dirty little girl fo' me.” He dips his fingers merely into her and swipes up a cardinal push against her spongey wall and treats it back.

It’s too much for, Y/N. Everything. His wanton words better than those audios, his warm tongue on her and the strength of his arms holding her down, his flushed out cheeks and the teasing and teetering he's doing to give her an orgasm that sprays cosmic stars into her fogginess and she doesn’t even know that cloy moans of, “yes.yes.yes.” are dripping from her and he’s boring his face back into her when he latches away from her sweet pussy with the help of his elbow.

“I want you to say it.” There’s pause in the string of her racing heart and her brows hitches in confusion, though he doesn’t give her enough time and moves her pussylips apart letting his nails graze at them gently.

She’s squealing in surprise and jolting up with exhilarating sensation when he spits at her and watches it trickle down her bum, thick and honeyed with lust-fond eyes.

She’s erupting into startled moans when he grunts spitting again and makes her little cunt the messiest thing, “Say it. Say that yer dirty little —-,” She cuts him with a sharp and whiny yawp and plunges her nails into his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.

“I’m a dirty little girl, f'you. Just you. Just you. Just you ....” Her voice tones down into coy whispers stuffed to the pillow as her body anchors stintingly from her bed and Harry’s hand slides from her torso down her ass and gropes at it keeping her coupled to his mouth as she coats his chin and his lips and his cheeks with her cum and his own spit and he’s murmuring grittily, “Yeah moppet. Mhmp. Come in me mouth. Fill it all, such a good girl.” He nips and tucks at her making her satiate through her high and places a kiss to her clit for the last time when she thrashes from sensitiveness before moving away.

“Sensitive lil thing ye'r.” He murmurs rubbing her thighs to coax her down and feels goosebumps prick on her skin, glances up and finds her a beautiful colour of pink and peach and her hair nested as a halo on the pillow.

She’s just so beautiful in many ways, it aches his heart.

He’s flopping to her side and poking her cheek earning a tick of ravenous smile and he watches as her irises moves under her closed lids.

“That was ... hmm.” She hums sluggishly knuckling at her eyes and Harry muses out a chuckle, before she could come up with a dentist joke he's cracking it himself sensing her gears working in that tiny head of hers, “Very filling?” That makes her hide her face into his neck and giggle.

“Yeah. Could say that.” She rests her chin on his shoulder and poses her brows questioningly when his stuffy pocket pokes at her thigh, “What’s that?” He didn’t realise he was too swamped in admiring the specks of her hazelness pouring with sunlight and he’s blinking back to re-start himself.

“Oh! This ..?” He’s taking out it slowly and she’s whining and shaking him to hurry up and he’s giggling at how impatient she could get when curious.

She holds it infront of her and it’s a cute green beanie with a little gucci embroidered at where it gets folded and her smile dejects when Harry speaks, “One of my colleagues gifted me this as a birthday present.” Why didn’t she thought about gifting him this for his birthday? Not that she has money for Gucci but they've been celebrating for three years and not once she didn’t get an idea that he wears beanies alot and mighty would like it?

Anyway, it’s far better than the painting of snowy and a mason jar filled with candy wrappers having her appreciations and dentist jokes written to their backside she gifted him, Y/N pouts thinking how she could’ve get him something useful.

Harry doesn’t care about materialistic things. He says that you could buy them anytime and that money is just the murk of your palm, it goes away in one wash -- the little shows of affection always are by your side in hard times.

“Hey Muffy...” He's yawning nudging her side noticing how she zones out and away from him, “D'ya have some chamomile tea?” Her chin slips from her shoulder at the sudden rasp.

“What? Why?” She gazes him. His body slumpy and tired over her and his mouth ajar cutely, she scratches his scalp lightly and swears that he let out the softest purr.

“Was in the operation theatre fo' hours now, just came from there -- emergency case. It was bad.” He emphasizes it getting a lisp a bit and she sits up closer to him.

“What happened to the person? She asks hoping they’re okay and have any hopes for recovery.

He just fiddles away the beanie from her grip and covers her head with it folding and adjusting it over her ears, “Not tellin' ya ...” He murmurs rubbing his nose into her arm and sniffs her saccharine scent. He knows that she doesn’t take the stories from his workplace well and it keeps her awake at nights, then she’s visiting the patient herself and Harry have to drag her out of his hospital every damn time.

She cares too much. Even for strangers. She’s too kind for her own sake and Harry thinks sometimes being selfish should be the latter option.

He squints open his one eye feeling her gaze fixated on him and huffs a lil, his little stubborn bambi, she wouldn’t let it go, “Fine. They were comin' back from a party and were high maybe -- car crashed badly dentin' towards the passenger’s side ‘n totally dislocated her jaw, now y’promise me you aren’t gettin' too worrisome ‘bout her because she’s okay.” Saying this he's cuddling back into her and she smiles a bit petting his back.

“Whatever, you say Dr. Styles.” He didn’t even need a tranquilizing tea anymore. Her warmth and squishiness was more than enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

It’s an otiose Saturday morning. Harry and Y/N just gobbled down oatmeal she made (topped with kiwis, mangoes and strawberries Harry brought from market and threw the bag in her lap) it had too much of coconut and sugar layer than necessary, according to Harry.

While she cleaned the countertops Harry fed and kissed the crowns of each one of their cat, yet again they were left with nothing to do —- that's how Y/N ended up straddling his waist, his jaw fit in her palm and his eyes half-open funnily as she applies a liner at his lid with her pink tongue poked out in concentration.

“Stop movin’,” She snits out in a huff and the skirts of his lips alleviates up into a cheeky evil grin, his hands pawing at her hips and his intentionally dirty gaze flitters down where her nipples are perking from the flimsy shirt and almost presses to his throat, “How'm supposed to when y’tits are ready to lactate me mouth?” Blush creeps up at her cheeks at his overweening and she wanted to give out an “Oh.” Instead grips his baby curls and steadies him, squishing his cheek in doing so as if he’s her toy.

“You better shut up, or ‘m gonna shove my feet up that smug mouth of yours.” She grumps to her own self when her fingers begins to twitch feeling her ear fill with hotness, “And what makes y’think ‘m not into that?” He rockets his brows priggishly with a grin that just screams he’s about to have a upper hand in this banter of their.

“Harry you disgraceful, man!” She whines trying to pull his face upright – he’s doing it on purpose trying to push her buttons and his eyes widens in feign hurt, “’M a very holy man!” His one eye adorned with charcoal coloured liner making him look adorable.

He’s far from any of that. They both know it. He’s a nerd slut if Y/N could put into words correctly.

“Yeah. Holy piece of a shit.” She grumbles pressing her bent knee into his side and quips a happy “Tada!!” grabbing the little from beside him and almost shoves it in his face demanding him to look at himself.

Harry brings his lips together and whistles looking at himself, “My murals should be painted everywhere in the city,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Nibbling down a scoff at his narcissism desperate to jump out and points at herself with a shrug of shoulders -- silently trying to telepath with him.

“What?” He murmurs nonchalantly angling his face to have a better look at him.

“Where’s the praise for artist?”

“Why need't when y'know ‘m an art myself.” His rims shine shamelessly and he nips the flesh of his cheek to stifle down a bashful cackle at her retort.

“You’re being too bold for a person who combusts in his pants just by getting his back scratched.” She arches her brow pruriently at him and he shakes his head, brushing the belly of his nose with his knuckle and when he gazes back at her -- she knows that she’s fucked fucked.

“Says who. The dirty little girl who's sitting on her bestfriend’s cock in her panties and shirt that’s doin’ nothin' but makin'y nipples button out shamelessly.” He tuts carnally, sinking into the plush cushions and man-spreads himself so wide Y/N could feel him pressing between her folds. His smirk rottenly sinful and evil and Y/N's palm automatically jams against his torso with a weepy mewl forehead falling against his clavicles.

She wanted to argue that he’s clad in boxers too but all of her sanity went out of the window when he teasingly grinded their crotches together.

“Y'want t'be treated like a bunny, who loves to hop on dick and fucked till you’re just a soft mush -- don't ya?” His hoarse drawl makes her bob her head eagerly making him chuckle and she’s tightening her thick thighs around his waist, hiding her face into the dive of his nice warm smelling neck and keeps her lips sponged to his skin making him grip on her hips with brutal force.

She’s just so sweet to Harry. A hot pink puddle at his mere touch and all clingy to him, shrinking into him with shyness and all of this just stirs his cock angrily sensitive.

He’s always getting a stiffy thinking about her and her honeyed taste he got to lap on and he's always smelling one of his pillows that has her fragrance loaded on it, while cupping his balls and stroking his cock lazily and hard, with other.

Though his assertive words wavers into a whimperish groan when Y/N takes her face out and gazes him with doe-warm eyes, “I w'na make you feel good.” Harry throbs under her and fattens against his own belly and feels her soaking against his boxers.

“Y'do? ‘s okay —.” His chest heaves with ragged breathes from anticipation and yearn and he knows that taking care of himself would be a torture if she’d tell him a, “no.” But then he isn’t that of a prick and is awfully happy to get what he’s getting, their infinite proximity.

His head teeters back and his pelvis buckles up when she clutched the hem of his sweatshirt and uttered a poutsih, “please..” She’s nourishing a breath and gazing up at him with glossy chocolate eyes blabbering while swivelling herself slowly ontop of him, “You’re looking s' pretty and cato eyes -—.. and you’re stuffed against me s'good. I want –- I want to make y'feel amazing.” Harry’s choking a growlish moan and the urge to just throw her on couch and snug his large cock deep within her.

Her brows pinches together and she has him grabbed from shoulders while she looks between them, listening to his purry hisses and lewd moans, it makes her redden her lip –- she could see his bulbous sherbet coloured tip coated in his own arousal wrestling out of his boxers as the fabric bunches and loosens down with each stroke of her cunt against him.

“Y'want to make me feel, amazin'? Fuck. You’re devastatin' me love -- yeah, mhmph hump me prick moppet.” Her eyelids lust filled and she moans against his chin as he breathes out a euphoric smile and Y/N gains a new confidence pushing herself down on his cock harder and firmer and faster.

The fabric of his boxers tickling his wet slit and he’s smushing his cheek into her soft chest, hugging and murmuring nonsense against her when Y/N sneaks her hand down and fills her hands with his heavy cum loaded balls and Harry doesn’t know how she was able to press him under the pad of her pinky in a span of minute.

Because he’s begging all for her mercy.

He howls a whine when she sucks his earlobe wetly and grazes it to speak in the sweetest yet licentious seductiveness and Harry’s almost naked under her, “Jeez. Hmm. Yes, just like that –- Bambi. My Bambi. Makes me feel — oh fuck!” His knuckles white from where he's groping the cheek of her ass and guiding her where her mound nudges him more good and drafts him straight to heaven.

“Tell me, huh. Who’s the dirty one now?” She smirks squeezing his balls yanking the sweaty ringlets on the base of his neck and they’ve their bodies on eachother, their hands on eachother and Y/N had an audacity to compete.

He’s trashing his spine into a curve and pulling her back down on his dick. She squeals when his cock grazes her pantie line and slips up and down against her cushiony thigh slobbering it with his pre-come.

“Me, me! Fuck .. pet, ‘s me ...” His hand tightens around her ribs and his hand tightens around her ribs and he’s dragging her back and forth -- socked toes curling and teeth gnawing at the pudding of her cheek. His thighs quaking and his strong forearms brings her closer to his chest, as the pressure coils in his stomach and the gentle caress and guttural bite on the slop of his collarbone was enough to burst spurts of cum in his boxers and it quenches onto his tummy and to the inside of her thighs making a sloppy mess.

“Shit.” He mutters through a chuckle. His chin butted atop her head and she giggles moving away.

Her shirt ridden up, her panties bunched up into her ass-cheeks and Harry admires her with a celestial flush on his skin and she circles her fingers together.

She just rode his prick dry and looks like she did the most innocent thing in the world.

“’M g'na go clean myself.” Harry smiles at her squealing pitch and then realization dawns upon him, she’s talking about his jizz on her tickling her skin getting flustered and knackered feeling it. Though, it’s not only his jizz but her panties are drenched into her own salvation making it see through and her wet pussy on display.

He just gulps and nod, like an atta puppy.

Lavish green leaves rustles together, the soil of green-belt moist and watered recently, early morning sky swirls of blues and it’s beautiful it really is the weather isn’t too sunny – the silence in his car is comforting too and the rum of his breath makes her feel nostalgic.

But, she wanted to sleep her arse off on Sunday and do nothing and be proud of being idle whole day. Harry had different plans though –- he was jumping on her bed making her wobble on it in her sleepy state and dragged her to washroom how much she whined and fought with him.

“Oh. C’mon now, muffin .. it’ll be fun, Ni would be there too.” He tries to reason her and she just brings her knees up into her and closes her eyes, muttering in monotone.

“Nothing’s fun about golfing, Harry.” It’s little get together of his colleagues and the doctors from his hospital and Harry thought he'd die from boredom if he wouldn’t bring her with him, he isn’t one bit of interested into old men talking about how their third wife drools over them – he isn’t very fond of lies.

“Not even me? How could y’say no to me?” He gasps dramatically. Scrunched his nose and twitches his lips in fake offend.

She opens her eyes for a moment and stares at him, “Just like that,” Pinches his elbow and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Harry, no.”

“Yeah, Whatever.” He rolls his lips between his fingers and takes a turn and when they reach he's putting sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, unfolding her arms that are wrapped around herself and nudges her to be less grumpy.

“’Ve a reputation yeah .. be less frumpy.” She pokes her tongue out and Harry lurches his hand forward scaring her that he'd grab it.

“Those dilfs already kisses the tips of my shoes.” She hops out of the car and clasps her hands atop of her head stretches out and yawns out loudly.

Harry’s head perks up alarmingly at that from the boot of his car and he swings the golfing kit on his shoulder and rolls his eyes from under his sunnies, pushing her forward with a small hand on her back.

“Yeah, more like grandpas.” The thought just makes him feel icky and utterly gross – imagining those old doctors —- no he completely wants to brain wash himself.

“Bet, their willies would need heavy assistance —-,” He’s grinning abrasively down at her and she winced swatting his chest, “Harry!” She’s wiggling out of his hold and striding towards where Niall is waving them in utter excitement.

Harry pouts and stomps behind her, calling out for her to slow down and scowls when a grin makes a way at her face as Niall hugs her.

Niall showed her his little nips and tricks. While Harry looked at them with needy eyes from far stuck between the bunch of boring doctors and dentists and his lips visibly downturns when Niall trips and Y/N’s falling on her bum, clutching onto her side with a belly aching laugh.

Ni helps her stand back and it was when a women in pink sports short and Nike tee trudged towards them and Harry at the same moment and Y/N just stares with confusion as they hug and she’s smiling up at him brightly.

“Sorry. I lost the time check.” Harry’s parting away with a shrug, “Not tha' somethin’ special occurred.” and Y/N’s doe-curious eyes remains fixed on them and he's introducing the unknown women to her and Niall’s poking her side to revive her back to mighty world.

“Muffy? She’s one of my colleagues, Holly.” Y/N startled a bit then gives out a nervous smile forwarding her hand to shake it with her and Holly’s pony flails comically from the action.

Soon, she’s turning her attention back towards Harry and smiling up at him questioningly, “Did you rest well after leaving the hospital on Friday?” Y/N just fumbles with Harry’s rings on her knuckles -- not sure if she should go back to golfing with Niall or stay to take part in little conversation because Niall is growing very antsy.

“Yeah. I did, actually .... very well if y'ask so,” Harry's shimmering gaze lurks back on Y/N and she internally groans when he smirks remembering the event and she wants to glare him from the side of her eye.

She’s stepping aside quickly when Holly passes by them and towards the table full of breakfast and beverages.

She pours two cups of coffee and adds two teaspoon of sugar, handing one to Harry and Y/N wants to retort that he doesn’t like coffee and hell not that amount of sugar.

“And Y/N what would y'like coffee, tea?” Holly asks her and Y/N just chuckles gingerly when Harry looks ike he's about to gag when he takes the first sip.

“I don’t drink coffee.” Holly looks like she just saw the end of the world and Y/N holds back from rolling her eyes at her, she's giving her an aura that she doesn’t like Y/N even a bit.

“No? Why?”

“Guess I never needed that much caffeine, my job doesn’t require staying up late and all that ...” Holly sips on her coffee and leans against a chair raising a her brow at her and then asks.

Her style being uptight and arrogant just not sitting right with, Y/N.

“What is your profession?” This ferals Y/N into her thinking pot, is that even a profession? She doesn’t really know and she’s in her own headspace when Harry’s soft eyes worms back to his bambi and his eyes glints with ever proud and his smile toothy and bunny as he puts the cup aside speaking with a hint of fond.

“She’s an artist. A very talented one.” Holly arches her brow at him and hums then looks back at her -- as if she didn’t heard him right.

“So, you make art for living?”

