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songbirdstyles · 5 years ago

Text

lola.

summary: a year in the life with professor harry, post graduation - part 2 of when i’m sixty four

pairing: professor!harry styles x reader

warnings: smut, fluff, some angst? pregnancy stuff!

word count: 18.6k

song inspo.: lola - the kinks

The day is going suspiciously well, so far, and it’s making you nervous.

You’d invited both of your families over for dinner and to break the news and you suppose you’d expected it to go about as horribly as post-graduation dinner had - that’s the last time you’d gathered both of your families in the same place, anyway. You and Harry visited Anne and Gemma quite a bit and you’d gone, on your own, to see your mother (wanted to scope out her feelings for your relationship before bringing Harry to see her again - and, luckily, she seems to be warming up to it) but you hadn’t made another attempt to stuff them in the same room together yet.

Until now.

You’d made Harry swear to you that he wouldn’t tell his mum or his sister about the pregnancy until you could get everyone at the apartment to tell them together, and that’s what this is - you can hear them, laughing together in the living room from where you’re seated on the kitchen counter, watching Harry work over the stove. You’d been out there with them for a few minutes, laughing and sharing stories before you’d claimed you should probably go help Harry with dinner and retreated into the kitchen. Hearing them all seem to get along should make you feel better about the entire situation but all you can think about is how terribly everything will crash and burn when you finally tell them.

“Don’t y’think you should be out there with them? Making sure no fights break out, an’ whatnot,” Harry questions, turning to glance at you over his shoulder with one quirked eyebrow. “Like having you in here wit’ me, but …”

You shrug, picking at the seam of your jeans (that are beginning to fit a bit tighter than they usually do.) Both of you know that your excuse of wanting to keep him company while he cooks is absolute bullshit but you’re getting too nervous, sitting on the couch between your father and Gemma. Keep thinking that you’re gonna say the wrong thing, accidentally spill the secret before you’re ready. But you just shake your head at him, folding your hands on your lap. “They sound like they’re doing good. No need to interrupt their bonding, right?”

Harry merely hums, reaching down to turn off the stove and stirring his pasta sauce once more before resting his wooden spoon on top of the pot. “You need t’bond too. Been in here practically the entire time.”

“I’m just nervous,” you confess, voice drowned out by a sudden bout of laughter that you recognize to be your dad’s, coming from the sitting room. “My mum just started cooling down about our relationship - now we need to drop this on her.”

“We’re going to have t’tell her at some point. Better now, ‘cause she’s in a good mood.”

You ponder that, letting out a deep breath. You know you’re not being too great of a host, now, holed up in the kitchen instead of being out there but you can’t bring yourself to leave - “Are you almost done with dinner, then?”

He hums, turning around and leaning against the counter so you can meet his gaze. “Yeah - just the garlic bread, still in the oven. S’store bought, but I’m gonna tell your mum that it’s homemade, so jus’ back me up with that, would you? Want her to be impressed with me.”

You giggle, pushing yourself off of the counter and closing the distance between you two. Your arms loop around his neck and his hands instinctively land on your waist, smoothing over your skin through the fabric of the loose shirt you’re wearing - you’d been too paranoid to wear anything tight, because you swear your stomach is starting to round out, just a bit, now that you’ve reached the 11 week mark. “She’ll ask you for the recipe, you know. What’re you gonna do then?”

“Not sure,” he shrugs, leaning down to land a soft kiss on your lips when you pucker them at him impatiently. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess.”

“Sounds like a faulty plan,” but you can’t help the grin from breaking out across your face. You press another kiss to his lips before breaking away, deciding to make yourself useful and reaching up into the cabinet above your head to grab a stack of plates. “I’ll set the table, if the garlic bread will only take a minute or two.”

Harry nods as you pick up the napkin holder, resting it on top of the plates and rifling through the utensil drawer to pick up the six knives and forks you need. “If you’re leaving, maybe you should talk to our family. They probably think you’re mad at them, or something.”

“I doubt they think I’m mad at them,” you tell him, bumping the drawer shut with your hip when you have all of the utensils, firm in your hand. “Why would we invite them over if I’m mad at them?”

“To make amends?”

“For what? Haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“You’re missing the point,” and then Harry rolls his eyes with a small smile, turning back to the stove. “Jus’ go. The bread’s gonna be done in a minute.”

So you do - pad out of the kitchen with your hands full, make your way to the kitchen table that’s been stripped of the usual flower vase that usually sits in the center. Marie sits on top of the table, as though daring you to remove her, but you do, anyway - pick her up, ignoring her soft, angry meows, and set her on the ground with a soft apology and an order to shoo. Immediately you rest the plates on the counter, setting the forks and knives down beside it before getting to work - out of the corner of your eye you can see everyone gathered on the sofas, chattering loudly, and hearing them all getting along makes you smile, now.

Also out of the corner of your eye you can see your mother standing up from her spot, pressed between your father and the arm of the sofa. Then she’s walking towards you, the sound of her low heels on the hardwood making you turn your head to look at her from where you’d been folding six napkins in half.

“Hey, mum,” you call once she’s close enough to hear you without your dad’s rambunctious laughter infiltrating your ears. “Dinner’s gonna be ready in just a minute, alright?”

“Alright.” And you expect her to turn around, head back to where she’d come from, but instead she reaches for the plates, pulling the first one off the top of the stack and beginning to place it around the table. “I just figured I’d help you set the table - if you don’t mind, of course.”

You shake your head, feeling a smile tugging at your lips as you fold the sixth and final napkin in half, beginning to rest them next to the plates your mum is setting up. “‘Course I don’t mind.”

There’s only another brief second of silence between the two of you, as your mother meticulously adjusts every plate so they’re all perfectly aligned with the napkins you’re lying out, until she pauses, hand resting on the edge of one of your white, porcelain plates, finally saying, “It looks like you and Harry have a nice thing going here.”