“I do it beacuse I like doing it, just like you.” Y/N chips up and Harry just thinks his admiration grows terribly more every day for her -- because of the passion about anything she holds in that big heart of hers, the way her cheeks rubies up and brows sets into concentration.

That shuts Holly and her train of personal irritating questions.

“Hey! We aren’t here fo' some princess tea party -- can we please, go back to golfing!?” Niall finally bursts like a balloon from annoyance and Y/N's giggling and hooking her arm into his elbow, “You’re sucha cry baby.” She coos and tries to walk him back to pitch but then her gait stutters when Holly asks Harry in an expectant tone.

“Did you like my present?” Why does it layers her chest with mucky awful feeling, her stomach itself tottering and she just huffs thinking how that present sits in her drawer and she’s the one that wears it instead of Harry.

“Oh, I liked it, thank you.” Fucking liar. Y/N just shakes her head and chuckles ironically because he forgot about it the moment he gave it to her.

Y/N’s toes itches with an impulse to expose Harry infront of her.

Where’s that feisty Harry ready to bite anyone expect her and his little group of friends? What did this job do to him? Oh my goodness! Why Y/N is hating all of this so much, why why why!?

Y/N's completely being an over dramatic (she knows that) but she couldn’t help but be bitter about this Holly “oh I could woo Harry just by giving him some beanies from an overly expensive brand.” Gahk! Not in a millennia.

“’Kay, pet now you make yer goal.” Niall shouts squinting to get rid of sunlight in his eyes and Y/N was so engulfed in thinking of how the slight interest and undivided attention of Harry towards Holly makes her feel woozy and something that’s indescribable, until now. That’s when someone came behind her bended figure she – almost making her squeal but he’s shushing her sweetly -- the corner of his lips pressing to the side of her hairline and he takes in her fresh lilies scent.

Two soft beautiful boned structure hands comes raking from her shoulders down her wrists, jostling her almost as he wraps his hands around her sweaty ones and brings the golf club back in air.

“Let's fill those holes together,” His smooth rasp prickles the hair on her body in a most stinging way and she's subsiding down a blush, frowning and unfrowning to concentrate back on playing -- but it’s a fucking torture when his bulging member prominent from his tight little shorts lines up against her bum teasingly.

He was very aware of the big problem that stood between them and she’s turning with his arms still on either side of her -- doing a little knocking on his chest to gain his attention.

“You’ve —-... umm ..” She stammers. Cheeks peachy and her smile nervous. Harry hums in dither gazing down at her softly and that flusters her to living heavens.

Then his eyes follows where she’s staring in curiosity and gentleness and as if she’s ready to take him in her mouth right then and there.

He’s got a stiffy and that in public!

“Oh shit. Sorry, I wasn’t awa —-,” He's creating a little distance between them but she’s quick to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling him closer back to her, “No. No. ‘s okay. I could ‐—.. I could help you ....,” She mutters in a tizz with a hitchy breath and Harry’s dimples indents, cushy smile dancing on his lips and his pinky’s swiping the loose tresses behind her ear.

“If you want to...” She doesn’t know what’s making her more anxious the fact he'll brush her off or that he'll accept her help, but this latter option fills her insides with gales of mushiness and it makes her unsettle her footing.

“I’d love that.” He grins and she’s smiling up at him and Harry screams internally like a teenager at how she manages to be so tender and silken like a gorgeous doll in the most filthiest situations.

He keeps her infront of him to hide the potential tent in his shorts that appeared from no-where, he's being sly and clearly knows that where it came from --- from gawking her peach ass till it wasn’t printed in his mind and he didn’t even know when he was drooling at the thought of squishing her asscheeks and rolling his thumb against her puckering hole and imagining her cute lil whines for him to bore down his thumb into her till she feels his lion ring against her flesh, throwing her hips at him more —- shut up!

Though when the group of men stops them with their evil gazes on his little bambi and they’re smirking up at Harry in mischievousness, “Where you sneakin' Y/N too?” They hollered and Harry had to ball his hand on her hips and bite back from rolling his eyes sharply and rudely,

Because who the fuck they’re to ask? He could take her anywhere and why they do act like they fucking know Y/N from summat eternity, that makes him want to snap at these snobs and warn them not to ever take a step near her.

Ofcourse, he’s very well aware that their intentions towards his sweet bestfriend are evil and filthy -- he wants to punch each one of them at that.

“Just to show ‘er the lake behind,” He's giving them a tight lipped smile and leaving them baffled without giving them more to talk and Y/N giggles at his huffy-ness and pets his knuckles feeling his skin beginning to fume and turn hot against her neck.

Moments later, he's sitting on the bench of empty steam room carmine lips parted and plush are mooched to Y/N's upper belly, his long arms tipsy around her thighs and hair floppy caramel and his palm splays on the side of her waist under her shirt coveting his nails lightly into her pudgy skin – as her soft hand stays dipped into his shorts and she strokes him in gradual pace.

He’s jerking back hitting his head against the vertical mirror that covers the whole wall when she presses her thumb into his palpating tip of cock to coax out his white stickiness and uses it to coat and lube his dick and caress it, “’S’okay c’mere, honey. You’re okay.” She coos cupping the nape of his neck and brings him back to let him bury his face into her pulpy body and kisses his hair, sliding her hand under his jaw to soothe him.

Harry moans uncontrollably and tries to muffle them with choked sobs upon hearing her go all soft on him and he thinks, “honey” Is his new favourite word from now on coming from her mouth and he wants to be called honey from her all the time.

She doesn’t know where the confidence of sweet talking to him came from but the menace for Holly and her being overly sugary with him, just poked her in weird place and she wants to claim where he belongs.

To her.

Always her.

“Bet, your big cock was all achy and weepy for my attention.” She pouts slopping all the way down to his chubby shaft and tightens her grip jerking him speedily. Harry bobs his head vigorously and eagerly hugging her ever close and babbles wetly so she scratches his scalp and almost raises her hips into him when his happy and satisfied mewls fuses into her ears.

“Been —-.. been, fuck!” He gasps bolting shut his eyes when she widened her slick palm down and massaged his heavy taut balls – shaking them playfully with a giggle bitten down her throat, “Been thinkin' ‘bout you whole lot – yer such a doll.” He sighs and she sponges a peck to the side of his forehead.

“Yeah?” Her eyes glints with adore and meekness for him and when he nods with euphoric slipped eyes and rosy cheeks snuggling himself into her she mighty cried a lil.

“G’na cum for me? In my hand? Been treating you so good, honey. Love your cock –- always oozy and slick for me and your moans —- can y'moan fo' me? Show them on whose pinky you’re wrapped on.” She’s breathless but the tenderness and fondness in her voice never fades and Harry’s almost tomato grinding his hips on the bench fucking himself into her palm and brags his teeth together hissing through it.

“G'na cum. G’na cum fo'y and —- oh!” Guttural heavy loud moans are eliciting down his tongue and he’s groaning and whimpering and thrashing under Y/N shooting his gloopy spunk inside her palm and she doesn’t stop, coating his whole eternity with his own cum and digs out some more droplets from his tummy to soak into the pride that she’s the reason he’s this fucked up and ravenous and shaking under her.

She’s throwing her legs on either side of his thighs next and he’s gazing at her intensely from under his thick lashes with lovingness all slumped against the mirror and she’s ducking down to stitch her nose up against his nose and giving him an eskimo kiss and Harry’s lips accommodating back for a nice breather are tingling to lean in and place them on hers in a dotting heart swarming kiss but a knock's interrupting them and she’s quipping back a squeal and jumping on her toes.

Guess she'd just clean her fingers by licking them since there’s no water.

Y/N was painting one of her commission works and for her coming exhibition when Truggers came meowing at her and scraping onto floor, “What d'you want bub?” She asks wiping her fingers on the rag and puts the brush into water cup.

She follows Truggers to their bassinet and almost slips straining her ankle from rushing panicked towards Tum who's jerking in his sleeping position.

She hawks in shock, fear and trembling horror. Her ears deafening. She’s shouting at him and shaking him with tears in her eyes, “Tums? Tummies? Baby!! Wake up!” She cries but the cat doesn’t respond.

“No. No. No!!” She shakes her head sobbing loudly bringing her knees up to her chest and holds her head in her hand not knowing what to do, she calls Rori and she doesn’t even know how much time passed and Rori's hugging her and comforting her taking other kittens to room so they don’t see Tums.

“Call Harry! Call him, please, please, please .... Rori ....” She sobs feeble and painful into Rori's neck and she shushes Y/N. She really tries to but she knows that only Harry could manage to calm her down and she rings him many many times but he doesn’t pick up.

“Harry! I’ve been calling you for ages for fuck’s sake where are you?” So, when he's excusing himself telling that he was having lunch and Holly’s voice is booming through Rori's phone Y/N’s heart drops and shatters into gazillion pieces.

She may not be in right mind, but she’s seriously hurt because Harry never in million years ignore her calls.

Guess having lunch was far important than her or her calls.

It just makes her cry more.

“Wait. What’s happening?” Goosebumps layers on his skin when he hears Y/N crying and he walks away without telling Holly he’s heading out.

“Harry ... Tums, he died in his sleep.” Harry halts in his tracks. Staring at the parking sign blankly and his eyes fills with tears and his breath shudders as he tries to speak, “’M coming.”

Rori left and took Tums with her after tucking Y/N in bed and making sure she’s okay.

Her ears perks up when the door clicks softly accompanied by low sniffles and it pools more moisture in her eyes and the tears trick down her chin and onto pillow — because hearing him cry is just so agonising.

“Muffy ...” The mattress dips behind her and he’s scooching close to her planting his cheek against her shoulder.

His warmth melts her but she recoups wiping her eyes dry and wavers in a thorny voice, “Go away.” She distances herself from him and turns stiff.

“Moppet, please ...” He protests and she hampers herself from snapping at him.

“Go away, Harry. Leave!!” She's muffling her cries into pillow and when she faces him – Harry's chin wobbles because his muffy looks terrible and awfully sad and it’s breaking him weakly and perfectly.

“Why don’t y'go back to whatever you were doing with Holly!” She gasps moistly for a breather and Harry stands up, nose red and runny and eyes bloodshot.

“Jus’ say yer’ jealous.” He wants to be fierce with her about what she said but his voice barely comes out without being shaky and his heart is full of sorrow.

“And if I say I’m, then what?” She’s pathetically hiccupping (continuously) so much her neck hurts and she has never sound so uncertain and pleading and expectant to know if he might love her?

That if there’s something more between them than just providing eachother pleasure and being eachother’s missing half when they were lonely.

More, than just two bestfriends being eachother’s back of the hand.

He doesn’t respond and she shouts for him to stop and answer her and throws a cushion towards him, but he just leaves her to it.

Harry’s just worried she isn’t ready to take either of his confessions well.

Snowy sits in her lap. Max and Luna (Rori's girlfriend) are wrestling onto the mattress they took from Harry's bed and laid on the floor, (which he'd grump about when he'll be too pissy to move it back in the late night).

He’s been cranky and acting proper ratty with anyone and everyone he comes to interact with since that day.

He felt like his world turned upside down because now everything’s just against him, his milk gets soggy every morning and all of his socks and hoodies are at his little thief's home and snowy takes revenge from him for hurting Y/N by pissing on his shoes everytime he’s about to leave.

Cherry on creamy top!

He just couldn’t stop thinking about his bambi and might have chewed his fourty years old assistant ears with his rambling of Y/N and his endearment for her and unfortunately he just ficked up bad.

“’M so hungry. If Ni will cheat another round on me, I’ll be munching on his toes!!” Y/N exclaims huffing out and kicking Niall in shin as they were playing Mario cart and he’s been winning for an hour just by his cheating tricks.

They all got together after many days at Harry’s flat while he was at the duty and he promised them that he’d bring pizzas with him and now it’s almost 12 and they’re waiting and waiting in anticipation for him to arrive.

When the door knob jiggles everyone’s jumping up and scrambling closer to the door because they all are that hungry and Harry’s hands are piled with pizza boxes, soon their hungry excited expressions are dulling into annoyance and viscid displeasure when Holly peeks from behind Harry.

Still all of them manage to plant fake smiles and everyone’s greeting her.

“What took you guys s'long?” Y/N speaks lowly through a forced smile the one that doesn’t reaches her eyes and doesn’t make them appear as they are pools of earthly soil, “Oh .. we just stopped to buy some muffins -- Harry told me how much you like them, Bambi.” Oh fuck. There goes the pressure cooker blasting and rattling through each and every wall of this room and the tension thickens around and Luna's coughing and everyone is just treading back to their spots awkwardly and with disappointed sorry sighs for Holly because if before Y/N didn’t hold a grudge against Holly now she’d.

Because, for fuck’s sake!!! Nobody, calls her that except Harry!

It was their own intimate little sweet love name that Harry calls her and her only.

Not even their friends.

Not even Niall.

Just him.

Him.

And.

Him.

Now, she just came from out of the fucking blue and popped their bubble of intimacy and Y/N feels like one of those anime characters where they've a frown hanging on their head larger than their size and there’s fire enveloping them before she bursts out in rage and scream at Holly and Harry too.

She sighs. She’s far better than creating a scene and gladly accepts the box of muffins from Holly whose smile is overly sugar coated and this is what Harry says when he tells her he doesn’t like sugar in much amount – it’s irksome, Y/N’s talking about humans specifically.

“’s not even my favourites.” She mumbles staring at the vanilla strawberry muffins and Holly just shrugs and Harry gets tensed keeping his voice hushed while Rori and Him unboxes the pizzas in the kitchen, “Just thought a change would be good.” Y/N’s throat clogs up just at that. She finds it hard to even gulp down the piercing emotions piling up there.

Y/N just hates changes.

Holly wants to change everything about Harry and his surroundings, even this dinky flat he lives in —- he’s a dentist why’d he live here?

Holly tries not to grimace.

“You know Y/N hates changes, Harry I know that you guys might not be serious but we all are well aware that you too —-- fuck, Harry! Why are you fucking it up!” Rori whisper yells at him as they throw the empty boxes frantically and hurriedly to go back to living room and handle the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Ontop of that. Why did ya bring, Holly with you!? She isn’t ... well she isn’t much par to any of our likings.” Harry just runs his hands through his curls and he knows that it’s afflicting Y/N, his baby muffy who wouldn’t even see him in eye since that incident and he really wishes that all of this ends soon.

“What d'I do!? she’s my staff head and I’ve to play nice to her.” He squeaks out in a bit panic and he’s exhausted and tired and really running out of his Bambi's cuddles but she wouldn’t even let him set foot in her flat.

Even though how much he argued that, “Remember y’said this’s our one big home? Well I could be in me home whenever I want.”

Though when they're out with bright smiles and announcing that food is here, acting as if him and Rori didn’t just had an ASMR argument in kitchen.

Harry’s heart. The each chamber of his heart got cut up into pieces and fell somewhere in his stomach when he hands the plate to Y/N and she takes it without meeting his eyes, starving him off her sweet butterflies wooshing smile and tries to avoid from getting any physical contact between their fingertips and cuddles back into Ni's side as if she’s utterly cold.

She’s jealous and hurt and furious that Harry has mighty revealed their intimate nitty gritty details to Holly.

All of that aside. She’s very sad and lost and feels lonely all over again because she has no-idea that what are they, where they stand out of their bestfriends bubble and if whatever happened between them was fever dream?

“What happened, pet? Not hungry? Y'were ‘bout to munch us alive seconds ago.” Niall chuckles gingerly and nudges her as she just hovered her pizza on her plate and never brought it to her mouth.

Harry wipes his hand on his jeans listening that and Holly’s side eyeing him gauging for his reaction and her face hitches up into displeasure when he stands up and strides towards Y/N in two long steps.

“D'ya want another flavour? Is it cold? We could order somethin' else if you want to ....” His voice caring and antsy and he’s contemplating whether to sit beside her and coax her to eat but she’s chewing onto it and shrugging, speaking with a mouth full and yet again never sparing him a single glance.

“No, ‘m good.”

Holly judges Y/N’s battiness and locks up the urge to roll her eyes at this girl who Harry’s so whipped for -- she could ramp him under her feet (which Y/N would never – Holly’s just a mean ass who likes to think negatively about everyone) and he'd still beg her to do it all over again.

Holly just loves to be a victim in situations where she doesn’t even have a role, but still tries to fit in as a victim.

The truth is. She wants Harry bad. And, it’s all written clear on her face.

Their hang out didn’t take the route they planned for it to be and Y/N was heading out early conscious of Harry’s gaze on her all the time when Rori yelled enthusiastically with a bright proud grin, “Everyone's invited to Y/N's painting exhibition on Sunday, aren’t we Y/N!?”

Harry’s head snaps towards each of his friends like a lost puppy and when all of them are smiling and nodding their heads in agreement his eyes just brawls out and he feels like crying and throwing a tantrum because she didn’t tell him about it! and even if not, he didn’t got a chance to be the first one to tell her how proud he’s of her.

Rori winces when Harry rushes behind Y/N and the door's shutting behind leaving them in awkward silence again.

“You didn’t care t’tell me? ‘s such a big mo' fo'y.” He scowls. Folding his arms infront of his chest and Y/N grumbles stomping her feet onto floor.

“You were too busy —-..”

He knows what’s about to come next. The taunt and fight and something heartbreaking that’d slip from their tongues and hurt them brutally and part them away, “Baby.” He’s sighing rubbing the knot on his forehead and him calling her baby was enough to mush her into a candy floss.

“Yell at me. Punch me. Brake me nose. D'ye thing but pleaseee don’t gimme a silent treatment ...,” His eyes glossy and Y/N kinda feels remorseful and she might not give into him that easily but she isn’t to be blamed because she’s just so putty in his embrace and he could win her heart all over again as many times he wishes.

Though when she’s speaking to him after long period of four days and nine hours and cursing him out he’s still very thankful and gleeful grinning and scooping her up in his arms, “You’re a downright asshole you know that? One of our baby cat died and you were too busy havin' lunch with that, witch.” She isn’t hiding her hatred for Holly anymore and Harry cackles infuriatingly loud and brushes his cheek against her neck.

“’M sorry. Not g'na do tha' evea' again swear on me life.” He mumbles coherently.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He’s hooking their pinkies together and kissing them to seal the affirmation.

Harry loves BDSM. Something he explored upon lurking around a sex club when he was right about to turn eighteen, of which oh so Y/N's savvy about from all those nights where she could be able to hear guys and girls howling like they got fucking murdered even sitting in the farthest cubby of her own home.

She'd not argue to him about that because of her shyness and second the music that she used to blast through speakers while painting, so they were equal.

He was quite peculiarly never interested in having romantic relationships with people -- he was just interested in what’s between their legs and sometimes their mouth.

But with Y/N. With Y/N he wants to make love to her. Lit sweet warm scenting candles that’d sheen their skins with ardour and have vases filled with flowers and cook her a dish she likes – then they share a glass of wine (optional) if they want to remember it all.

He wants to have every nice and warm thing with her, things he never got to experience.

He wants to love.

To love her.

He never really exposed himself to words like amity, adoration and intimacy. Thinks that those words are too big for his heart which’s too compact for someone to build a home in.

He hated certain stuff. On purpose. Like scrabble when his father and his friends made fun of him for liking scrabble and he kicked that shit so hard it tensiled into space — or he thinks so because he never saw it laying on his childhood floor ever after that.

Then again, Y/N came into his life and brought his scrabble back (teased him that she stole it from some kid that lives downfloor) they play whenever they could and ends up fighting everytime because, zzz isn’t a word but Harry claims it is for people who snores like they're gonna choke into their pillow next moment.

He hated interacting with people. Don’t even have an idea how he got these bunch of maniacs as his friends and then Y/N, he just thinks she’s made specially for him only carved from the cream of tenderness, beauty of love and sent upon to him like an Angel.

Harry hates sugar. But, yet again he likes no scratch that -- he loves Y/N so it doesn’t even matter.

At the moment when he’s crowded by gushing and whispering and laughing people. Praising and chatting and loving on his Bambi —- he feels like the word hate never existed in his life because all he could feel his heart is floating in copious amount of love for his Bambi as he stands in the corner letting his eyes admire her in affection.

He takes a sip of white wine from his glass and hisses when plays with his earlobe out of instinct and ends up prodding himself from where he pierced his ear two hours ago.

A smile so tiny but full of elation and lilac-ness twirls on his relaxed face upon reminiscing it – his eyes falling at her trousers and he gives himself an imaginary pat on back.

“You’re gonna repay me by ironing my trousers.” She told him standing between his parted legs and he scooted closer to the edge of counter and grabbed her teeny hands compared to his's and puts them over his thick thighs, “Whateva' y'say ma'am. ‘course now ye’re ‘bout to become a sexy artist with her own gallery ‘n all tha’.” He smirked and she rolled her eyes dabbing the cotton ball with alcohol and swapped his soft earlobe with it.

“’S not mine.” She murmurs and Harry woven his fingers with her's and tugged her forward. Lips brushing her temple and he shrugged, speaking, there’s nothing for her to be insecure about, if no one's proud of her, he is, he always gonna be, “Does it matter? Those paintings are yours. That room will be filled with your talent – ye're g'na own one soon, mark me words.” His grip tightened when she rubs her hand at his chest to warn him beforehand and he feigned that he’s scared and horrified to make her anxious about it.

“You’re sick in head you know that?” She mumbles grounding down the shakiness of her wrist as she poked the needle through his earlobe and his voice just did a lil loopy-loop as he spoke, “Yeah ... many patients tell me when I don’t give ‘em enough anaesthetic and rip their teeth out.” She blinked up at him with wide eyes and smacked him when he just slumped down against the mirror if nothing happened, his rims floaty and blown out.

Sometimes he jokes too seriously it startles, Y/N.

“You could say an ouch, atleast. Big man.” She giggled taking the needle out and puts a black cross earning after cleaning his brand new piercing, “Ouchhh!” He moaned out dramatically, fingers gliding down his skin under his eyes to reveal pink flesh and blue veins and his eyeballs.

“You’re an ass! Now go iron my trousers D’ya want me to go bottomless?” She chortled out loudly and her laugh boomed through the small washroom when Harry’s hand spanked her bum playfully, “Perhaps tha’ is what I’d never want in any case – even if I’ve to showcase me bum to everyone.”

“Harry?” She’s gazing up at him with deer eyes and tugging at his blazer to gain his attention, “Everyone’s gone?” He looks behind to get the sight of their friends laughing and chatting.

“Yeah.” Harry’s heart tweaks upon hearing her exhausted and sluggishly soft voice. She giggles into his cheek when he slings his arm around her shoulder and runs his nose up and down her head walking towards their equally tipsy friends.

“Everyone lets bunch up to give, Muffy a cuddle.” Harry drawls out. His warm breath tickling her neck and everyone just roars out gathering around them and giving them a big bear hug and Y/N's eyes turns glossier because she’s feel so loved and cared.

Just because of Harry.

When they see off their friends, Y/N isn’t rushing back to her agency’s manager to ask how much paintings she sold instead she’s snuggling into Harry’s embrace and let’s him escort them out and into the cool wind.

“You really deserve chocolate muffins, don’t ya, pet?” His chin doubles as he tries to take a look at her satisfied and relaxed face as they trod on the side of road like two penguins providing heat to eachother.

They’ve drunk quite a nice amount of bevvies. Enough that mighty would make them forget the events that are happening now and that’s nice because they could be embarrassing and cringey with having to think about it later.

“No.” Harry grabs her hand that was about to push the door of the lil bakery and she’a huffing up at him and swatting his hand away with a loud thwack, “’M an independent woman, H.” He just slides her hand away -- retorting with a smile, “And’m a gentleman.”

She squints up at him with scrunched up pouty lips and he’s mimicking her squinting her square in the eye. The clock ticks by and they break into a hand wrestling and he’s squeaking out childishly when she pinches his wrist but he’s coming back with scissor fingers demanding her to do a “stone, papers, scissors.” Fight with him.

When he’s wiggling his fingers in fire gesture she’s groaning out and throwing her arms in air, “Fire beats everything!!” He yells duckishly and spins around doing a little dance.

“Fine.” She grumps folding her arms around her torso and he’s ducking down to smooch annoying kisses to her cheeks and all over face.

Harry’s forearms remains roped around her waist and his chin rests ontop of her head, her back stays pressed to his taught warm chest whole time. Every two minutes or so she raises the muffin she’s eating to his lips and he’s taking a chunky bite out of it as they trod their way back home.

“Dun, dun dun dunnnn, do do ...” She giggles when he sways them. His chest rumbling with his deep drunk octave and she cups his cheek.

“What you singing, honey?” He just giggles clinging to her and hides his face into her neck – murmurs then takes himself out of her fragrance and shouts into the air.

“The pink panther’s song!!” She woofs out a laugh at that and he shoves his face into his palm, wheezing out cutely, “I'know y'laughin' ‘cos ‘m sayin' stupidddd things.....,”

The bunny vociferous laughs that emits from their bellies, tumbles them to the ground and the moment they look towards eachother they burst into more giggles.

Y/N scrambles towards where he’s clutching his side and rolls to face her and she crawls up his chest.

It feels good to waste time on the footpath when their hold on eachother’s this soft, warm and meaningful and full of love.

Their cheeks coral, their grins achy and their eyes gleamy ---- hands wandering and comforting eachother, cuddly and sottish and cosy laying right outside their the homes building.

He hugs her closer to him. She snuggles herself into him and worms into a touch starved shrimp and the words are on the tip of his tongue, they’ve been shown in his sentiments with zeal and passion in past and now they’re bouncing in his chest.

Though, he gulps them back.

He really couldn’t.

“I love you,” It flows away in the wind but she catches onto it and flies with it and pushes herself up on his chest blinking in perplexed rapture.

He’s breathing it out again. This time maybe slurry from inebriation but clear and audible, “oh my god baby .... I love you s'fuckin’ much.” He cradles her face in his palms and slides his forehead against hers.

“You love me?” She whispers and he giggles at her bewildered expression and bobs his head, “That’s what ‘m sayin' pet.”

She knows that she loves him too. More than anybody. Every inch of her body soaks into the word love for him.

She pauses for a moment, “How — but, I mean –- What did I do?” He just shrugs, “Dunno.” His dimples foaming deep and pretty.

“I just think we would be a good us,” At that her head perks up kitten like and she moulds her palms around his either side of neck as if he’s her warm chocolate cuppa, she smiles slowly, “We'd be a wonderful us.” Her gaze glitters on his wine moisturized pink lips and she gives him an eskimo kiss.

“Gimme a kiss then,” She demands pursuing her lips adorably but he shakes his puff of curls and pushes her face back gently, “No!” Her brows pinches together at that and she pokes his dimple pouting sadly.

“But, why?”

“I don’t wanna forget our first kiss.” He whines and paws at her hips to bring her back closer to him and she giggles muttering a silly under her breath and tries to tempt him.

“Kiss me, in this way ... we could have our firsts twice!” He gives into her mischievous offer and sighs cradling her face in his hold and murmurs against the corners of her lips, “Only ‘cos you’re cute and wouldn’t stop peskin'.” She’s grinning and pulling him with her hands and smashing her petal lips against his's, their eyelids springs close and he’s squishing her chasing to deepen the kiss and when she's parting away he’s rushing to peck her lips right back to kiss her more.

“I could really cry just by kissin' you, moppet.” He licks the spots of chocolate from her chubby bottom lip and bites it and she’s melting her mouth again over him, kissing him delicately and sweetly having a certain desire and yearn to just star into one soul that balms there tummies.

“W’na kiss you forever.”

Harry never believed into forevers.

Then Y/N wrapped him in her oh so Y/N-ish blanket and now he wants everything with her for, forever.

“Oh. Hush baby. You’re gonna gimme a tooth ache.”

Y/N regrets saying that. Because she’s waking up with a headache, blurry vision and churning stomach ontop of every pain the ache in her tooth came to bite her in ass and she’s hissing grabbing her cheek to soothe it down.

“Fuck my —- damn hell ...” She mutters when even the slightest of air in her mouth stings her tooth like a bitch and it dollops tears on the corners of her eyes because she has never gone through a toothache before.

She’s bargaining in Harry’s flat and into his room and he’s properly wafted, face smashed into his elbow as he wheezes through his parted mouth. She’s shaking him gently because the shrivelling drive of pain is growing after every second.

“Harry!” He’s jolting up and snapping his head in every direction instantly his sleepy gaze melts on her (a sight he'd like to have every morning) but she looks rather rotten with a nest on her head and her last night’s clothes crumbled and when she's quipping an, “It hurts Harry ....” With teary eyes, He’s immediately scurrying closer to her and holding her -- confused at first.

“What's hurtin', pet?” He mumbles groggily and she sniffs, “My tooth –- fuck.”

He sighs knuckling at his eyes and kisses her hair throwing the duvet away, “Sit here yeah? ‘m g'na wash me hands real quick and check it, hmm?” He wipes the corner of her eyes and massages her shoulder -- then unfists her hands to make her release some tension and puts them on her knees.

He’s muttering a, “Good girl.” When she nods obediently and watches his back as he trudges inside the washroom.

Coming back with towel in his hands and throws it on the bed while sitting on his knees and adjusts her between them.

“Can y'open a bit mo' f'me, darling?” He asks gently caressing her hip to loosen her up. He already knows what's about to come next and he’s afraid she’s going to be very batty about the procedure, “Aaaaa.” She practically makes the noise trying to part her jaw as far as she could while Harry’s hand remains intact around it inspecting her mouth and she’s anxious that she has a morning breath but the memories of all those time she would practically drool on his cheeks while sleeping makes her feel less awful about it,

He chuckles tapping lightly on her upper moral, “Ow!” She swats his hand away when his action physically makes her whole body go through a pang.

When she looks up at him with ticked brows and huffy pout biting the flesh of her cheek between her two morals to just do something -- anything to get rid of the pain, Harry rubs the frown away with a grimace and brings her for a hug.

“’M s' sorry baby. But, looks like it’ll need a root canal.” If his bambi wouldn’t be in such pain he indeed would have lectured her and thrown away every sweetened thing in her jars out of the window.

“Can y'endure a lil pain and wait till my last appointment? So, I could take care of you afterwards.” He asks her lovingly and his reasoning makes butterflies erupt in Y/N’s belly and she almost almost forgot about her toothache but then it pangs again and she’s hugging him tighter mumbling into him, “Sure.”

He’s making her change her clothes and made her porridge letting it cool down to a temperature where it wouldn’t stick or ache her teeth.

“Y/N ...” He glowers at her sternly when she pushes his hand away holding the painkillers and that intense ferocious glare where his soft jade eyes are turning into something very dark is enough to tell her that if she’s not taking them, there's a big scold coming and after that no leniency for an argument so she takes it without throwing another tantrum.

After making sure she’s fed well and tucked into bed he’s stroking her hair and massaging her head, adjusting her pillow as she likes, kissing the tip of her nose as he murmurs.

“Rori will be pickin’ y’up sharp at 5. Told her to wake you up gently if you’ll be sleepin’.” Her eyes are dreamily glassy and she smiles lightly and she’s already missing his touch on her skin when he stands back up ready to leave.

She really wanted to say it.

Dying to say it, infact.

But all that came from her mouth was, “I’m gonna miss you.” Earning a giggle from him in return.

“G’na miss you terribly too.”

Rori drove Y/N to hospital. She’s still in Harry’s clothes that he made her wear in the morning, a black galaxy sweater and wide loose pants a beanie on her head to protect her from a headache and when the receptionist waves her enthusiastically upon her arrival Y/N’s smiling but never opening her mouth knowing the bitch would be back.

“Dr. Styles went for a staff on-call. He'll be here any moment, you could go inside.” Y/N’s nodding and padding inside his room. The pain has lessened a bit and that gives her teensy energy to wander around his room admiring his lil achievements, the medal he won last year and right beside it the pen holder she gave him it that has a “HORRAY TAKE BABY STEPS BABY STEPS HONEY!!” written obnoxiously on it as if she’s screaming it to his face and she giggles at her own silly gift.

She gasps and ends up knocking her hip into his desk as Harry steps in and laughs loudly at her, tutting with a shake of his head, “Jumpy little thing you’re.” Out of habit his hands are falling at her hips and bringing her closer.

“How’re y'muffy?” He asks and she’s bobbing her head up and down dramatically but silently making him chuckle.

“’Kay get yourself comfy on the seat ‘m gonna call my assistant t’give you anesthetic.” He suppresses a smile when she worms her bum up the slippery seat and goes on pushing different buttons moving it up and down.

“How adventurous.” He snickers switching the examination lamp and she rolls her eyes. His assistant’s eyeing them with happy eyes from under her glasses and Harry’s putting his latex gloves aside as she fills the injection and Y/N's muscles tenses up in anticipation, as she tries to blink the fear away and musters up a weak smile.

Knowing she has a fear of needles. Harry rolls the stool he’s sitting on closer to her and interlaces their fingers together, he coos sweetly, “It’ll be just a pinch baby.” Though, Y/N thinks Harry’s a motherfucking liar because it apparently is not just a pinch but feels like a stick shoved up your ass.

When the assistant leaves them to fetch something, Harry’s stroking the fringes of her hair behind with benevolent and caring eyes and smiles down at her sincerely.

“I want y'to relax, moppet. Yeah? Could y'do tha' f'me?” This time when he’s poking or prodding she isn't slapping him away and he’s grateful because that means her gums are numb properly.

He’s caressing her arm to assure her that she has nothing to be afraid about when she startles hearing the buzz of instrument that’s about to rip her poor gum apart.

Surprisingly she was easy. Because, Harry was so gentle with her and when he’s ushering her to spit in the little sink and she’s laying back with cloudy eyes and a grin Harry just knows the anaesthesia is kicking in.

It means that she’s allowed to blabber every dumb thing to him (she doesn’t need anaesthesia for it by the way), without any filter and timidness she’s about to chatter his brain alive.