You pause where you’re beginning to lay out the forks and knives on top of the napkins, trying to resist the urge to grin (or maybe cry, if you’re being honest) as you nod slowly. “Yeah, we do.”

“The apartment is very nicely decorated. Did you decorate it?”

“Mostly Harry, actually,” you admit to her, which is mostly true, anyway, and you relish in the surprise that lingers, ever so slightly, in her eyes. “He lived here for a while before I moved in, so most stuff is his.”

She hums softly and you can hear the oven ding from the kitchen, then Harry shuffling to take the garlic bread out, and then your mother says, “Well, I’m very glad you’re happy. I know I don’t always show it - but if you love Harry and Harry loves you, I’m fine with it.”

God, you really could cry at that, and you’re not sure if it’s solely because of the hormones like you’d love to believe. You’d talked to your mother more times than you could possibly count since she found out about you and Harry and this is the first time she’s ever admitted she’s alright with your relationship - it only makes sense that you would get emotional.

But you swallow the lump in your throat, giving her a small smile from across the kitchen table. “Thanks, mum. That means a lot,” and she looks so relieved with your response that you wonder if the sudden slight animosity between you two had been affecting her as much as it had been affecting you.

You wonder if she’ll be fine with it once you tell her that Harry knocked you up - but you’ll worry about that later.

Later comes entirely too soon, though, once you’re seated at the dinner table with bowls of pasta and tomato sauce spread out in front of you. Harry sits beside you, arm thrown across the back of your chair as though he can sense how nervous you’re feeling - you’ve barely picked at your pasta and only taken a bite of your garlic bread (which tastes, for the record, absolutely homemade, and not like it was picked up at the store.) Harry’s an excellent cook and what you have eaten, you’ve thoroughly enjoyed, but you feel like if you eat too much you’ll throw it back up.

“This is delicious, Harry,” your dad declares, reaching towards the bowl of pasta for his third helping in the past ten minutes. “You could be a chef, you know.”

Your boyfriend laughs at that, fork full of pasta hovering barely an inch from his mouth. “M’not sure about that - can really only make pasta, to tell you the truth.”

That’s not true, you want to say - Harry cooks nearly all the meals for you two and he’s spectacular at it. Can recreate any recipe first try and make it better than the original - but you can’t bring yourself to interject into the conversation. You feel like you might throw up, to be honest, so you merely flash Harry a tight lipped smile and glance back down at your plate, collecting a piece of pasta onto your fork.

Harry seems much more relaxed than you - diving into a story about how he used to cook when he was a child - which checks out, of course. You had no doubt that Anne and Gemma would be over the moon about the pregnancy, judging from the many dinners and brunches you’d had with them. It was, really, only your mother who would present any sort of issue, and you’d taken to worrying about it much more than Harry had.

“Y/N,” Anne begins from across the table, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts almost immediately, giving her a smile that, you hope, doesn’t put on display just how nervous you’re feeling, “do you like to cook, too?”

You understand her intention - she’d probably assumed, from your almost complete lack of contribution to the conversation, that you’d been feeling left out - but having five pairs of eyes suddenly on you makes you feel significantly more nervous than before, and Harry’s hand lands comfortingly on your shoulder. It takes just a beat too long for you to reply but finally, you reply, “Um - I’m not too good at cooking, honestly. Pretty rubbish at it, actually. I like to bake, though.”

Harry swoops in, then, squeezing your shoulder and continuing, “She’s great at baking! Should try her brownies some time.”

Have you ever made brownies that weren’t from a box?

You swallow thickly, resting your fork on your plate, and then you add, “I’m best at making things that come from boxes.”

There’s a collective laugh at that, and then your mother pipes up with a story from when you were a kid and she’d tried to get you to help her bake cupcakes for a fundraiser - you’re not quite listening, especially when Harry uses his hand on your shoulder to pull you in to him, lips brushing your ear when he whispers, “I think we should tell ‘em now. Right now.”

You pause, shooting him an alarmed look before he continues, “You’re a bloody wreck, babe, m’sorry. Look like you’re gonna have a nervous breakdown. Wouldn’t y’rather get it over with?”

No, you want to say. You’d rather never do it, but the thought of spending the rest of dinner so nervous you can hardly stand to eat seems akin to torture. Whatever reaction the news garners from your families won’t change whether you do it now or in twenty minutes - why put it off?

So you nod, head jerking up and down once, and Harry squeezes your shoulder again, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your temple. Your hand nearest him lands on his knee, squeezing onto the fabric of the loose jeans he’s wearing.

“Actually,” and Harry’s voice cuts through the mixture of laughter erupting at the table. He waits a minute, for it to calm down - in the meantime, he glances at you again, fingers rubbing into your shoulder, and your hand smooths over his knee. There’s a lot being said, in the brief second your eyes lock while he waits for the attention to land on him - it’ll all be okay, and then no matter what, we have each other and the everpresent I love you that lingers whenever you look at him. And - finally - when there’s only expectant silence at the table, Harry breaks your gaze, turning back to your families with a small, nervous smile. “We have something t’tell you all.”

—

You’d had today marked on your calendar for weeks, it should be said.

As soon as your doctor - Dr. Ferguson, who Kaitlyn, weirdly, had convinced you to go to - had told you that at your next appointment, we’ll likely be able to tell the baby’s gender, you and Harry hadn’t been able to shut about it. You’d facetimed Anne that night, told her that in two weeks time, we’ll know the gender! And you’d texted your parents the same news - even if they weren’t as immediately excited about the pregnancy as Anne and Gemma, the celebratory Bitmoji they’d sent back made you smile, anyway.