Her gaze slowly rakes down his torso as if she’s undressing him with her eyes and she’s grinning -- more blood pooling in her mouth, “You look very handsome in scrubs — you know that?” Her words wobblish but full of naughtiness and Harry arranges them himself barking out a delighted laugh when she tugs at hem of his clothes perking her lips.

“I could really kiss you right now....” Her voice clear with desire but a hint of neediness and fondness for him and he’s gazing her down with gleamy endearment and snorts bringing the water cup to her lips, “Sorry Bambi but don’t like kissing a bloody mouth.” She keeps her doe eyes on him and they turn sad while she gurgles the water in her puffed up cheeks and spits it again into sink, about to protest with him but he’s shushing her and laying her back onto the seat.

“Not even me?” She grumps up at him and he’s retorting shaking his head in rejection, he's just trying to rile her up because he himself thinks that a single peck wouldn’t hurt.

“You’ll get an answer to this after we're done with you,” He muses softly when her eyes flicker with glee.

She was all over him as if she’s a small baby who needs his guidance to walk her way out and Harry was waving his staff goodbye with nervous lamblike smile while he tries to balance her against his chest.

The whole ride back he refrained from cooing and making im-a-fool-who-is-shamlessly-in-love noises. How could he not? When she looks this cute and cuddly in his clothes, head lulling every once a while as she sleeps facing him, her hand on his thigh to keep her reminded of his presence.

Harry’s grabbing it and kissing her knuckles. A jolly smile fluttering on his features and he isn’t waking her up as the reach and takes her into his flat – flumps her down on his bed gently and gets rid of her shoes and sweater.

Even skips dinner. Gets out of his work clothes and takes a glance of his sleepy girl standing from the wardrobe and the light clicks off before his gangly body is sliding under the duvets beside her.

Warm, sweet and cosy.

His all day's exhaustion fuses into nothingness when his feet comes caressing her calves and his chest presses to her shoulders and his elbows shelters around her in a protecting loving manner.

His heart hiccups a happy beat when she turns to his side and snuggles into him murmuring in haze, “Love you.”

He trips into utter shock. Staring down at her with baffled eyes but then the memories from past night comes upon crashing down at him like a crystal wave of ocean and floats him to an island where he belongs, always fated to belong.

He confessed his love for her.

She confessed it back.

They both were stupid and forgot it.

Now when she’s telling him that she loves him Harry feels like he’s rather about to pass out or squeal into pillow.

“I love you too, baby.” He's just wrapping her closer to him and lingering a wet kiss to her forehead.

Y/N’s moral was grinded, she keeps on swiping her tongue over it even how much Harry scolds her about it (it feels like a small plateau that got separated away because of an earthquake, y/n has made her own imagination about her tooth) and Harry let her chose the colour of filling that will be the mould of her crown, it was just an unnecessary thing to make her feel cheerful about it.

“Is Harry busy? Who’s inside?” She’s asking the old receptionist tapping her nails against the marble counter in eagerness to be done with it and that she’s about to take him to this yummy Thai place.

“Oh. He’s with his girlfriend right now.” Placid sereneness dooms over them and Y/N falls frightfully quite.

The poor assistant doesn’t know what she has uttered.

She just told her what the rumours has told her.

Her jittery smile drops into a blue scowl, her legs weakens at the thought and she nearly trips when Holly appears from inside his room.

It bitters her mouth with taste of anger and outrage.

Holly passes her a tight empathetic smile as if she knew everything from start and Y/N’s striding past her in resentment, her mind smoked with betrayal and vehemence.

“Hi. Moppet.” He rolls his stool over smiling up at her and it tightens her chest so much she chokes onto a breath.

How could he? No. No.

How dare he!?

But, there’s no need to cry over split milk now is it? She has to accept it that they could never be something more than just bestfriends.

“Hi.” She mumbles blocking her tears in the back of her eyes somewhere and Harry frowns, asking politely as she sits, “Feelin' alright?” She just nods and it takes Harry off-guard.

Where is his bubbly Muffy?

“Are you hurtin' somewhere?” He asks again pushing her upper lip to get a better look of her tooth. When she denies he lets it slide.

Though, when the assistant injects her and she’s groping Harry’s thigh because in grief everything hurts more than usual and her heart is dripping with sorrow and loneliness and grief she’s on verge of breaking into pieces right on this seat.

Harry’s brows clinches together in worry but she’s inhaling a puff of breath and giving him an etiolated smile to finish this as soon as possible and leave before she humiliates herself infront of him.

Her crown didn’t fit and he had to do a little more grinding. Meanwhile, Holly’s entering the room and Y/N shuts her eyes pretending that she isn’t there.

It hurts. Not in her tooth. Everywhere. Like a force is ripping her apart through a saw and it hurls her into deep agony and her heart almost stops functioning.

Harry was too focused and worried about her eerie behaviour that he ignored the frail hits on his thigh and Holly’s taking his name loudly making him stop.

Y/N’s jolting up and gagging into the sink beside her. Her knuckles turning white from gripping it ruthlessly.

She stares the clots of blood and mucus washing away with blurry eyes.

“Baby?” Harry quickly rubs her back anxiously and scrutinise with raucous beating heart as her hands shivers cupping the water and taking it in her mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Are y'okay? Pet?” His voice drips with panic and dread that the worst happened to her because of him --– if the case's true he's never gonna touch her again.

“Y/N!?” He’s growling loudly when she doesn’t reply him and keeps on crying. His eyes turning back concerned and soft when she hiccups a weep, “It hurts Harry ....” Holly rolls her eyes, leans against the desk and puts the file she brought to Harry beside her.

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N. Ofcourse it’s gonna hurt.” She snickers and this makes Y/N cry more – Harry’s holding her hands in his and stroking his thumb at her knuckles.

“Dunno --...– maybe –- ma —,” Harry’s emerald eyes are boring into her murky one's and it pierces her soul away from her inside.

Their heads perk up when Holly asks her rudely, “Are you doubting Harry?”

Y/N shakes her tiny defeated head vigorously, “No! Why —.. why would I?” More tears pooling in her waterline and dropping at the back of Harry’s hand. He rushes to wipe them away and shush her but Holly’s acidic laugh is echoing.

How could she even think that?

Y/N could never doubt him.

Why she has to be so mean to her everytime?

“I mean you —,” Holly opens her mouth to speak but Harry’s cutting her off sharply, “Dr. Jenner enough. I’ll appreciate it if you wait f'me outside.” His head snaps back to Y/N who’s wiggling out of his hold and gasping out -- her pupils blown out and woozy.

“I just need a breather.” Saying this she’s out before Holly leaving Harry baffled and agitated to ponder over how she was pain and he failed to realise sooner.

The zephyr is tranquil. Frolicking with her heart and the grass is dewy under her as she runs towards an empty bench outside where there’s barely any light and she wishes Harry never comes to look for her.

She’s such a mess.

Her chest suffocates with a sob. She’s trying to lull her breath back to normal just like he tells her to.

When she flutters her eyelids into vision a hand with a cross on it’s thumb is pressed onto the bench beside her and there’s an afflicted pause in the atmosphere before she slowly faces him and places her hand atop his hand.

Her breath shudders through a smile, the tension in between them thickening as Harry feels her so close but so distant from him.

Emotionally and mentally and even their souls feels trapped within their own bodies.

It upsets him, to see his Bambi like that,

“’M so sorry, Harry. My intention wasn’t to embarrass you.” She isn’t serious? Sometimes he wants to bang his head at nearby wall at her silliness.

“You didn’t.” He assures her gently.

“But I did. Infront of the person you love.” It pains to say it. In the end she could suffer from anything for his happiness even if it’s handing him to the wrong person if he loves them.

Harry’s eyes turn moist at that. An unbelievable sour laugh eliciting from his lungs as he shoves his palms into his sockets, rubs them harshly and grasps her wrists pulling her closer to him with one furious tug.

“Yeah because that’s you, dumbass!!” Y/N’s body turns into a stone at his stern confession and she’s staring him with a throb in her heart and sad kitten eyes.

His brows pricks together ferociously and his lips twitches up as he speaks chopped on tears, “Every Daphne I pick up from the side-grass while comin’ back home t’you, these stupid stars in sky ‘n these ...” His shoes scrapes against the grass as he tries to show her, “....these stupid stupid shoelaces I tie around me ankles,” He’s raising his wrist to show her the milk bottle tattoo he got for he’s in love with her and their cats, once they were drunk, “... this fuckin' tattoo I got —- ‘s always been you.” He let’s the tears shine on his cheeks and soak them rosy.

“Always you, Bambi.” His accent gluteus and hoarse, “You’re always gonna be my sweet Bambi. Who I adore and love so much.”

“How?” She whispers in bewilderment and when Harry’s warming his forehead against her's tickling her lips as he murmurs, “Because you thought we'd be a wonderful us.”

A sob is wrecking out of her and she’s wrapping her arms around the nape of his neck pulling him down into a bone crushing hug, as the night they first confessed and had their first kiss makes a home in her mind.

She’s glad they didn’t forget their first.

“I love you.” Harry mumbles through a squished up cheek and saturates their chests closer with his hand planted firmly over her spine.

“I love you too. So much of it.” They’re crying elated tears knowing they’ve eachother to wipe them away and he’s sponging a tender kiss to her mouth and the corner of her lip avoiding where it’s swollen and her cheek is bloated.

The metallic taste of her blood lingers on his own lips.

“I could even kiss your bloody mouth, see?” He giggles feathering back his lips to her lips and gives her a chastise peck.

“Let’s put your crown, my highness.” Harry scoops up giggles from within her and tries to cherish this moment for as long as possible.

He’s never gonna forget his first, done twice.

Not a days go by where they don’t make love to eachother. A string of knot that connects their souls as Harry keeps his cock warm inside her while sleeping and it fattens inside her when they’re about to wake up and Harry’s rolling his hips into her lazily and gradually getting out breathy hums and whispers of whines from her —- her ankles locks behind his back and he’s always hitting and caressing the spots inside her which she was never able to reach herself with her short fingers.

Their bath times are intimate. Not full of adrenaline and thrill that one would end up having a foot cast from tripping from their playfulness, like they used to everytime. It’s delicate touches. Soft back rubs. Foamy head massages and cuddly bubbles. Smooching wet kisses. Heated makeout sessions and then drying eachother off, brushing teeth together and going to bed wearing eachother’s mismatched clothes.

Their mornings are spent lounging in bed and sharing a little love, sweet irresistible kisses, mouth sweet with eachother's tongues and hands comforting eachother, having a satisfying brekkie together in bed and sometimes the other is too tired to go (it’s usually Harry) and they always remind them they’re gonna come back home to eachother.

Harry made, Y/N explore herself. Introduced her to the tingles of what it feels to be rough and have a good shag that sends her into her sub-space where she doesn’t stop thrashing and spasming under him and He’s always there to bring her back to him and to take care of her.

They sometime do it in his office room too. Whenever she’s visiting him and he looks to alluring that Y/N could swallow him whole and his thighs man-spread deliciously as he sits on the stool in his damn scrubs, “You c’mere.” He pats his thigh dirtily in a command for her to straddle him and ride his cock and she’s always obeying like a good bunny moaning out feeling him in her tummy.

They’ve had countless of sex in Harry’s living room which they turned into a working studio for Y/N and whenever she's painting sometimes naked to tease him, how could Harry resist when she looks ethereal with her peachy bosom and her adorable tummy rolls and her innocent eyes and her cushiony thighs —- so he just pushes her thighs that he’s oh so in love with to her chest and pins her to floor and fucks her till she isn’t satiated enough.

Shower sex and bit of striptease when Harry’s knackered out. The hot water that prattles on their toes and their sweaty skins that slaps against eachother’s makes it much filthier and nastier.

They’ve bunch of romantic sex too. Oh boy! Just loads of romance where he’s too soft and mushy and dotting with her.

Sometimes, two people have deep connection that makes seem romance trivial and it isn’t about lust everytime. It’s about their souls. About the deepest part of who they’re as a person. Who they could be for eachother when the time strikes.

Just like right now. As, the stars twinkle outside and the dark snowy wind hits the windows; checked by the occasional gust that rattles the rooftop and the wood would creak to tell it’s presence. Fragrance of scented candles that of peonies, sparkling champagne and crème almonds surrounds them.

Harry brought Y/N on a holiday at a mountain and had a warm cosy wooden cottage booked for themselves.

They’ve spent it enjoying themselves and forgetting about their life in city. Today, the layer of foamy crystal snow is more than usual and they decided to cuddle up into their own little comfy cubby.

He takes his time feeling her skin and she nuzzles her nose up in his throat and giggles when he purrs.

The fire churning infront of them is similar to the one quenching in his belly as he sneaks his hand under her slip dress and fondles her nipples in between his calloused fingers.

“I wanna make love t'you, Muffy.” He mumbles grazing his blunt teeth down her sweaty pulse and laps at it splaying his palm close to her bum when she arches up into him, “I’m all yours.” She guppies around a gasp and he’s chuckling sweetly cradling her face in his hold and brews his lips against her's in a passionate endearingly hot kiss that moists her breath and her each ravine pore fills with love for him.

Their chests burns with carnal desire as he lays them on the flumpy nest of bed they made from blankets and pillows, his mouth keeps on tasting her with ardent fever and he situates himself between her and grinds their pelvises sensing her nipples stitching under his fingers and she’s gnawing her teeth into his petalish lip when he fills his palms with her tits.

“So cute.” He quips when she gasps whining for him to smudge his cocoa-vaseline covered lips back on her's and her lips brushes against his clavicles, emitting a perfervid whimper as Harry strokes his palm to feel her arousal and juices, “Hmm. I could just give you a flyin' kiss and you’ll still end up squirting.” He's easing his middle finger inside her and gazes her with profound sweetness when she pushes her palm up against his large moth and punctuates soft kisses to his vein at the side of his neck that prominents from their intimacy.

“Fuck. You get t've me cock daily but still so snug, pet. G’na stretch y'nice ‘n good.” He grunts, trailing soppy kisses down the valley of her breasts. Slicking his mouth around her nipple and she whines hungrily unceasing her fingers in his curls and pulls at them bringing him down for more kisses, “You love my kisses baby? Hmm? My baby loves me kisses ...” He coos suckling onto her lower lip and latches back full to her mouth and perennials it into pastels of wetness.

Sips down her moans when he slithers three more fingers into her and fits them deep, cupping his palm against her pussy. Something weirdly soft about his bare ring-less fingers and he runs his hips into her, “Feels good?” He growls looking down where his fingers drives into her.

When she bobs her head hungrily. She squirms – goosebumps pebbling on her skin and the mellow glow of candles melting on her when he pecks her and pecks her again, kissing her tongue as he mumbles, “Bet. It’ll feel more good with my cock inside y’pussy. Tell me moppet, who's little cunt is this?” He asks wiggling his middle finger to nudge the walnut shaped spot inside her – tucked within her walls and his other hand’s pressing her thigh to floor as he saps his teeth into her neck and leaves love bites.

Marking her as his’s.

“Yours. Please, it’s all yours.” She sobs out ardently. Crumbling and lurking at the edge to hold this pleasing feeling for some moment in her belly.

“Right.” He affirms. Licking the maroon marks he littered on her puddy skin and he's grabbing her shivery hand that was about to cup around his cock and stroke it, “You’re mine.” He strings their fingers together and brings it to his lips to kiss the soft pads of her fingers.

“All mine to love on, to cherish, to be proud of –-- You’re my little Bambi.” His infatuated dotting words are making her strike herself into him, quivering and blabbering, eyes shut in bliss and love and he’s helping her ride the sensation out.

The moment he’s taking his fingers out he’s interlacing those sticky cum covered fingers with her other hand and stretching her arms and pinning their winded hands atop her head into floor.

They’re moaning into waxy humidity when Harry sheathes into her and her walls soaps around his girth as he sinks himself into her, his heavy balls pressed buried deep to her bum and he’s smushing his face into her breasts and almost snuggles into her knowing how much she loves to just be wrapped into him as he pounds his cock inside her.

He’s sweltering his hips. Feeling her gooey warmth and rolls himself harder and she’s crossing her arms around his shoulder – kissing his neck and caressing the curls that’ve grown out a tad under his earlobes.

“I love you,” He's nosing at her jaw to tip her mouth towards him and kisses it —- his hold on her delicate but she’s coveting crescents into his knuckles and a bow of string connects their mouths as she pecks him till she’s running out of breath, “I love you. I love you so so much.” Even though they’re taking their time but Y/N doesn’t think she could last a minute longer the way he’s thrusting languidly but deeply into her.

“Show me then, c’mon baby cum on m’cock. Soak it. G'na keep it inside you ‘n sleep like tha', mphmp makin' me so so good —- g'na cum?” He rasps out and she’s whimpering blubbering out without much mind as he stuffs her full and enough.

Her voice meek and high-pitch, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She’s dripping all over him and coating him with her cum. He doesn’t not stop and pumps it back inside her roughly.

“Fuck. Baby.” His howl wounded and broken as he feels his balls tighten and he leaks inside her, “S'okay honey cum inside me Harry .. love how you make me feel – how big your cock is.” She grates her teeth into the eternity of his throat and punctures her lips to suck around the fading hickey she gave him two nights prior.

His hips stutters, and he keeps himself up with his weak elbows spurting ribbons and ribbons of thick seed inside her.

She moans out when he wouldn’t stop cumming and she thrashes upward with a final twist of his push, his words sultry and drunk on libido, “Fuck. I came so much – you’ll ‘ave to squeeze tha’ all out fo’ me,” He’s smoothing their arms down to let them be on eachother and Y/N sees the gears working in his mind when he grins.

“In case you’ll want a refill.”

She rolls her eyes cheek smashed into his bicep and pinches his nipple, “Way to ruin the moment –- you libido driven slut." A noise peeps out of her when he whumps on her and looks up at her with an amused expression.

“Y'know tha' slut shaming is inappropriate?” She just shrugs smiling around a yawn.

“Is that an invitation to whore shame y'then?” He listens to her heartbeat. Tracing pattern of yellow flicker on her skin and kisses the curve of her breast.

“Will that end up me havin' yer fingers in my bum?” She creampies around him at his genuine yet naughty question and he snorts out loudly stirring his cock on purpose that’s still snug inside her, “Hmm then ‘m defo a whore.”

“Harry!” She pouts and he squishes that pout as if she’s some duckling -- an old habit he'd never get rid of.

“Mrs. Styles!” Holly’s head perks up at the call and she’s looking down at the five month old baby that has her bum situated on her momma’s hip and she squeals joyfully bunching her momma's shirt in her tiny chubby hands.

Holly just simpers quietly not greeting the duo and keeps on walking as Y/N enters Harry’s office room.

His face brightens up. Dimples popping awfully cute just how Y/N loves and his smile widens into a toothy one as he leaves everything and scurries towards his girls, “Oh my two Bambis!” He's greeting them with loud sloppy loving kisses all over their faces that makes them squint their eyes and giggle ticklish from the faint stubble that’s growing on his chin.

Their baby. Harry never thought he was able to love someone this purely and extremely. From a grumpy kid himself and someone who used to loose his shit at the formula chugging machines he used to call them —-- he never even imagined to own one.

But, after two years into marriage and moving into a house with the love of his life everything had a possibility for him and their one room that’d look so empty just made his stomach squeaky and yearn for a little one that he could protect and hold delicately close to his chest and lather them in his kisses and smell their baby scent and have cuddles with them,

Harry really wanted her to be a December baby -- if not particular then winters.

Because she just looks like the joy of Christmas and the sapience of homely evening.

Her frost bitten poppy nose. Her plushy warm cheeks that of running his fingers over an old sweater that holds infinite memories for him, the shimmer in her eyes that of snowflakes and those lips she got from her mother that of marshmallows melting on hot chocolate.

Harry really fucked his dream of her being a winter baby by fucking Y/N at the wrong time of the year.

She ended up coming out on the most heated month, june.

Wasn’t his fault too. Because they were trying for so long and he'd be all excited for the pregnancy tests but then they'd come out negative everytime weighing a ball of sadness in his chest and when they conceived her –-- he didn’t even remember the damn date.

The pregnancy for them wasn’t that hard. Minus the eventual tantrums that were thrown his way as daggers but he was skilled to dodge them and lure his wifey back to him with chocolate chip cookies.

The process of her birth was life taking for Y/N and Harry had short comings in his breath from the way his wife would all be jerking in pain.

She had to endure the labour pain for three days.

It’d always tear him into sobs as he'd fall into Rori's arms while everyone stayed inside with her for a moment.

It wasn’t easy to look at the love of his life, his bestfriend, his Bambi, his everything go through so much pain and he almost ended up regretting having a baby but when she’d be all snuggled up into his side after a long tiring and screaming day with her bump swollen beautifully with his bubba inside, it used to relax him a bit,

When she came out all sticky and covered in blood he realized at that moment that; she truly is his’s.

Those earthy gem eyes that didn’t cry first five minutes but rather kept on staring at him intrigued as to why the man that used to chatter her ears away in thick sleepy accent when she was in the cosy spot of her mummy’s belly is now just crying and crying.

They made her with so much love and care.

She was just so soft to touch. Just like their favourite flowers.

She was his Daphne.

He’s grabbing her from armpits and immediately putting a hand under her diaper clad bum when she huffed making grabby hands at him, “Hi Daphne bub! Missed daddy much?” He coos bouncing her a little and rumbles his lips against her cheek to create farty noises.

She squeals fisting his hair and yanks at it. That makes Y/N laugh out loudly, “Careful there, H. She’s getting quite handsy.” He just smiles convincing his baby to have some mercy on his curls.

When Y/N tells him about his routine and her nap timing Harry’s just sighing kissing her lips and patting her ass to move, “I can take care of me baby -- doin' it fo' five months, forgot?” He took a paternity leave to spend more time with Daphne and his Bambi.

To be sure that they were growing and healing well.

Y/N has to take the cats for their monthly checkup that’s why she has to leave Daphne with Harry and even though she’s not fond of her in hospitals Harry assured her that he’s heading home soon.

When Y/N leaves, Harry blows raspberries at her face and she pouts just like her mummy and he’s squishing that pout like his own little duckling.

“Da',” She grumbles and Harry kisses her cheek fondly and lovingly, “Yes Da, bubblin. Guess like we’ve got a date with Pooh and Roo at home.” He guffaws out loudly when Daphne's eyes visibly twinkles at the name of her plushies she likes to chew on and get them all soggy by the end of the day.

“You’re such a minx, baby!” Harry thinks he couldn’t be happier.

He’s complete.

His family is complete.

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible Hand Chaos AU x 2

Star Wars Time Travel AU #31

Continuation from HERE

Anakin whirled to face his Master, “Did you know Yoda had a baby?” he asked incredulous and slightly betrayed.

“What? No. Also he could just be another of Yoda’s species. Obviously.” Internally Obi-Wan thought about the still unnamed larva in a hidden aquatic creche, but the Mandalorian’s associate even called him Baby Yoda...

“Unbelievable,” Dooku muttered. “That little green hypocrite.”

“Did you know about this?” Anakin asked the Sith Lord, temporarily forgetting about the fight in favor of the revelation that Yoda might also have a secret family.

“Of course not, the troll never tells anyone anything,” Dooku ranted, deliberately setting aside the fight in favor of unloading decades of suppressed irritation with his former Master.

“I feel we might be jumping to conclusions here-” Obi-Wan offered weakly.

Anakin scoffed. “He literally just called him Baby Yoda,”

“Loathe as I am to admit it, your apprentice is correct. It would seem the Grandmaster of the order has been keeping some secrets.”

“This is absurd!” Obi-Wan protested as the small child on the balcony above tilted his head curiously, watching the conversation below with interest from the safety of his Buir’s arms.

“I agree.” Anakin said self-righteously. “If Yoda can have a baby then- then everyone in the order should be allowed a family.”

“Anakin...”

“Anakin, as interesting is this all is, I’m still in somewhat of a bind over here,” the Chancellor called across the hall, irritated and somewhat alarmed by the sudden outbreak of peace in the room.

“We’ll be right with you Chancellor, don’t worry!” Obi-Wan called back.

“We just need a minute to figure some Jedi business out!” Anakin added.

“You there- Mandalorian” Dooku called up sharply.

“...Yeah?” the Besker-clad warrior answered uncertainly.

“What is the parentage of the child in your arms? How did you come to possess him?” The count's question cut through everything else in the room, and the two Jedi held their breath as they waited for the answer.

The Mandalorian pulled Grogu in closer, “He is a foundling. I know his name as my child.”

“Mandalorians,” Obi-Wan and Dooku muttered, Obi-Wan fondly, Dooku with exasperation.

“What?” Anakin asked bewildered.

“The Mandalorian adopted him- hold on a second, I’m going to try something.” Obi-Wan said.

“Mando! Forgive me- Have you already attempted to return your foundling to his people and been denied? If not, we can show you where to find an elder of his kind.”

The Mandalorian stiffened. “I already found one of his people. It took a great deal of time; neither of us knew there were any others left in the galaxy. By the time I met Luke...the child was mine and we would not be parted long. The three of us began traveling together. He acted as mentor to Grogu, though he is too young to be considered the boy’s senior. In time...we decided it would be simpler to raise him as a warrior together. We are one.”

“Oh. How wonderful.” Obi-Wan said weakly.

Anakin’s brow furrowed furiously and he lowered his voice “Master did I get that right? This guy is really good friend’s with one of Yoda’s people but the friend is not the Child’s biological father and they don’t know anyone else from the species?”

“He actually said he was married to one of one of Yoda’s people but other than that your conclusions are correct. Very good Padawan.” Obi-Wan nodded, attempting to wrap his head around the various implications.

Dooku made a triumphant hum, “Then, by simple inductive reasoning, and in the absence of an alternative candidate, we can assume that the Child is, in-fact, Yoda’s offspring.”

“Exactly!” Anakin agreed with Dooku excitedly.

“Interesting that he would give the spawn to a Mandalorian, rather than the creche. Embarrassment, perhaps.” the Count mused.

“Unbelievable.” Anakin agreed indignantly.

“Ok, now hold on. Foundling is pretty literal most of the time-” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Mando- was the child entrusted to you or did was there a rescuing involved?”

“...I was assigned to find him as part of a bounty, but found the imps who I was supposed to give him to...unpleasant.”

“Imps?” Anakin asked.

“There you go!” Obi-Wan said, with just a tinge of hysteria. “Yoda didn’t abandon the child- not that it necessarily is Yoda’s child- he was kidnapped.”

Anakin gasped, “Master! We have to save him!”

“Hold on now, Anakin- He seems perfectly safe at this point and we were here for the Chancellor remember?”

“You won’t be leaving here with the Chancellor or the child.” Dooku sneered. “I can sense the force potential- and I am in want of a new apprentice.”

“Over my dead body,” Anakin snarled.

“That can be arranged.”

“Hey Luke-” the Mandalorian said into the comm as the three swordsman began circling one another “-it looks like two of the Jedi are attacking the other- do you want me to get involved?”

“...Din, by any chance, are any of the laser swords red?”

“Yeah, the fanciest dressed one has a red lightsaber, the other guys are blue. Does it matter?”

“...Red lightsaber means not Jedi. I- hold on, I think I see you!”

The three combatants jumped apart again, looking up at the slight comm echo to the sound of footsteps and the absolutely blinding force presence of the approaching Jedi.

Had he never learned shielding? Obi-Wan thought hysterically. “Or was he just so powerful that he never bothered restraining himself?”

He tried to exchange a glance with Anakin, but his padawan was too focused on straining to see the incoming Master force user of some kind- light, but not necessarily Jedi. He instead looked over at Dooku, shrugging in confusion. Dooku grimaced back at him in solidarity.

The being finally entered. He was- significantly taller and less green than Obi-Wan was expecting, but still probably shorter than anyone else in the room.

“Din- are you two alright?” The soft-faced man asked in a remarkably gently voice, appearance somewhat at odds with the overbearing power he exuded.

“We’re fine, Luke but look! More Jedi!” He gestured below.

Luke peered over the balcony, eyes growing wide as they passed over the faces of everyone below. “hoLY KRIFF!” He shouted.

The ship shuddered and Obi-Wan glanced nervously out the view ports, suddenly remembered that the damaged ship only had so long before it fell out of orbit.

“Do you know them?” Din asked.

“Do I- for fuck’s sake Din, I love you but I have literally shown you holopics of my father before.” Luke whispered furiously. The room unfortunately was utterly quiet and remarkably acoustic, meaning his words carried easily to the listeners below.

“FATHER!” Anakin yelled, causing Luke to wince, slapping a gloved hand to his face.

“FATHER!” He repeated loudly, head ping-ponging between Obi-Wan and Dooku as if trying to find a resemblance, before gasping to stare at the Chancellor, before gasping again to squint at Obi-Wan.

“DOES EVERYONE HAVE A SECRET FAMILY!” He shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh for force sake- I do not have a secret son. Honestly, Anakin, he’s clearly in his 20s, be reasonable. His birth would however fit into the timeline of Dooku’s withdraw from the order.” Obi-Wan said, raising a brow.

Dooku puffed out his chest, “I did not fail to meet the Code, like so many of the pathetic masses. Before I left the Order I followed the rules precisely. When my disagreements grew too great, and my attempt for structured reform were repeatedly rejected, I left for ethical reasons, not personal ones. I looked at the code and decided it was failing the Jedi.”

He smirked and lifted his chin at the chancellor, who was watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression, “My, my Chancellor, this is an interesting surprise.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “We’re not idiots, Dooku. Obviously the boy’s parents were force sensitive, look at him.”

Dooku’s smirk grew wider.

“This is absurd! Again!” Obi-Wan threw up his arms and lifted his head to address the dark-robed young human, “Hello there, Luke, was it?”

“Uh, yes. I’m Luke.” The powerhouse responded nervously.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi-”

“Yes, I know who you are.” Luke responded drily.

Anakin gasped.

“He is not my son.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I’m not Obi-Wan’s son.” Luke called down cheerfully.

“Oh.” Anakin slouched, oddly disappointed. He liked this guy for some reason, felt- connected to him. Maybe it was the dark robes, or the force signature that nearly rivaled his own (though it was somewhat lighter), or even the gloved hand that he suspected was mechanical. If he was Obi-Wan’s son than that would make him practically his brother! The Chancellor might be neat but Dooku...ugh.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us whose son you are? I realize its none of my business but you’ve peaked our curiosity. And then afterwards, regardless of your parentage, we would not mind help in rescuing the Chancellor of the Republic from this slowly crashing ship.”

“Right. Right.” Luke nodded. “Would you give me a second?”

He pressed his head to the side of Din’s helmet and started whispering rapidly, to quiet for anyone else to hear.

The group below exchanged glances, beginning to tense up again. After a few seconds, the Mandalorian nodded and spoke, “Let’s do it. I trust your judgement.” Luke grinned and returned to the edge of the balcony.

“Ok, I can help with the first, but not the second.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin bristled. “So Dooku is your father.”

Luke smiled at Anakin. “No. You are my father.”

Anakin blinked as Obi-Wan’s face twisted in confusion. “No...” he said slowly. “No, that’s not true. That’s impossible.”

Luke’s smile grew wider, “Search your feelings,” he said urgently, with the full weight of his force presence screaming honesty with every word, “You know it to be true.”

Anakin gasped as he reached out into the force to find...his son. Impossible, but true. The ground trembled, either with the immensity of the realization, or catastrophic engine failure.

“No.” Obi-Wan said clearly to Luke on the balcony.

“No.” He repeated firmly, snapping a finger in Anakin’s face to try and break him out of the trance he seemed to be in. “It’s not true.” He said to the room in general, incredulous it even needed to be said.

Dooku began slowly backing away. The confrontation was rapidly spinning out of his or his Master’s control; he had only stayed this long to indulge vain curiosity. Regardless if the boy was insane, lying, or a time-traveler, he was clearly powerful. The ship’s orbit was gradually decaying and with any luck he could use his dead man’s switch to speed up the crash as he departed, neatly killing everyone who could stand against him in one stroke.

“Anakin,” the lunatic on the balcony continued, “You can destroy the emperor. He has forseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together-”

Din cleared his throat.

Luke stopped and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry! Sorry. Got a little...carried away there.” He coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“Anyway- yeah. I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m from the future, I guess we... time-traveled accidentally somehow? I uh- was kind-of quoting something you said to me once and you kept going along with it and... yeah, definitely got carried away. Sorry, I really don’t know how we got here but, weird stuff happens around me- one time I was on Yavin IV and these ghosts started- anyway. Long story. Surprise!”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok...I might believe you’re Anakin’s son.”

Dooku had nearly reached a side door when his treacherous Master called out- “Anakin! Master Kenobi! Dooku- he’s getting away.”

Skywalker’s- Anakin Skywalker’s- attention snapped over to the Count and with a outstretched arm, he crumpled the steel door, throwing a beam across it for good measure. The ship moaned alarmingly and several more red lights began blinking at the navigation panel, unnoticed by anyone.

“Luke- son- I don’t know what Emperor you’re talking about, but help us defeat Count Dooku and save Chancellor Palpatine! After that- after that I’m happy to, um, join you? And meet your... husband? And padawan? Sorry, we were kind-of in the middle of something...”

“Wow. Ok. I’m not sure if-” Luke started to respond before being interrupted by the Mandalorian.

“Wait, Dooku! I know that name!” Din said suddenly. “The covert hated him! He was the evil Sif Emperor you defeated, right?”

“...Sith Emperor. Din, darling and light of my life, as always, your grasp of history and recent current events never fails to amaze me.” Luke sighed.

“You must stop him, before he becomes Emperor,” Palpatine shouted desperately.