You’d left the house twenty minutes early and still managed to nearly be late, getting stuck in traffic and waltzing into the office with less than two minutes to your appointment. Harry had gone to check you in while you’d perched yourself onto one of the waiting room sofas with cushions that were oddly sticky against your palms, and your knees jiggled up and down as your eyes scanned the room you’d become entirely too familiar with - the wall of pamphlets next to the restroom, the framed photos of happy mothers and pregnant women. There’s exactly one other person waiting in the chair across from you, legs curled beneath her and face buried in a magazine, and you feel oddly uncomfortable staring at her but you feel too nervous to do anything else.

“Said it may be a bit of a wait,” Harry murmurs to you when he’s done signing you in - his arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders, and you rest your head on his with a deep breath. “Somethin’ about her last patient runnin’ late, or something. So - that's good”

You nod, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you lean into your boyfriend. You’re not sure if he’s feeling half as nervous as you are but something about the way he keeps drumming his hand on his thigh, humming softly beneath his breath, convinces you that he might be. So - to break the tension, because there’s something truly terrible about seeing Harry nervous when you’re usually the worrier - you ask, voice hardly above a whisper (out of courtesy for the woman across from you,) “What do you think it’ll be?”

“A boy,” Harry whispers back with not a moment of hesitation, and you furrow your eyebrows at him. “What? I reckon we’re gonna have a little Harry Jr. in there,” and he pats your stomach for good measure.

“You’re crazy,” you tell him, playfully swatting his hand away from you. “I’m almost positive it’s a girl - isn’t there a maternal instinct, for these kinds of things?”

“There’s a paternal instinct too, you know.”

“I don’t think so.” And then you pause, staring up at the smooth white ceiling above you with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “And if it is a boy, I’m putting my foot down on Harry Jr.”

Harry huffs playfully, and there’s a pause between you two before he says, “Should we bet on it?”

You give the words a moment to sink in, and then push yourself off of him, glaring at him and trying (and failing, naturally) to hide the smile that threatens to tug up your lips. “I’m not betting money on the gender of our baby - that’s terrible, professor, really.”

“I never said money,” he interjects, crossing his arms over his chest with one side eye glance at the woman across from, still hunched over the magazine she’s reading. “If he’s a boy, I get a blowjob.”

Your cheeks burn immediately and you raise your hand up, swatting his shoulder with an apologetic glance to the lady across from you, who’s looking up from her magazine with an absolutely affronted look. “Harry!”

But he merely continues on as if he’d been talking about the weather. “And if he’s a girl - well, what do you want if you win?”

Where he was rather blasé about discussing your sex life in front of a poor stranger, you can’t bring yourself to tell him exactly what you’d want if you’re right - so you shrug, focus your eyes on tugging at a loose thread in his sweater. You’d made him change out of the t-shirt he’d been wearing and change into this thick sweater Anne had given him for Christmas - it was December, after all, and he’s terrible when he’s sick. “Well - um - I want you to do the laundry for a month.”

He raises his eyebrow, staring at you with a slightly amused smile, and then questions, “That’s it?”

You can feel your cheeks burning up even more as you continue to pluck at Harry’s sweater. “And - you can’t complain when I wear your clothes.”

“I don’t complain, baby, you know I love when you -”

“And,” you continue, flicking him in the forehead to cut him off. “There’s something else that I won’t say here, because we’re in public, but I’ll tell you in the car.”

Harry raises his eyebrows again and you can’t resist the urge to laugh, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder for a moment to regain whatever semblance of composure you could scrap together. His fingers tug at the ends of your hair as you pull your head back up to look at him, and when your eyes have met he says, “Well, that’s actually quite the long list of things to do if it’s a girl, so I’m changing mine to three -”

Whatever he was going to say (and you had a pretty good guess) is cut off immediately at the sound of one of the nurses calling your name, and your eyes widen with an air of slight nervousness before you both stand - smile at the nurse and follow her down the hall to the exam room that you’ve come to know entirely too well, even if you’re not too far into your pregnancy.

When the nurse leaves the exam room you clamber onto the table, feet knocking into each other you lie back. Harry settles into one of the chairs beside you, pointedly pulling it closer so he can rest his chin on the table. “Are y’going t’tell me the third thing you want if you’re right - which you’re not?”

You merely roll your eyes, turning your head so you can look at him. “Rather like sitting on your face - guess I’ll opt for that, before I get so big I’ll suffocate you if I try.”

He frowns at that, pressing a kiss to your hand where he’s got your fingers intertwined with his. “M’a big boy, you know. I’ll always let you sit on m’face - think I love it more than you do.”

You know he’s wrong but you just press your palm to his cheek, letting him rest his head into your hand before saying, “Don’t think you’re gonna be singing that tune when I’m the size of a whale.”

“Are you kidding?” you’re not, clearly, and he scoffs as if he’s offended by the mere concept of it. “I’ll be singing it until the day I die. I’ll let you sit on my face every single day, jus’ to prove it to you. Don’t laugh - I’m being serious!”

But you can’t maintain any sort of serious composure for more than a moment without grinning, so you rest your head back and gaze up at the ceiling while Harry continues to fuss about how much of a disgrace it is - that you’d ever dream of yourself being too big to sit on his face, but you opt to merely block him out, feeling your own worries starting to swell back up in your mind now that you’re not focused on talking to him. You don’t care, truthfully, if your baby is a boy or a girl. You’d be just as happy with either but for as long as you’d known you were pregnant, you’d sworn up and down that it’s a girl. Blamed it on your maternal instinct and all that, because you simply knew you were having a daughter.

If you’re wrong, does that mean you have no maternal instincts? Are you going to be a bad mother?

The door to the exam room opens again before you can focus too much on it, and Harry’s ranting about you sitting on his face ends so abruptly you could swear he’d never even opened his mouth. Dr. Ferguson gives you both wide smiles, asks the general questions - how’s it going? How’s baby? How’s mom? And you squeeze Harry’s hand when she finally settles beside you, turning the ultrasound machine on, and you reach down to tug your sweater up.

“Generally, 15 weeks is where we can determine the baby’s gender - assuming they’re in the right position to check,” Dr. Ferguson tells you, using the probe to spread the cold gel on top of your stomach. Your fingertips drum against the back of Harry’s palm as she asks, “Do you guys think you want to know the gender of the baby?”

You nod furiously as Harry proclaims, “Yes - definitely. Been talking about it for weeks, haven’t we?” And - because he tends to ramble a bit when he’s nervous - he continues, “I think s’a boy - she reckons it’s a girl. We’ve got a bet going, about it, too -” and that’s where you squeeze his hand and shoot him a glare to shut the hell up.

The doctor merely chuckles at the pair of you, raising a manicured nail to point at the ultrasound screen as she moves the probe closer to your lower tummy. “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Styles - I think you’ve lost the bet.”

There’s a pause after that, the both of you letting the words settle in.

If he lost the bet - then that means -

“It’s a girl?”

Harry’s words come out in barely a breath, and you can feel the familiar prickling in the back of your eyes as you squeeze Harry’s hand.

“You two are having a girl,” Dr. Ferguson confirms, a smile spreading across her face as she watches the two of you - your eyes well up with tears as you turn to look at Harry, his mouth dropped open and upturned ever so slightly in a wide grin. Your eyes meet and you swallow thickly, not bothering to try and hide the smile that graces your features as he stands up, throwing his arms around you in a tight hug. Neither of you pay much mind to the doctor as she murmurs, “I’ll go and get your prints,” and slips from the room, but you’re beyond thankful - you need a moment with him, for this.

As soon as the door shuts you let the tears drip down your cheeks, burying your face in Harry’s sweater and wrapping your arms around his torso with a soft hiccup. His voice is soft when he mutters, “Can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby girl - God, you were right.”

Your cold hands slide up his sweater, smoothing up his warm back, and you can feel him jump at the contrast of temperatures - “I knew it,” you can’t help but declare quietly, voice crackling wetly as you sniffle. “Our little girl. I knew it.”

He chuckles, which is mostly a soft exhale into your hair. “Can’t believe you’re turning this into a told you so moment.”

“Only saying that ‘cause you lost.”

There’s no response from your boyfriend for a moment - mostly because he knows you’re right - just his arms tightening around you. “Oddly enough, I don’t quite think I mind losing.” The sentiment is sweet and you pull back, leaning up to press a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw, and you almost miss the mischievous smile spread across his face, even if the way he’s rubbing your back is ultra innocent. “I get a daughter and my ultra hot girlfriend is sitting on m’face tonight - what more could I ask for?” And, for that, you smack his shoulder again, laughing through the joyful tears blurring your vision.

—

“Are you honestly mad at me right now?”

You huff, sinking lower into the couch at Harry’s mocking tone. Truthfully - though you wouldn’t admit it to him - you are feeling just a bit cross, as you stare at the ten cards in your hands that are nowhere close to being a run of seven. “No,” you tell him, shorter than you’d anticipated. “But you’re three phases ahead of me, and I feel like you’re rubbing it in.”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, resting his elbows on the coffee table across from you. You’d started out both sitting on the couch, but then you swore you caught him peeking at your cards and banished him to the other side of the coffee table, on the ground, no matter how many times he promised he was just changing the music blaring from his phone. (Which, for the record, you didn’t believe, because he was a firm believer in letting the music play out and never changing it.) “Baby, m’not rubbing it in. Jus’ playing the game.”

“You keep skipping me,” you mumble, barely audible over Ring of Fire coming from his phone on top of the table.

“S’how you play the game. So if you happen to go out, m’not stuck with 15 extra points.”

“You know I’m never going to go out, right?” And just to prove your point, you reach in to grab a card from the deck, rolling your eyes when you see it. It’s another three, your fourth one, and you rest it on top of the discard pile with a pointed glare at Harry.

He merely shakes his head, reaching in to take a card. “I don’ even know why you wanna play Phase 10 all the time, ‘cause you always get mad at me when we do.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, a frown tugging the corners of your lips downwards. “That’s not true! I don’t get mad at you. Just get irritated, because you’re good at it, and you always beat me.” There’s a pause while you wait for Harry to discard a card, and when you look up at him, he’s gazing at you with a slightly guilty look in his eyes. “You’ve got to discard a card, Har.”

And then, instead of putting a card down on the discard pile, he lays down his cards on the table - a set of sevens and a set of tens. Your shoulders slump as you stare at his completed phase and then at the cards in your hand, still a jumbled mix of numbers with absolutely no hope of becoming a run anytime soon.

“M’sorry for this, honey,” Harry tells you, voice faux sweet, and you look back up just in time to catch him placing his skip down on the discard pile, making it his turn again. And, just as you open your mouth to say something, he reaches for the deck and pulls a card. You watch, feeling heat creep up your neck, as Harry slaps a wild card down next to his set of sevens and then presses his final card - a two - into the discard pile - fuck.

“Jesus fuck,” you exclaim, tossing your cards down onto the coffee table. Harry’s staring at you with a smug, satisfied grin on his face, and you could reach over and slap it right off. “How?”

“S’just luck,” he tells you, as if he’s the master at it, as he reaches over to collect your cards off the table. “You’ll get it next time, alright? S’just a game, it’s fine.”

“It’s easy for you to say.” You cross your arms over your chest as Harry mouths the point values of your cards, flicking through your stack. “Mr. ‘I’ve-Gone-Out-Every-Single-Time.’”

He snorts at that, grabbing all of the cards strewn about the coffee table and shuffling them together. “You had two skips, y’know. Why didn’t you skip me? 15 points each.”

“Because I felt bad,” you tell him, frown deepening at the way he barks out a laugh. “Why’re you laughing? Was just trying to be nice.”