Luke sighed again, more heavily. “Fine. FINE! Kriff the timeline, I didn’t ask to be born anyway. Din- go help capture...Emperor Dooku. Grogu- Pod. I’ll go- free the Chancellor.” The floor beneath them gave a lurch. “Before this ship breaks apart. Go!”

Luke and Din jumped off the balcony as a shiny metal pod with a transparisteel view screen closed around Grogu, hovering between them, well off easy reach of the ground.

Din landed between Obi-Wan and Anakin, helmet turning to face each of them in turn, “...I’ll follow your lead.” He finally said, arming his weapons.

Obi-Wan grinned fiercely, “Excellent, Anakin, stay with me.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

“Mando, you- Is that the DARKSABER- ARE Yoouu- ugh you know what, I will ask after the fight. I will ask after the fight. How did the Mand'alor- NEVERMIND. Let’s just- FORCE I have so many questions-”

“No time, Master!”

And the battle began.

#star wars #the mandalorian #my au #invisible hand chaos au #star wars au no 31 #i had so much fun writing this you have no idea #star wars au #time travel #star wars fanfiction

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akingdomofswordsandstories · 4 years ago

Text

Tired

azriel (acotar) x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, depression

word count: 1809

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of your room and the sound of birds humming filled the room. Groggily, you opened your eyes, surveying the scene. The left side of your bed was cold and empty. Azriel must have had to head up to Windhaven earlier this morning.

Glancing to the window, you saw it was half way open. Azriel’s small gestures never failed to make you smile. He knew you loved the smell of the breeze and the fresh air. It was refreshing. A moment of peace.But recently, it got harder and harder to smile. You put on a front to alleviate suspicion. The last thing you wanted was the inner circle being worried about your problems while they were dealing with other threats.

Swinging your legs over the bed, you felt the cool breeze against them. You made your way to the bathroom, getting ready for the day. You splashed cold water onto your face to try and wake yourself up. You looked in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back. Your disgust and hatred surfaced as your grip tightened on the edge of the bathroom counter. Why were you feeling this way? You wished you could go back to normal, to the happy carefree person you were months ago. That person was nowhere to be seen and you were stuck like this, stuck in your head and your thoughts.

Azriel must have sensed something was bothering you because he brushed your mind through the bond, sending a questioning thought . You quickly played it off sending your false happiness down the bond. When you usually had your thoughts, you made sure to cut the bond off, but not for too long because Azriel would get worried otherwise.

You kept these thoughts to yourself and didn’t let anyone see them. You felt guilty for feeling like this. You should be happy, not sad. You shouldn’t loathe yourself, you had people who loved you. But your self doubt and hatred never left you alone and you didn’t want to share this burden with Az, who has already been through so much. So you kept it bottled up and to yourself, only ever letting them surface in the dark when there was nobody but you and your demons.

The swift knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. You shoved the feelings down and plastered on a smile.

“Come in! The door is unlocked”

“Hey y/n! I just wanted to let you know that Rhys and Feyre planned a dinner party at the House of Wind tonight!” Mor said

“Oh? That sounds quite last minute” you chuckled

“Yeah, something about diplomacy and putting on a strong front? I wasn’t paying too much attention. Anyway, I need a new dress for the occasion and was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the Rainbow later?”

“That sounds so lovely, but I have to run a few errands,” you lied. Your energy had seemed to have left you and you were barely keeping your front up. “You’re gonna look gorgeous in whichever dress you get” you quickly added, giving her a tight lipped smile.

Mor could sense that you weren’t yourself. “Are you feeling ok y/n? You sound a bit- off?”

“Oh yeah of course! I’m just a bit tired. I think I’m going to head down and grab a cup of coffee. You know I love my coffee.” you gave her a slight chuckle.

“Well, if you’re heading down, I’ll just come with you. I need to head out and pick up a few more things for the party anyway.”

You gave her another smile, closing the door to your room as you followed her down the stairs

---------------------------------

Today was one of your bad days. Nothing you did could get your mind off the thoughts that haunted you. Normally, you were able to distract yourself, at least for a few hours, but today you could not evade them. They were the predator and you were their prey.

The inner circle was still in Windhaven. They were probably dealing with Devlon’s excuses as to why the females weren’t training. You knew they would be getting back soon though, since the party was soon.

Making your way back into the kitchen, you pulled out a kettle and filled it with water. Putting it on the stove and letting it boil, you grabbed a tall mug and some of your favorite tea powder. The kettle whistled and you poured the water into your mug. The first sip was comforting, the warmth spreading through your body. You closed your eyes and sighed, basking in the few moments of peace you had.

The wind whistled and you heard a series of thumps on the balcony. Opening your eyes, you saw that Azriel and the others had returned. Anger was painted over his face, but it vanished as soon as he saw you. He made his way over to you, giving you a quick peck on the lips. You breathed in his scent, the wind and the pine giving you a sense of comfort.

“So how did your check up with Devlon go?” you asked

Cassian let out a loud huff before anyone could respond

“Not well, I take it?”

“He keeps giving more chores to the females to keep them out of the training ring. I wanted to break his hand right there.” Azriel answered

“Oh Az, don’t worry, next time Devlon pulls shit like that, I give you and Cassian free reign to do whatever you want with him.” Rhys grinned out

“Oh mother I like the sound of that. God knows he needs to be put in his place.” Cassian sighed

“Devlon aside, are you guys ready for the party?” Feyre asked

“Fuck yeah, I’m in desperate need of booze” Cassian yelled out, causing all of you to laugh

“It sounds like fun, but I haven’t been feeling too well, so I think i’ll just stay home tonight.” you murmured

Azriel immediately put his attention on you. “Are you ok love? Do I need to call Madja?”.

“No no, don’t worry about me, I think I just need a little rest. You go to the party and have fun though. For me.” You knew that was the only way you would get him to go.

He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Az, darling, i’ll be fine”

He relented. “Fine. But if I sense anything is off, I’m coming home immediately.”

---------------------------------

The other left to the House of Wind and you were finally left alone again. You wrapped yourself up in a blanket and lied down on your bed, drifting off.

A few hours later you woke up. Groaning, you made your way over to the bathroom. Gripping the counter, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You felt angry and disgusted. Your hand curled into a fist and before you could process what you were doing, the mirror shattered. You could feel the cuts on your hand, but the pain was the last thing on your mind.

Dropping your front, your thoughts and feelings flooded back into you. You felt the numbness washing over you as your feelings hounded you, ripping into you. You were so tired. You didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Why did you deserve anything?

Your self deprecating thoughts kept slamming into you.

You weren’t pretty enough. Azriel deserved better. He was only with you out of pity. He didn’t really love you. How could he ever love someone like you.

Finally the dam broke and your tears started flowing. Backing up to the wall, you slowly slid down, hugging your body, your sobs never ending.

---------------------------------

What you hadn’t realized was for a split second, your hold on the bond had faltered, and all your emotions and pain had slammed into Azriel. He almost lost his footing, clutching his heart and holding onto Cassian to keep him from falling over.

“Az? Azriel, what's wrong?” Cassian shouted

“I-, I need to go home. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just need to check on y/n.”

Cassian didn’t have time to say anything else before Azriel disappeared into the shadows.

---------------------------------

“Y/n? Y/n! Darling, where are you?” Azriel shouted as he got home

Rushing into your shared room, he heard your sobs and made his way to the bathroom. His heart clenched when he saw you. He immediately crouched down next to you, gently picking up your body and leaning it against his.

“A- Az?” You hiccuped out, tears blurring your vision “Wha- What are you doing here? I thought I closed the bond”. Another sob left your body.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered into your hair, afraid you might break if his voice was any louder. “I could’ve helped you through this.”. One of his hands was wrapped around your bloodied one and the other one was gently rubbing your back.

“Why?” You spoke so softly that Azriel thought he imagined it.

“You deserve-” You took a deep breath to try and slow your tears, “You deserve so much more than me. Someone better than me. I’m nothing- I’m worthless. I’m not pretty enough or graceful enough. You should be with someone like Elain or Gwyn. Someone who is worthy of you. Someone who deserves your love”.

“That’s not your choice to make darling. I get to choose who I love, and I love you”

“I’m not worthy of your love” you whispered. “You shouldn’t be with someone like me. You shouldn’t have to deal with all my problems and insecurities. You should be with someone who doesn’t hate everything about themselves. You already deal with so much, you shouldn’t have this burden on you too.”. Tears burned the back of your throat.

“I’m no stranger to self-deprecation” Azriel laughed soundlessly “You’ve helped me through so many low points, it’s only fair i help you through yours. It’s what mates do. It what i’ll do, because I love you.”

“You shouldn’t” you cracked out

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” he whispered into your hair, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”

At the sound of those words, you opened the bond and let Azriel see everything. You bore your soul to him and laid everything bare. You sobbed harder into his chest as he held you, sitting in the silence.

After you started feeling a bit better, Azriel lifted you up and placed you on the counter so he could clean your hand and wrap it in gauze. He quickly got changed and led the two of you to your bed.

“Did- Did you mean it?” you whispered out,

“Every word my love. Every single word.”

Pulling you close, he whispered sweet nothings till you drifted off.

#azriel x reader #azriel acotar x reader #acotar x reader #rhysand #cassian #acotar

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Just Two Sad Roommates

Corpse Husband x Reader(Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: The power of medieval tavern music gets put to the test when Corpse’s roommate is having a rough day. SPOILER ALERT: it’s more powerful than anyone could assume.

Requested by Anon. You know who you are 😊😋 Wish I could tag you, I loved this idea so much and had such a fun time writing it. Hope you enjoy it just as much 🥰

The last twenty four hours haven’t been so great.

Last night I had a huge fight with my boyfriend over his flirty messages with several girls. It was not just witty banter, it was way more and way more hurtful to me. He obviously denied it and defended himself, at least in the beginning of the argument. Then he took on the accusatory stance, pointing fingers at me for living with another guy. That had me absolutely fuming. Not only was his statement fabricated and literally made up on the spot, but he also used some seriously horrible insults for him. I was having non of it. Corpse is a really great roommate, sweet guy and overall amazing person. I haven’t once argued with him since we’ve started living together. We’re actually quite good friends. So hearing my asshole boyfriend call him all those names was more than enough to chase him out of the apartment. Thankfully, Corpse wasn’t home to hear all that. He rarely leaves the apartment but by some miracle this was the time he was absent.

Then this morning my mom called me to have a chat. It started off decently enough but it only remained that way for so long. It didn’t take her long to start criticizing each and every element of my existence. From my job, my boyfriend, my living arrangement, the career I’ve decided to pursue, the fact I moved to a different state, my paycheck that’s lower than her friend’s daughter’s...…..You get the point.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating what the two years I’ve been in a relationship with Marcus mean to me. I guess it is just like a phone call from my mother - starts off nice but slowly deteriorates. All things follow this pattern in my life, apparently. And just like the phone calls, I’ve considered ending things between me and him many times but never actually decided on it. Until now. The last part of this decision is executing it, which doesn’t look very promising. My thumbs are frozen, hovering over the keyboard.

I take a second to take a look at my life from a third person point of view, like an out of body experience. I am wrapped in a blanket, huddled on the couch like a burrito with a face. A really sad burrito with a face. I have a job where I work as much as three highly ranked workers and get paid a little over a secretary’s paycheck. I’m in a constant state of exhaustion and disinterest. I often forget I’m human and just assume I can live like a cactus - no food, no water. I have a boyfriend that’s cheating on me and most likely has been for quite some time now. And we’ve been dating for two fucking years. Man, that must be the longest cheat streak in history. Who knows with how many girls as well. And I still have trouble deciding weather to break up with him or not. Actually no, scratch that, I have already decided, but it feel so unnatural and so out of character that my body refuses to complete the task of delivering the final blow to the structure of this relationship which was already weak to begin with.

And it only got weaker when I started catching feelings for another guy. I know, I know, I’m a bad person for that, but I was never planning to act on those feelings. They have always just...lingered, loomed over me. They got stronger and stronger every time Marcus and I would fight, as though they were laughing at my mock of a relationship.

Speaking of laughter, I hear my roommate laughing in his recording room. I gave him the spare room for his recording equipment for a cheap add to his rent fee and it’s probably the second best decision I’ve ever made - first being picking him to be my roommate. He was among the first to reply to my online add and appeared the least sketchy over the phone. More hypnotizing if I’m honest. He could’ve told me he was a hitman and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, handing the keys to his room and the apartment without a second thought. All he had to do was keep talking. Again, SUE ME.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic!“ I drop my phone when all the strings inside me snap, releasing the sobs and tears I’ve been holding back for so long.

I bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head in between them, desperately trying to shield myself from the plane crash that is my life at the moment. Crying makes me feel even sadder and more miserable but I have nothing left to do to get all the crap that’s piled up inside me out.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep, the tears have dried and the sobs have died somewhere in my chest, when I hear what sounds like music straight from Robin Hood’s time.

Holy shit, I’ve lost it

I lift my head from in-between my knees, looking around the living room for the source of the jolly, lighthearted tune which despite all the heaviness of my self-loathing makes me feel like the main character in an medieval adventure. Wait...Holy crap, it’s that medieval adventure, Robin Hood-ass music I hear from Corpse’s room!

I whip around to face the entrance from to the hallway where I see an arm sticking out, holding a phone which is where the music is coming from.

“Corpse?“ I call out to him in a questioning manner, shifting to a sitting position with my blanket kicked off of me and bunched up next to me.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry or sad...or both. Didn’t want to get attacked upon entering the room.“ I see the right side of his face peek out as well.

I break out into laughter, covering my mouth with one hand, “You’re such a dork.”

He takes this as a sign to come in, pausing the music as he does so. “What’s wrong?”

My laugh stops but a smile remains on my face as I look at him. He just has that effect on me. “A lot. What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, plopping down on the couch, “The usual, streaming Among Us. You should play with me and my friends some time.”

I scoff, “I can pull of a lie no problem. Maybe I really should.” I don’t actually consider it, it’s just funny to think about.

I have never watched any of Corpse’s content. Not his scary story videos, not his streams, not his animated compilations. Just his songs. And let me tell you...they are hella good. One song and I was hooked.

“Hey, I have a question.“ I tilt my head to look at him, “What’s with you and your love for medieval adventure music?“

“Medieval tavern music, and it’s not really love.“ He shakes his head with this dopey grin that is just. so. adorable. “More like a coping mechanism. Tell me, did you feel less sad I played it for you?“

I stop and think for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Point made.“ He declares, leaving me to nod in amusement. “Now, tell me what that ‘a lot’ is.“

So, I do. I tell him everything, from how my boyfriend is cheating on me to how my mother thinks I’m a complete failure. He listens carefully, paying close attention to everything I’m saying. I catch myself laughing a few times while I retell the recent upsetting events.

Must be that music.

“So, you broke up?“ He asks once I end my monologue with a sigh

I shake my head disappointedly, “Not yet. I still haven’t pulled the plug. I don’t know what to say.”

He holds out his hand to me, “May I be of assistance?”

I look at his hand then at him and contemplate for only a second before deciding ‘what the hell’ and handing over my phone after unlocking it. The screen displays my boyfriend’s chat so Corpse just types away what he has in mind. Before pressing ‘send’, he hands the phone back to me. “Proofread it.”

‘Dear Marcus, this is one of your girlfriends speaking. Yes, one of them. You think I’m not onto what you’re doing, you little shit? Well, to your dismay, I am. And so, I discontinue this relation between us. That word might have been too long for your IQ so let me rephrase: We are over. Finished. Hope your other girlfriends wake up too, unless they are already in the know, of course. Love, but really hate, Y/N‘

I was never aware this level of sass even existed.

I add a smiling emoji and send the message, sighing in relief. “I can check that off my to-do list now.”

We both lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A moment of comfortable silence takes over, leaving us both wandering in our own heads.

“Hey, um, I wanted to do this when I first moved in, but then I met your boyfriend and I took the hint. Now that you’re single, would you want to...“ he sounds a bit uncertain but continues regardless, “It’s ridiculous cause I don’t really like the idea of going out, but maybe we could order take-out...“

“Are you circling around asking me on an at-home date?“ I am surprised by how unbothered I manage to sound while I’m squealing on the inside. It’s fascinating how quickly a person can flip someone’s day around. Turns out it wasn’t the music at all. It was him that had the positive effect on mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch his face turn red and have to contain my laughter. The grin can’t be tamed though, especially not when he says, “Yes.”

Internally squealing, I launch myself from the couch, standing up straight in front of him. “Thai. My usual order is on the sticky note on the fridge. But first,” I offer him my hand, “I need to find out if a person can even dance to that ridiculous music.” At his amusement, my grin widens, “May I have this dance?”

He laughs that adorable laugh of his I’ve only heard through the layer of a wooden door. It’s even cuter when there’s nothing between me and its source. The source is cute too, not gonna lie.

With a shake of his head which is most likely disbelief, he takes the hand I’ve offered him, saying: “And you call me a dork.”

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 years ago

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Touch it for Real, Part 10

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Angst / (Eventual) Smut 18+

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers / unresolved sexual tension

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

A/N: I had to split this chapter due to length. Part 10.5 will follow tomorrow.

The song inspiration for this chapter is Eric Nam’s The Night

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , FINAL Part 10.5

You hadn’t touched the app since you’d done it.

You hadn’t slept much either.

The guilt was eating you alive from the inside and you were pretty sure the ache you felt in your stomach was an ulcer from the stress of living with the horrible mistakes you had made.

Your room was the wrong temperature.

Your bed was uncomfortable.

The light that shone through your window from the moonlight was too bright. You couldn't hide away from it no matter how hard you tried.

No matter how tightly you closed your eyelids you could still see everything too clearly. Even hiding your head under your pillow didn't block it all.

The clock on the wall of your bedroom ticked rhythmically and the sound was counting down to your destruction.

You fought the useless battle against the bright moonlight for hours until you realized the reason why you could so clearly see the messy clothes on the floor in front of your closet and the overflowing wastebasket sitting beside your desk wasn’t because of a super moon occupying the sky outside, but that brightness was actually the sun shining through your window now; alerting you to the fact that you had once again spent an entire night wallowing in your own self pity or self hatred or self loathing or whatever self bullshit was on the docket this time.

It was Sunday morning.

You were sitting on a time bomb as you spread butter on your toast and kept your ears tuned in for the sounds of life inside his bedroom.

You hadn’t really expected him to, but Baekhyun hadn’t appeared since last night when he disappeared inside his bedroom to sleep. You hadn’t heard him playing games all night or even heard his shower running or playing loud music well into the sunrise.

Was he really sleeping?

All night?

Like a normal person?

Or maybe like someone who wasn’t too weighed down by the pressure of their own substantial sins might sleep.

You knew that Baekhyun liked to sleep in late on days when he had nothing pressing to attend to. You’d both gotten in late last night and he probably wouldn't make an appearance until late morning. Maybe not even until lunchtime.

Your toast was bland and floppy by the time you took a bite and you scowled down at the disappointing thing. Surely and somehow you could blame yourself for this breakfast failure. It wasn’t the toaster. That thing was perfect. It was you. You’d waited too long to eat it. You’d been wallowing for too long and now it was a waste.

It was all a waste.

You’d drive yourself crazy at this rate. You needed a distraction to get through it.

You would do laundry and clean your bathroom and tidy your room and maybe then you could think.

Think about what you had done to Mia, what you had done to Baekhyun; think about how low that was and how undoable it was. It wasn't like you could un-delete the messages.

You worked on your Sunday chores and you were thinking hard. The doubt was heavy and made the load of laundry you carried out of your bedroom feel this basket was full of bricks and you were walking on a sandy beach.

How would Baekhyun react? Would he know that you had been the one to delete the messages or would he blame it on a glitch in the system? What would he think of you when Mia told him that he’d agreed to meet her himself last night. Last night when he was asleep.

What would happen to Mia?

Would she sit alone at the cafe for an hour waiting for him or would she text him right away?

Would she quietly absorb her disappointment at being stood up or would she blame him for it. Had you just made him the bad guy? Your sweet Peanut — a villain?

You didn't want to hurt her. You had liked her. Your jealousy had just taken over last night. You’d never been stood up before but you imagined it felt awful. Baekhyun knew what it felt like. Would it hurt him terribly to believe that he had somehow played a part in causing someone else that kind of pain by making the mistake of associating with you; the mistake of trusting you?

You’d been watching your laundry spin around in a circle for a half an hour now and you looked up on top of the machine to see the carefully measured cup of soap sitting there. You’d been so lost in your thoughts that you forgot to put it in. The disappointment you felt in yourself was fitting it hardly even made a dent in the already deep down in the mud mood you were in.

You’d have to stop the cycle and restart it with soap. You’d wasted all of that water.

If Baekhyun knew about this he would be so disappointed in you. He would complain and nag about the irreparable damage you’d done to the Earth, to his Earth, his planet, his home. The only one he had to live on.

And you deserved to be nagged. You deserved to be scolded and yelled at and you deserved to be made to feel like the absolute scum of the earth because what you had just done to him was unforgivable.

Would he really never forgive you?

Was this what finally did it? Not your laziness or your pranks or your inability to pay rent on time, but this? You’d been given his trust and you’d trampled all over it. You’d taken what he’d given you, his friendship and his access to him, to his privacy that he valued above all else and you’d squandered it for selfish and jealous and disgusting reasons. You’d trampled all over it, all over him. Again and again you showed that you didn’t deserve someone like him. You’d sinned against him and for what?

To stop him from dating a girl who you’d pushed him toward in the first place.

You were an asshole. The worst kind. A jealous, petty, selfish asshole.

You felt it then. You’d paused your load of laundry and you reached for the soap after the water drained from the tub. You held the button down to cancel and reset the cycle and you watched the digital display blink angrily at you, telling you that what you were trying to do was not allowed, it was against the rules. You were supposed to just let the wash cycle happen, you were just supposed to let it happen, you had been the one to push the button, you started it, why were you pausing right now why were you stopping and reversing when this was what you wanted? What kind of asshole stops the cycle right in the middle?

The numbers on the screen blurred. It was a blinking fuzzy red tinted mess. You could feel the sting and then the relief of the tears that crested and fell and you exhaled through a mostly stuffed up nose.

You couldn't do this to him.

The tears on your face were warm and wet and they fell freely as the intense regret washed over you completely.

This wasn’t you. You weren’t this person. You weren’t underhanded and sneaky. You didn't have the stomach for it. You felt like you might be sick just imagining poor Mia sitting there waiting for him, thinking the worst of him, believing that he was that kind of selfish cruel man who would treat a woman this way. That wasn’t fair to Baekhyun and you’d been a real monster to try such a low down dirty trick like this.

You had to fix this.

You were out of any other options other than honesty. You had to tell him exactly what you had done last night in a moment of misguided weakness, in a moment of stupidity and you had to tell him that he still had time to go meet her, to talk about whatever it was she wanted to tell him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and went into your bathroom to clean your face up. You would not let him be swayed by the selfish tears on your face. You had to control yourself and confess your crimes and you had to be straightforward and strong about it.

You gripped your cell phone and you inhaled a breath through your nose and exhaled it slowly through your mouth. Your exhale hiccuped once from the earlier upset and so you did it again; breathing in deeply, filling your lungs as full as you could and exhaling in one long continuous breath; until it was stable again, until you could feel your racing heartbeat relinquishing the manic control it had over you.

His door was closed and it was quiet behind the door.

You knocked twice, listening carefully over the thumping in your chest for the sound of his voice from inside.

Finally it came; a soft hum from within.

“Baekhyun—” You called through the door, “can I come in?”

His voice hummed again, low and sleepy, and you turned the knob, pushing the door open and then pushing yourself forward slowly.

He was in his bed, half under his covers with a leg sticking out and he rolled away from the wall he was facing as you came into the room, pulling his blanket down to uncover his face, his eyes peered at you as he squinted against the light in the room.

“Hmm?” He hummed again and his eyes closed back up.

You held your phone out toward him and you moved closer to his bed. He squinted one eye open and lifted a hand palm up which he quickly dropped back down onto the bed, clearly still half asleep.

“Did you break your phone?” His voice was thick with sleep and his eyes were still closed as he talked to you.

“No, I didn’t break it. I did something wrong.”

“Give it. I’ll fix it.” He was talking again, reaching again with more conviction now as the spell of sleep that he had been under began to break.

He was sitting up. He was looking at you with his warm brown eyes and he was blinking as he tried to focus on what you were saying to him.

“No. I didn't break it. I did something wrong,” you repeated for emphasis and continued for clarity, “I did something bad to you. Last night when you were asleep—”

Oh this was hard. His brows lifted and you had his attention. Your words, the seriousness of then sharpened his eyes on you as you spoke.

“Last night, Mia messaged you...after the date.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrowed and he was watching you very closely as the words emerged. His eyes were focused on your face and his mind was processing what you were telling him. He was still sleepy but your words were pulling him out of it. His hands gripped the cellphone you’d pushed into his hands.

“I opened the app you made for me. I read a message that Mia sent you. She wanted to meet you for coffee t-today— this afternoon, in less than an hour.”

You could feel your control slipping as you spoke the truth about the awful thing you had done and you had to look down and away from his face as you continued your confession otherwise that thickness you felt in your throat would come through in your voice. Otherwise you might not make it through this without crying. You promised yourself already that you would not do that. You had to get this out and it had to be clear and controlled. You did not deserve his sympathy or even his forgiveness. This violation had been inexcusable.

Your own hands were empty. You’d given him your phone and he was holding it now.

“I pretended to be you, told her you would meet her and then I deleted the messages so you would not see them. So that you would stand her up. It was wrong of me. It was a mistake. I’m sorry. You can delete the app, or change the permissions or do something. I’m sorry. I know you trusted me and I messed it all up — Baekhyun, you can still make it. You can get ready and go meet her for coffee. She had something she wanted to ask you. If you get ready now, you won't miss her. She wont get stood up because — because I fucked up and I acted like an asshole.”

Baekhyun’s sleepy face had changed as you spoke. You inhaled a deep breath and looked into his eyes and you found him watching you with a new hardness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before and his hand gripped tight enough to snap around your cell phone.

You could feel the blood under your skin just at the surface, heating your flesh and flushing your cheeks. You pulled your lips tight to keep the tremble out of them and he was watching your face too closely for you to be able to keep up the eye contact.

“Bug, why would you do that?” He spoke through clenched teeth and all traces of his earlier sleep were gone.

“I’m sorry. It just felt so bad and I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway and I have no excuse.”

You felt the bed move when he shifted and he was pushing himself up into a full seated position with his legs hanging over the side of his bed.

The movement made you push back and away, clearing a path for him to get up. You knew he had to get ready quickly if he wanted to make it in time. What if there was traffic?

“You still have time to make it— if you go now,” you said with a quick glance up into his eyes and you noticed he’d abandoned your phone on his bed as he moved. “She’ll be waiting for you.”

Baekhyun wasn’t standing yet and he was still looking at you with that odd hardness in his eyes and a very slight back and forth head shake as his only significant movement.

Your mind was preoccupied with the ticking clock on the wall and he was still just sitting there on his bed looking at you.

Yes, you had disappointed him. Yes, you had fucked up. But you were trying here. You were trying to make this right and you knew it wasn’t fair to him to throw this surprise coffee date on him at the last second but you’d fucked up and you couldn't think of any other way to fix it other than to get that man to stand up and get dressed so he could go meet her right now.

You reached for his hand and you grabbed lightly around his wrist and you pulled.

“Baekhyun. You need to move. You’re not moving. Please.” Your pleas were growing desperate. How in the world would you fix it if he wouldn't let you fix it?

“Is it because you were upset about Ben?” When he finally moved it was not his body or his legs it was his mouth and you let your hand sag with his wrist still suspended in your grasp.

He moved then, Baekhyun stood up and you let your hand fall away from his arm, pulling your arms up awkwardly to cross them over your chest. You took another step away. The discomfort flowed through your entire body. You’d created this problem. This was all your fault. This atmosphere was unbearable and you could only blame yourself.

You were looking down at your feet and you wished he wasn’t watching your face as closely as he was as his eyes roamed over your pained expression. He was still shaking his head and you could tell that he was trying his hardest to make sense out of your terrible actions.

You were his friend. Surely his friend had to have a good and valid reason for doing this to him, right? Surely it wasn’t just because maybe she was a bad person and did bad things.

With your eyes on your feet though, it was easier to shake your head and deny that Ben had anything at all to do with why you’d attempted to sabotage his new relationship.

“Baekhyun, you can still make it,” your voice was a whisper. You could feel your careful resolve crumbling the longer you stood here under his watchful eyes. You could feel it in your chest. Your breathing pushed hard against your lungs that fought against the oxygen and your heart pounded so noisily inside of you that you began to wonder if that had been the clock you heard all along or your own rhythmic countdown forecasting your demise.

You had to shake your head. You had to squeeze your eyes tight and push with all of your might. You couldn't face this. It was too hard.

“If not Ben—” he was speaking again. Your eyes were closed.

“Then why?” you heard an inhale of breath from him and it was trembling. The sound of his pain, the sound of his suffering called to you and you opened your eyes to look at him. His eyes were closed and he had a hand raised with his fingers held up.

The agitation you heard in his breathing moved him and his body came to life as he shifted on his feet, spinning in a slow circle where he stood, he lifted both of his hands to run through his hair and his eyes were closed up tight enough for his vision to go white.

“You can’t do this to me. You can’t do this to me again. It’s not fair.” He was speaking under his breath and you were drawn to his words as confusion rushed over your thoughtful mind. The part of your mind that made sense of things was left in a cloud.

Again? Had you really hurt him this badly before? Your memory raced through the history you had with him and you looked over his features in worry.

When his eyes opened back up he was looking into your face with that same dark look, the look that made you want to shrink up and hide from it. The look that somehow saw you for exactly what you were and knew just how bad of a person you could be.

“I’m trying to fix it — I don't know what to do, Baekhyun. I don't know what I should do.”

Your feet had carried you toward his door. You could feel the overwhelming urge to escape this. To escape your own mistakes and problems and run from them. To leave this place and to hide from the way he was looking at you right now. He was still just shaking his head and staring at you. He wasn’t moving to get showered or dressed or changed even, he wasn’t grabbing his keys or his phone to leave to go meet her, why didn’t he do something?

He must have noticed your movement. Baekhyun took several large steps toward where you’d wandered near his door and you froze when he moved.

He was upset. You could see it in the way he carried his body through the space and you heard it in the rough way he pulled at the doorknob to his bedroom and swung it open.

You’d half expected him to head toward the front door. Maybe he’d forgotten that he needed to change out of his comfy sweats if he was going to meet a girl for coffee.

He left his door open and you followed his quick steps. You followed the path he took through the living room and you turned when he turned toward your bedroom. You stood back as you watched his hand turn your door knob and he disappeared through your doorway, into your bedroom. You heard your closet. Your heart felt like it was throbbing inside of your chest when you saw him emerge with a familiar bag; your big suitcase, the one that was still stuffed full with your coats from the last time you had been convinced you needed to pack up and leave this place you called home.

You felt like you might be sick.

Did he want you to leave? Was he packing your bag for you? The panic that grew in your belly was powerful and it threw you back against the wall of the hallway that led to your bedroom.

This was it. He’d finally had enough of your shit. This was it.

You’d done it.

You’d lost your best friend.

Baekhyun had disappeared with your bag and you heard a door shut somewhere within his room. You heard the sound of a set of keys. There was a ringing in your ears.

“Tell me why.” His voice was back. He was back. He was standing in front of you and you looked up into his eyes and the breath he inhaled trembled as it went in and filled his lungs with air. He lifted a hand and his fingers shook as he rubbed them over his mouth. “You can’t run away now. I have your bag. Tell me why. Why did you do that?”

He’d gone for your bag first. Just as you had always gone for the bag the minute something snapped in you and you’d convinced yourself that you could simply leave if things got too uncomfortable or too hard to bear. It felt significant. It felt like your reckoning. You couldn't run away this time. He knew you would try that first and Baekhyun wasn’t going to let you; not until he had the truth.

“You always have a good reason. You always make sense — to me. You always make sense to me. Everything you do, I understand why you do it. But...this, it doesn’t make any sense. You’re the one who picked her. You’re the one who started this. You’re the one pushing me to go to her. Why did you do this? Why are you doing this to me? It’s so unfair.”

Baekhyun’s voice was unstable. His hands were trembling and you could feel the deep frustration in his words. He was right. He was completely right.

No false explanation you could come up with would make any sense.

Only the truth made sense.

The humming in your ears and the burning in your eyes and the pounding in your chest had built up too much. It was too hard to control. It was too hard to contain.

The longer you sat in it; the longer you withstood it, the less you wanted of it.

You closed your eyes and you let it out.

It came out as a whisper.

“I told you, I was shameless.”

They hit you like a bomb. Those words that you spoke out loud to him; with your own mouth. Your own voice that betrayed you so completely.

The aftershocks echoed around inside of your head and you blinked fast and hard, trying to control the stinging wetness that pooled inside of your eyes.

Baekhyun had gone completely still.

You could no longer hear the unstable breathing from his lungs.

“What did you just say?” His voice had no strength left. You could not look at him.

Oh no.

You’d done it.

You had to inhale to live. You had to open your eyes and you rolled them around to keep the moisture at bay, looking everywhere except for him. You felt like crying. You felt like losing your flimsy control once and for all and screaming, sobbing, falling to the floor to deal with this incredible anxious feeling that was surging up inside of your body.

It was out. That secret of yours. It ripped you apart when it exited and you felt more unstable than you’d ever felt. You were about to cave in. Control was overrated anyway.

“I told you I act dumb and desperate and jealous, Baekhyun. I told you I make mistakes. I’m shameless.”

You heard the step he took. It was a stumble. Your words had thrown his balance off and he caught the step quickly. The sound of it pulled your focus.