Beside Harry, resting on the carpet, is the stray piece of notebook paper he has to add up your scores with each round, and you sigh, reaching for the stack of cards so you can begin shuffling them. “The point of the game isn’t to be nice, baby. You’ve gotta play your skips - that’s why you’re 325 points behind me.”

You can’t put your finger on why you’re getting so worked up over this. It is just a game and you know that but you’ve always been competitive. You’d been rather proud of how, nearly 21 weeks into your pregnancy, mood swings hadn’t been hitting you as hard as you’d expected - but, God, they’re getting you now. And Harry is four phases ahead of you now, and what’s worse than being beaten is that it is just luck, which means yours is being really shitty right now, and you’re tired of it.

You focus your eyes towards your lap where you’re working on shuffling the deck as the song segues to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, just a bit too loud for you to handle. “I just wanted to be nice,” you repeat, cringing at the voice crack that cuts through your sentence. From the corner of your eye you can see Harry’s head snap up as he hears it, his brows furrowed. “God, I hate this game.”

There’s another beat of silence, and then Harry’s pushing himself up off the floor, coming to sit beside you on the couch. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you to him (as close as he can get, with your rounded tummy between you both) as his lips land on the top of your head, and, as nice as he’s being, you can feel how his lips are turned up into a grin. “Are you going to cry?”

“No,” you insist, but the frustrated tears prickling the back of your eyes are on its way to proving you otherwise as you lean your head into his shoulder.

Harry’s hand smooths up and down your back soothingly as you sniffle into his shoulder pathetically. “Sorry for teasing you,” he murmurs, barely heard against the music, and you nod slowly. “You’re jus’ being nice, and that’s very sweet, even if it goes against the point of the game -” and, for that, you raise your hand up and land it against his shoulder with a firm slap, and he laughs - “but I’m sorry, really.”

You press your cheek to his shoulder, leaning in to press a small kiss to the side of his neck. “It’s just hormones, I reckon. Didn’t mean to get so upset.”

“Should have a word wi’ the little one,” Harry murmurs, sliding his hand around from your back to your stomach. The second he’d started to notice your stomach growing he’d become obsessed with feeling it, which you suppose you should have been expecting all along, really. “Tell her not to make mommy so sad, right?” You exhale a soft giggle at that, and he hums contentedly. “But I guess s’my fault too, getting all the good cards.”

You lift your head up, pulling away slightly so you can look into Harry’s slightly amused eyes, and he’s still smiling softly. “Awfully rude of you to be so good at Phase 10,” you tell him, pouting dramatically as you gaze at him through your watery lashes. You’re already feeling quite a bit calmed down and also fairly silly for getting so upset about something so trivial, but what’s done is done, you suppose.

He nods, and you can see the laugh he’s struggling to conceal as he tries to keep up his serious facade. “It is rude of me,” Harry agrees. “I can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“A real asshole.”

“Should probably make that up to you, right? But how will you ever forgive me?”

You pause, pretending to think as you gnaw at your bottom lip, eyes darting around the apartment as if searching for ideas. “Dunno. You’re really gonna have to work for it, professor.”

The instant effect the name has on him never fails to amuse you as his gaze darkens - hardly noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as you, but you can read him like a book. Harry’s thumb swipes up to wipe at the tears, still brimming in your lower lash line, as he says, “Lay back f’me, then.”

You grin as Harry unwinds his arms from around you, shifting backwards until you lie across the sofa, instinctively throwing your legs across his lap, just to watch the way he playfully rolls his eyes. His hands smooth up and down your calves, fingertips drumming against your skin, and you push yourself onto your elbows. Wiggle your feet at him, and Harry smiles at you. “Don’t think you’re far enough along to need foot massages.”

“First, I absolutely am, and second, I don’t need them,” you agree, “but I want them.”

“Another time,” he promises, shifting off the couch so he’s on his knees beside it. One soft kiss lands at your ankle and it sends shivers through your body as you watch him, shifting so he’s positioned between your thighs. Harry leads a trail of kisses up your legs, hands following behind his mouth, massaging up your legs until he reaches the soft skin of your thigh.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him, lips attaching to your inner thigh, suckling in a love bite. He loves leaving marks in places only he sees - your ass, namely, and your thighs and your boobs and everywhere else that’s reserved for him. In summer it becomes a problem, when you have to don swimsuits and shorts to bear the heat, but it’s January, now, so you let him go wild with his hickeys.

“Harry,” you groan, reaching down to curl your fingers into his hair. He looks up at you with a bemused look in his eyes, tongue lapping over the mark he’d left on your thigh. “Don’t tease me.”

He chuckles breathily, blowing softly on your wettened skin, and you whimper quietly. “M’not teasing,” Harry assures you, hands working up your thighs until he reaches the hem of your panties, fingers hooking into them to begin pulling them down your legs. “Jus’ taking my time.”

You lift your hips up so he can discard the offending material, tugging them off of your ankles and tossing them onto the coffee table, right on top of the abandoned Phase 10 cards. Fingernails scratch against Harry’s scalp, twirling his curls around your fingers, and you can see the blissful smile that briefly graces his features before he returns to the matter at hand. He grips the bottom of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, pulling it up around your waist, and then he mumbles, “Bloody hell, s’that my shirt?”

You laugh, the noise soft and barely perceptible over the horns in Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You. What you want to say is that, truthfully, his large shirts are one of the few that fit your stomach, so you opt for them most times - but Harry isn’t looking for a response. He just grabs your wrist, drags it to your waist where the shirt is bunched up, and you take the hint to grab onto the material, pulling it up over your stomach. Make sure he has enough room to work, without it getting in the way.

“God,” he mutters, grabbing your thigh to hoist it up, putting your glistening pussy on display for him. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that?” You can feel emotions bubbling in your chest with just the small compliment, and further as he breathes, “Not sure how I got so lucky. M’fucking obsessed with you.”

You’re beyond thankful that he doesn’t look up into your eyes again, because you’re not sure that he’d ever let you live this down - your eyes, filled with tears about to trickle down your cheek while he’s inches from your cunt. But he merely leans in, presses a soft kiss to your clit, and you’re too distracted by the sudden jolt of pleasure to think about the moisture building up in your eyes.

You moan at the same time Harry does, his tongue licking up between your folds. His noise rolls through your body and you toss your head back, hitting against the arm of the sofa with a long whine, cunt clenching around nothing as he laps at you. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you slump against the couch, not bothering to try and hold yourself up to see what he’s doing to you.

But - well, you should’ve remembered that Harry is a stickler for eye contact, and within moments of your gaze being torn from where he’s working at you, he stops. Pulls away so the only place you can feel him is his hand on your thigh, holding you up, and you push yourself up again to glare at him. “No teasing, Harry, please -”

“Y’gotta look at me,” Harry tells you, raising his eyebrows. “Come on, baby. Wanna see your pretty face - yeah, that’s a good girl.”

A soft moan escapes your throat at the pet name, and you focus your attention on not dropping your gaze from Harry’s head between your thighs. He takes a second to make sure your eyes are firmly on him, and then you’re groaning for fuck’s sake, professor, do something, and he’s back to it. His hand that’s not maintaining grip on your thigh joins his tongue at your pussy, spreading your lips apart to give him easier access to exactly where you need him. You watch as his tongue flexes, sliding into your dripping hole, fingers working at your clit.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasp, walls fluttering around Harry’s tongue. Your clit is pulsing with the pressure of his finger, rubbing circles into the sensitive nub, and with your eyes focused on him you can catch exactly the way his lips upturn into a cocky smirk. He’s the only one who can make you fall apart like this and he knows it, and it should bother you but it only turns you on more. “God, Har, keep doing that, please.”

Harry hums softly, “M’not planning on stopping,” as his tongue dips in and out of your cunt, lapping up every last drop of your arousal lingering on your folds. “Tell me how good it feels, baby. C’mon, wanna hear how much you love it.”

What a dick, you think as you stare down at him. Harry’s fingers slide down from your clit to your hole, replacing his tongue, pumping in and out of you. The first curl of his digits brushes against that hidden spot inside of you and your hips roll forward into his hand as his lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking firstly against it before he hollows his cheeks out and sucks. “Oh - god, Harry! Feels so good, love it so much -”

Your eyes meet his again and he raises his eyebrows, silently egging you on, and you continue, voice high pitched and breathy as you cry, “Please, make me feel good, please!”

“That’s m’girl,” Harry grunts, fingers digging into your thigh so hard it’s sure to leave marks, and then his face is sinking back into your folds - his tongue licks up your folds, nose nudging your clit, and you collapse back against the couch. If he was focused on watching you surely he would see how you’ve abandoned the eye contact but he’s paying attention solely to the pleasure he’s giving you. His tongue flattens as he licks up your folds, two fingers still pumping in and out of your heat so fast and hard you can hear the sounds of your wetness. “Taste so fucking good.”

His voice is muffled against your pussy and you lower your gaze back down to him, chest heaving as your grip tightens both on his hair and the fabric of your shirt, still hiked around your waist. Your fingernails dig into his scalp so hard that you know you’re leaving small, crescent shaped indents into the soft skin of his head but it never seems to bother him - you can hear him whine into your cunt, proving your point.

The hand on your thigh drops and your leg falls over his shoulder - it, instead, sneaks up your stomach and into the bunched up material of your shirt, palm resting overtop of your tits through the sports bra you’re wearing, the one with cherries on it, and his hand squeezes around the mound of flesh just as his teeth graze your clit. Both sensations have you tossing your head back with a sob and Harry pulls away briefly, strands of saliva connecting him to your core, as if begging him to return to where he’d been working at.

You love seeing him like this - nearly unhinged in his quest to get you off, eyes lust blown and pupils so wide they’ve overtaken all the green in his orbs. Harry is so desperate to make you feel good and you can see it in his eyes, as he presses a kiss to the top of your mound before returning his tongue to your clit.

Your pussy is clenching relentlessly around his fingers, hips bucking up into him at a staccato rhythm - you’re going to cum, you’re right there, and he knows it. Harry’s tongue swirls around your clit again and again as his fingers curl into you, hitting the perfect spot inside of you over and over until all of your muscles tense, your eyes roll back, and -

“Fuck, yes,” Harry moans, pulling his head back to watch you come undone beneath him, body spasming with the force of your orgasm. His fingers still slowly thrust in and out of you, forcing your orgasm onwards until you’re reaching down, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from your cunt. “Doin’ so good f’me, yeah.”

You can hardly breathe once you’re finally coming down, gasping for air as Harry rests his cheek to your inner thigh, fingertips dancing up and down your hips. Your clit is throbbing with the intensity of it all and your body feels weak, like you couldn’t move even if you tried, and Harry’s face looks just as self satisfied as you’d expected.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, loosening your grip on Harry’s hair, smoothing your fingers over the skin you’d been assaulting. “Jesus, fuck, you’re good at that.”

Harry chuckles, then, pressing one wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before rising up from his spot, kneeling on the ground, to sit back on the sofa. He grabs the material of your shirt, tugging it back down to cover your body. “Did I make it up to you?” And, when your brows furrow ever so slightly in confusion, he says, “‘Cause I beat you in Phase 10.”

You grin, reaching out for Harry’s hand so you can push yourself to sit up, leaning against the arm of the sofa. His thumb smooths over the back of your palm, watching you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes, and you’re sure yours look much the same. “I guess so,” you shrug, working on the act of faux nonchalance, even if you know he doesn’t believe it.