Baekhyun looked at you, a stunned expression on his face and his eyes, his eyes which always held so much comfort and security for you, those eyes that were always so warm, they traveled over your entire face as his lips fell open.

“What does that mean?” His lips hardly moved when he spoke. You watched a hand lift and it landed squarely over his chest and there was a movement in his fingers; an involuntary shake in them. His fingers flexed and he clawed over his chest.

“Does that mean...do you mean...what I think you mean?”

You felt the first tear fall. It slipped out and ran down your face and you lifted a hand to wipe it quickly.

“It means I’m in love with you, Baekhyun. I’m sorry. I was jealous of her. I couldn't watch you and her like that. So I acted like that — I did that to her, to you both. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop loving you. I don't even know where to start.”

Your breathing was heavy. Your face was wet and whatever flimsy control you thought you had over yourself had shattered with your honest confession. More than just what you had done to him, this felt so much more damning. This was the truth about what was inside your heart.

This was the scariest thing you had ever told him. It felt so much worse than when you told him you’d lost your job and would start looking for a new place to live.

The silence that surrounded you amplified your labored breathing and you’d given up on catching the tears that slipped down your cheeks. There was no stopping it. You’d been a fool to think that you could hide this.

Baekhyun hadn’t moved. He stood frozen a few feet away from you and when he did move it was to lift a palm to cover over his face for a moment.

“Are you serious?” You heard him say. You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes closed. “Bug, are you serious? You—”

“You’re in love with me?”

You wrapped your arms around your stomach tightly and with your eyes closed you nodded your head once.

Your ears caught movement.

Baekhyun was moving. Your fear and your shame flashed images into your mind, images of him vanishing; images of him closing himself up in his room; images of him telling you he just couldn't live with you any more.

Baekhyun was moving. You could hear him. Your eyes burned and begged to open and when you gave in you flinched to find him standing right in front of you. He was here. He stood in front of you and his eyes were wide on your face.

In those eyes you saw what you could only describe as a look of concern. Baekhyun was looking at your face and the warmth that arrived with his body heat coated you. Inside of your chest, something was building, something was burning, something was changing inside of you with the look in his eyes you could not pull your own eyes away from him when he was standing so close to you like this.

The wall behind your back was so cold and he was warm.

He was moving. His hands were moving. You felt the warmth of his palms land over your wet cheeks and he was wiping your tears, drying the wetness from your skin with the palms of his hands and with his soft fingertips. He moved so gently over you. He touched you so carefully. The pounding inside of your chest raged out of control. The ragged breathing that had ahold of you earlier seized up and you could feel the dizziness building upon itself, yet you could not make your lungs cooperate; not with him so close to you. Not with him looking at you up close with that look in his eyes and his hands still holding your face.

“LoveBug.” His whispered breath warmed your mouth. The soft name he called you coated the back of your tongue like some sweetened medicine. You swallowed down the moisture that pooled and he was close enough to you that his breathing fanned against your lips, over your tongue when your lips parted.

“Do you know that I belong to you?” It came out as a whisper. This tiny question that lit you on fire. Your lungs burned.

“Do you know that?”

You felt another tear escape and he leaned into you then. You felt too stunned to react. This did not feel real. Perhaps you had actually fallen asleep last night and you were dreaming. The warm brush of his thumb below your eye, wiping the wetness away again and again as the tears fell. The warm puff of his breath over your closed eyelid and the softness of his lips that pressed a kiss onto the softness of your cheek where your tears had just been dried.

“I belong to you. I’m yours. I’ve loved you for so long.”

These words he said pulled your eyes into his.

The discord in your brain echoed. How was this real? Nothing was making sense inside of your head, so you exhaled through it. You let your lungs deflate and the final bursts of air that left your lungs pulled your eyelids down halfway and you couldn’t stand the distance, you had to touch him. His hands were so warm and his eyes were so magnetic and what was he saying to you? He loved you.

He loved you.

Baekhyun loved you. He said so himself. He said he was yours and he’d gone still again, his breathing stopped puffing over your skin when your hands reached for his waist and you gripped around his shirt, bunching the fabric as you pulled. There was a step, to keep his balance and he moved closer to you.

Warmth. Heat. He was everywhere. That smell of him; the scent of the spaces within his bedsheets that smelled like him, his breath, his lungs, his heart inside of his body. With the contact of your hands around his waist you could feel so much of him. When your hands traveled up over the center of this back you felt the wild beating echoing inside of his chest.

It sounded a lot like what was happening inside of your own chest.

The distance evaporated with your hands on him. You felt the softness of his cheek against your own. You heard the quiet grunt from the back of his throat when the tip of his nose brushed over yours and his lips traveled over your entire face. Over the smoothness of your forehead and a path over your eyebrow; up the hill of your cheekbone and down through the softness of your cheek. He was exploring your face with his lips and the spell he put you under was deep. You would have floated away had it not been for the occasional labored puff of air from his parted lips. A mark of his struggle to keep his breathing under control. The man was magic.

His touch was so light and delicate you wondered how he could stand this with as fast as his heart was beating inside of his chest. His hands were moving away from the way he cupped your cheeks and caught stray tears, he moved a single hand to the back of your head, moving lower to cradle the back of your neck and his other hand traced the shape of your jaw with lightly touching fingertips until he reached your lips.

With his eyes half closed and with zero hesitation he moved then. You felt him move. Your eyes were already closed when you felt his lips cover yours.

It began with softness; that same uncertain, wary softness that led his movements. His kiss was gentle and his lips were asking.

The question was quiet.

Your response was not. Your hands pulled hard over his back. His chest was flush with yours already but the constriction of your hold on him sent a clear message.

When your lips parted to his you felt the wetness of his tongue brush against yours and you pulled against him, pulled him into your mouth and the hold of his hand behind your head changed as his grip tightened and his fingers threaded within your hair.

His other hand slipped around your waist and he pulled you tight against his firm warmth. Everything about the kiss was changing. There was an urgency that took over every cell of your body and you were feeling dizzy and when his lips pulled away for a second, you gasped for air from within his parted lips. You could not break the kiss. You could survive inside of his mouth forever. You didn’t even need air that badly.

Baekhyun did not break the contact either. Your desire for closeness was building further and your hands pushed the warm fleece of his sweater up and away from his skin. You felt the first smooth warm bits of the bare skin of his waist and your own skin erupted all over with goosebumps when you felt the tips of his fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back.

It was your own wandering hands that did it. You touched first, the small of his back, then your hand wandered around his waist, as you made your way around to the front of him you heard the low whine that erupted from deep within his body. It was a long frustrated sound and the sound of it pulled your lips into a smile.

Your fingertips were close. You know enough about human anatomy to know that slipping your hand along the waistband at the front of his sweatpants and hooking your index finger just inside the fabric as you moved; well, it was only a matter of time until you were brushing below his navel and you felt Baekhyun jolt back and away from you when you’d done it.

“Fuck,” he cursed with his lips flush against yours and you couldn’t help any of it. He’d put you well under his spell and you wanted every bit of the man. Clearly your hand had come too close and he wasn’t expecting it.

“This is like living out all of my fantasies at once multiplied by a hundred. I don’t think I can take this.”

Baekhyun pulled his face back and away from you then. You used the respite to finally breathe in a deep enough breath to touch that dizziness you’d been feeling. It didn't help much. Was it the desire? You had never felt quite so desperate for another human being to touch you before.

You ached for it. The attention he showed with his wandering fingertips over every bit of skin he could find and the way his eyes and his lips touched you. Nothing about the desire you were feeling felt normal.

Baekhyun dropped a hand from you. It was the hand that had held the back of your neck. He took another step back and placed his hand over his chest. He was looking at you again with a shell shocked expression on his face and lips very pink and swollen from the passion you’d felt in those kisses.

“I feel like my heart is going to explode.” He said and you saw his lips pull into a smile. He was still breathing hard and his gaze changed into something of wonder.

“You like me.” His eyes closed up and the smile pulled wider. You were blinded by it. It was contagious. You could not stop your own smile from mirroring his. “You love me. She fucking loves me.”

“I love you,” you agreed softly. It tasted like relief. It was sweet and satisfying and toothsome. You were wrecked. You probably looked like hell after the sleepless night and all of that crying. He watched you as if you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. You could see it so clearly. Your eyes sharpened to so much the more you looked around, the clearer your focus became and your eyes were drawn to the wall behind his head.

There, a clock had just struck one.

“What do we do about Mia,” you were the one to say it and still hated the sour taste of the guilt that still sat on the back of your tongue when her name came up. You hadn’t quite considered this outcome. You hadn’t ever considered this.

“Oh god, Mia,” he said. “Oh no.” The smile on his face was gone and you could see the regret land over his features. “I — I think I need to go make a phone call.”

He spoke the words and you nodded your head. Of course he did. Of course you understood completely. Of course his body was still very close to you and of course you could feel the desire to pull him back into your arms and into your mouth.

Baekhyun hadn’t stepped back yet. His words said one thing yet his hands were moving again and he reached for you, wrapping both of his arms around your waist this time he pulled tight and you felt the strength in his arm muscles as he did it.

His face dipped and he kissed you again. You could not resist his lips despite the ticking clock. You craved him. You hadn’t been nearly satisfied enough yet and you wondered if you could ever get enough of him.

His soft lips; the pull of suction inside of his mouth; his tongue; his teeth all demanded and took from you and you wove your fingers into his hair and held him tight as you kissed him back.

You both pulled away at the same time and his labored breathing marked the significant struggle he was facing in letting go and walking away. You did not think it was possible to love this man any more than you already did, but this unrestrained side of him was making your stomach do flips.

“Do you want me to go with you? This is my fault after all.”

He rested his forehead against yours and both of his arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist. He’d been standing still with both of his eyes closed since he’d pulled his mouth away from yours.

You felt him shake his head back and forth and he hummed a no sound from the back of his throat.

“I think I can do it alone,” he said before inhaling a deep breath and exhaling it slowly as he pulled his face back, straightened his shoulders and dropped his arms.

He’d spun on his feet and taken two steps before he turned around and undid all of his progress with two more big steps back in your direction and a grimace of failure on his face.

His hands were up and he was reaching for you again, grabbing you roughly by the cheeks, ignoring the giggles that erupted from your chest as he leaned in and kissed you again. He was smiling too and the first seconds of the kiss was just teeth bumping teeth before you complied and relaxed enough to receive the quick succession of peppered kisses he pressed into your mouth.

“How can I walk away? Turn me around and push me. I can’t walk away from you.”

You were in big trouble. You knew he could be really cute if he wanted to be. You’d had trouble with it in the past.

But this time his intense level of adorableness was caused by his struggle to stop kissing you. You were pretty certain you were even more whipped than you’d ever been for anything ever. If faced with the choice of denying this man or throwing a bag full of puppies off a cliff, you were pretty certain you’d toss the damn dogs just to let this Baekhyun have his way.

How to be the strong one here? All you wanted to do was keep kissing him forever.

“Baekhyun, it’s after one already,” you said, doing your best impression of your serious voice.

“Yes ma’am.” His hands left your face and his lips pulled back into an O shape as he exhaled a breath with his eyes trained pointedly on the ceiling instead of on your face.

This time when he spun on his feet he didn’t look back and you fisted your hands tightly at your side to keep from reaching for him and pulling him back into you after he’d finally built up the strength to resist the incredible magnetism you both clearly had for each other.

His absence afforded you a moment of quiet; a moment of peaceful thought. The aftereffects of what had just happened still buzzed around inside of your chest, inside your belly, and lower; the lingering warmth purred, making it impossible to ignore the incredible effect even this much of his affection had on you.

You had to return to your bedroom to collect yourself. You’d never be able to face him again without throwing yourself at him in desperation and based on the way he’d flinched when you grazed your fingertip along the waistband of his sweatpants, something was telling you the man was simply not ready for such a huge step in such a short amount of time.

The last thing you wanted was to make him feel pressured to do anything he wasn't ready for.

You were an adult. You could be reasonable and you could control yourself.

With a cold shower and a cold drink of water you could survive this. Maybe you would slip and fall in the shower and bang your head and wake up to him giving you mouth to mouth with his hands on your chest giving you life saving chest compressions that would turn into a steamy make out session with some second base heavy petting in the middle of your bathroom floor. One thing could lead to another. You would already be naked and he’d have just saved your life. Surely the situation would make anyone emotional enough to pop their cherry with the girl of their fucking dreams. Really, he’d have just saved your life and you would be ever so grateful if he could also fuck you while he was at it.

The cold water didn’t help at all.

The cold shower at least helped with the absolute wreck you saw when you looked in the mirror. Had you really looked this bad? You hadn’t slept for shit. You hadn’t eaten your sad floppy toast or had any coffee on your upset stomach and your eyes were puffy from all the crying. You must have simply forgotten that you had any hair at all. It looked exactly like it must have looked when you crawled out from the depths of your bed. At this point you wouldn't be surprised to find some leaves or sticks tangled within the rat’s nest.

At least you hadn’t been wearing any makeup on your eyes to create dramatic black streaks down your cheeks, but a little lipstick or blush on your cheeks might have helped some. Anything would have helped. While you confessed your love to this beautiful man you looked like something scraped off the front grill of a semi truck after a 12 hour haul.

You took a few extra moments after your shower to fix whatever you could. It was a delicate balance. You didn't want to make it obvious that you’d gone through the trouble to make yourself super sexy and appealing looking, but you also couldn't just go back out there looking homeless and lost.

You settled for something in between. Something natural and clean looking on your face. Something pretty smelling on your freshly scrubbed skin and you made your way toward your closet wearing your favorite matching bra and panties set.

There was a little lace and just enough push to make your boobs look hot, but still in a neutral enough color that gave a cool and casual ‘oh this ol’ thing?’ feeling should the opportunity for him to actually see it somehow manifested.

Your real dilemma came as you stood in front of your closet.

Did you really need to wear pants? Couldn’t you just prance around your living room in your thinnest white t-shirt and pick things up off the floor that you’d clumsily knocked off the table or the bookshelf or the kitchen counter?

You compromised, picking out a short flouncy skirt and flowy top that liked to fall off the shoulder at inconvenient times and you practically ran out of your room hoping you hadn’t left him stewing in his post difficult phone call mood for too long.

On your way out of your room a familiar piece of paper stuck to the wood caught your eye and you took a step back to look up at the sign you’d hung there a few weeks ago. You tried to be casual about it. You tried your best to be quiet as you carefully lifted the tape that clung to the surface of the door and the paper rattled and crinkled noisily as you pulled. You heard the telltale sounds of paper ripping in half when you pulled. You’d forgotten to carefully lift the tape you put on the sides and the whole thing made quite a racket coming down. So much for discretion.

You were crumbling the whole mess into a tight ball inside your hands as you walked toward the living room and you caught movement on the sofa.

Baekhyun was sitting there it’s his eyes on your hallway, clearly looking up when he heard you coming. His hands were linked over his lap and he was leaning forward, resting on his forearms.

The instinct to hide it was strong and you saw the dip of Baekhyun’s eyes down to your hands and he looked at the ball of paper you hid inside your fist.

He’d just caught you. You’d ripped off your ‘No Boners’ sign from your door and Baekhyun had seen you do it. Now he was looking away from you and his eyes were wide as he stared across the room, looking anywhere that wasn’t at you. His face was tense. His lips were pulled tight and after a few seconds of blank staring he lifted his left hand to cover over his mouth a moment after you saw his white teeth flash with a wide smile and he closed his eyes up. A single snort of laughter escaped from him before he reeled it in and held his breath to stop it.

You had to save it. You had to be casual, dammit. You looked fucking cute right now and this man was in love with you and you loved him too and — God, his hair was wet. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans and everything about him looked casual and beautiful, you were staring. You were staring. You had to stop staring. You had to do something to save this.

You stuffed the paper ball into your pocket and took enough steps to reach the counter of the kitchen bar and you stuck an arm out and leaned against it.

You leaned because leaning was ultra casual and you also thought you might drop from the tension you were feeling inside your body right now if you relied only on your own two legs to hold you up.

How could absolutely none of the effects of your cooling shower have lasted the second you saw him again?

“Hi,” you said as you fought an embarrassed smile and the leaning felt so forced you closed your eyes to will your own face to un-flush.

Baekhyun dropped his hand from his face and his cheeks were pink to match his lips. He was smiling wide, clearly amused by your nonsense. You saw his chest shaking as he laughed and he lifted his hand and bit down on his closed fist. The laughter did not last long. He was looking at you though and his wide smile evened out when he dropped his hand. His eyes did not drop from your face. Not right away. You caught the drift when they did though and the heat you felt increased when you noticed the slow way he took you in from the glimpse of your bare shoulder down to the shortness of your skirt and down the length of your bare legs. His eyebrow danced once over his left eye and his tongue peaked out to moisten his lips before he bit down on the bottom one.

“Hi Bug,” he said.

Well, this was new.

...

[To Be Continued]

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , FINAL Part 10.5

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