“Well, that’s good,” he proclaims, leaning forward to rest his body between your legs, pressing a kiss to your lips softly. “Hope I get t’fuck you now. Can hardly wait - was gonna cum in m’pants, watching you get off.”

His words make your stomach flip and your clit pulse, and you want nothing more than to pull him down to you, let him fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow. But you cross your arms over your chest, staring into his overly confident eyes as you decide, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you confirm, relishing in the way Harry’s shoulders droop, how his eyebrows crease in confusion. You shift away from him, swinging your legs over the edge of the sofa so you can focus back on the Phase 10 cards, still set up on the coffee table. “If you win your next phase, I’ll let you fuck me, to make up for you being rude again.”

There’s silence between you two as Harry stares at you, mouth parted in shock, looking positively bewildered until he asks, “Are you serious?”

You nod.

“What happens if you win?”

You both know you won’t win - you’ve been on the same phase while Harry has gone through four - but you pretend to think, already reaching down to the table for the stack of cards. You brush your panties off of them, letting them fall to the floor. “If I win, I’ll let you fuck me, ‘cause I lost.”

Harry nods slowly, and then says, “So I’ll fuck you either way?”

“Well, yeah,” and then you resume shuffling the deck. “But I just like making you wait.”

—

You have to say - you think you’re getting pretty good at grading essays.

Through your entire relationship you’ve loved to help Harry grade stuff, and it’s always been easy for you, because you’ve completed every essay and every exam and done great on all of them (with the exception of 1984, so Harry pointedly does not let you grade those.) And it’s fun, too, turning up music and sitting at the kitchen table, humming along to the tunes and occasionally asking the professor what he thinks about a certain word, or if the flow of a certain sentence sounds too wonky to ignore.

Sometimes, though - sometimes, it’s not too fun.

Harry had been putting off on grading the essays he’d assigned on The Fountainhead, which is, if you recall, the only essay you’d written for his class that made you consider dropping out, with how nitpicky the rubric was. Every year it was a pain for Harry to grade, so you suppose it only figures that he’d put off grading them as soon as possible - which is how you ended up here. There are stacks and stacks of essays spread across the kitchen table that have to be graded before Monday, and one glance at the clock on the wall behind you shows that it’s already nearly 11:30 on Saturday night - which means you and Harry have been grading for just about four hours since your last break to eat reheated pizza from the night prior.

“Do you think it’s time to go to bed?” you question, voice soft and raspy, cutting through the comfortable silence that’s been hovering between the two of you since Harry turned off the music an hour ago, murmuring that it was giving him a headache. “It’s almost midnight, professor. And it’s not good to work yourself too hard.”

He exhales softly, flipping a page in the essay he’s working at that’s getting marked up so much with red ink that the paper hardly even looks white anymore. “Y’can go to bed if you’d like,” he tells you, which is exactly what you’d expected him to say but it still makes you sigh dramatically. “What’re you huffin’ at? I’ll do a few more, an’ come to bed in a little bit.”

You shake your head, placing the essay you’d just graded on top of the finished pile and reaching for a fresh one. You click your pen a few times, squinting at the name printed on top just to check if you recognize it (which you don’t) before getting to work grading it. “One more, alright? And then bed, ‘cause otherwise you’re just gonna be cranky tomorrow.”

“M’never cranky, baby.”

“You are when you go to bed at midnight and then wake up at 7 to grade,” you murmur, uncapping your pen to scribble a comment in the margins of Daniel Garcia’s essay and ignoring the dramatic, scandalized gasp that your boyfriend lets out. “Just finish up that one, and I’ll do this, and then we’re going to bed.”

Harry’s silent for a second and you know that you’ve won - you won’t stop until you do, anyway, so it’s best that he gives in now. “When did you start wearing the pants in the relationship, m’dear?” he questions, giving you a cheeky smile, and you roll your eyes.

“Since you put a baby in me,” you reply, drawing a line through an unnecessary sentence in Daniel’s paper, and then you pat your stomach as if to remind him. “But long before that too, I think.”

“In the bedroom, though -”

“Don’t give yourself a boner, Har, it’s almost midnight.”

He laughs at that, bending back over the essay he’s grading with a grin still present on his lips. You watch as he returns to writing a note on the paper and you look back down at Daniel’s, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth to conceal your smile as your eyes scan over the last paragraph of the first page before flipping it to the next one.

The next five minutes passes in the same vein, Harry occasionally asking for your input on the essay he’s working on, and you do the same. The end of your pen drags along the paper, tracing the Times New Roman font that’s beginning to look entirely too small now that your eyelids are beginning to droop with sleepiness overtaking your bones - the sleepiness that’s only heightened when Harry finally tosses his overly marked essay into the finished pile and leans back in his chair with an almost mocking grin when you meet his eyes.

“M’not sure I’ve ever graded such a horrible essay in my life,” he announces to you, pushing his chair back to stand up, arms stretched over his head. “Got a bloody 26.”

Your eyes glaze over the essay sitting on top of the finished pile, taking in the cover page that’s doused in Harry’s small, scrawled handwriting. Then you glance back down at Daniel’s essay, hardly marked up at all, and shrug. “He’s doing alright. Only taken off 5 points for some grammar issues.”

Harry leans over the table to peek at what you’re doing, and you lean back so he can scan the words on the page. “Might have the highest grade in the class, then.”

“Higher than mine?”

“‘Course not,” and he scoffs, as if the suggestion that any student’s essay could be better than yours was absolutely preposterous. “D’you want me to stay in here with you?’

You furrow your eyebrows as you look up at him, and then you shake your head. “Go to bed, professor. I’ll be done in a few minutes - almost on the last page, see?” And you spread the pages apart to prove it to him.

He nods, and then leans down to press a quiet kiss to your nose before padding down the hall to the bedroom - gives you a departing whisper yell to scream if y’need him - well, maybe don’t, ‘cause we do have neighbors, and then you’re left alone, hunched over Daniel Garcia’s essay. There’s not much work to be done as you read the last paragraph on the second-to-last page - you merely write out a suggestion in the margins before setting your pen down beside you and flipping to the next page.

You take a moment to yawn, stretching your arms high above your head as you squeeze your eyes shut. God, you are tired. From down the hall you can hear the sink turn on and you smile, briefly, thinking of Harry brushing his teeth with the pink princess toothbrush you’d bought him as a joke, and now he refuses to use any other one. Always makes you laugh when you see him using it, ignoring the other clean, adult ones right in the holder beside the sink.

Sooner you finish Daniel’s essay, the sooner you can catch him using it.

It’s motivation enough, and you open your eyes to begin on the last page of the paper you’d been working on for the last ten minutes. Immediately you notice, right in the middle of the final page, is a neon pink sticky note that you hadn’t noticed previously - you peel it off the paper and bring it up to your eyes, squinting to read the words written in dark black pen, a contrast against the bright color.

Mr. Styles -

Thank you for reviewing my essay! I made some of the changes you suggested, so I hope it’s better than it was before.

I hope you’re having a good semester, and congratulations on the pregnancy!

- Daniel

You smile as you read it - whatever critiques Harry had suggested had clearly worked out, as Daniel’s essay was easily the best you’d graded all day. It’s only when you reach the last few words that you bring it closer to your face, making sure you’re reading it correctly - congratulations on the pregnancy?

“Har?” you call, voice soft but still loud enough to reach him across your apartment. You can hear shuffling in the bathroom and then footsteps on the hardwood, growing in volume until Harry’s standing in the doorway of the hall, princess toothbrush in his mouth and his eyes wide with concern. You give him a smile, to assure him you’re fine, and you can hear his soft sigh in relief. “Daniel left you a note.”

You hold it up for him to inspect, and he closes the distance between you two to bend down, eyes narrowing as he reads Daniel’s loopy writing. “Aw - s’sweet,” he says, voice strained with the toothpaste in (and dripping out of) his mouth, and you can sense he’s confused as to why you called him to read it.

“I didn’t know you told your students about the baby,” you say, mainly to his back as he darts down the hall to the bathroom, and you can hear him spitting into the sink before he walks back.

“Yeah - I did.” Harry’s eyebrows crease in confusion as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and mouth free of all toothpaste and brush. “Was I not s’posed to?”

No - that’s not what you’d meant at all. Truth be told, it made your heart absolutely swell to imagine Harry telling his students about you and the baby, and you’re getting quite embarrassed with how easily you’re crying lately but you can feel tears in the back of your eyes already. You swallow, pushing yourself up from your chair to pad closer to him, and his hands fall to the sides of your protruding tummy once you’re close enough. “No - I’m not mad. The opposite, really - what did you tell them?”

You know, now, that he can sense exactly how you’re feeling about it. His hands smooth over your tummy through your sleepshirt, and you lean in to rest your head to his shoulder. “Just told ‘em that my girlfriend’s havin’ my baby, and that I’m very happy about it. Might’ve told ‘em that a few times, though.”

“How many times do you consider to be a few?” you question, bringing your head back up to look at him, and the sheepish look on his face tells you exactly what you’d expected. “Do you talk your class’s ear off every day about it?”

“Not every day,” he insists, leaning his head back against the doorway, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Not every day! Really. But m’students ask about it, and y’know I can’t help myself, sometimes.”

You do know exactly what he’s talking about, and your cheeks are beginning to hurt with how hard you’re smiling. His hands slide up your chest and neck until he reaches your cheeks, pulling your face up so you’re staring at him, cheeks squished together. There’s still a smudge of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth and you bring your thumb up to wipe at it before mumbling, voice slightly incomprehensible due to his hands on your face, “That - that makes me really happy, Harry.”

His eyes soften and you’re expecting him to drop his hands back down to your side, but he merely pushes your cheeks further in and leans down to land a kiss to your lips. “Why wouldn’t I talk abou’ you? Most important thing in my life, you are.”

You bring your hand up to swat at his wrists so your face goes back to its normal shape, and he reluctantly complies. “It’s just sweet. And I’m really tired right now, so I might cry if I think about it for too long, but -”

Harry tosses his head back with a laugh at that, and you watch him with unsaid tears shining in your eyes. Sometimes, you’re not quite sure how or why you got so lucky - but as he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers to pull you down the hall towards your bedroom, you decide you’ll never stop appreciating it for the rest of your life.

—

You’d known from the very beginning of the night that Harry wasn’t fit to go out, and you know you’ll hold that over his head later. A little I told you so to make up for the way your knees are aching, pressed to the cold black tile, and you know he’ll roll his eyes, maybe snip back that you weren’t complaining with m’dick down your throat, baby. But, for now, you merely look up at him with a smug glint in your eyes, and, in response, his grip on your hair tightens.

The second you’d stepped out of your bedroom at the apartment, adding another smooth layer of rouge to your bottom lip, you’d known, just from the look he gave you, sitting on the couch. Tonight was going to be that sort of night, where Harry walked with his hand shoved in his pocket to try and make his half hard boner less obvious through the entirety of dinner, assuring you over and over that he was fine to go out. You’d almost believed him until he’d parked the car in a parking garage right outside of the restaurant and begged you for just a quickie in the backseat before you went in - but you’d refused.

You’d waited for date night for - well, two weeks, but it felt entirely too long. And you hadn’t spent so long getting ready, trying on all of your dresses before finally finding one that made your 30 week belly look flattering, to have him ruin it in the backseat.

You could be quite strong willed when you wanted to, and most times you didn’t. It always shocked Harry, the moments you decided to use it.

“Can I try that, Har?” Your voice is saccharine sweet as you look up at your boyfriend with a smile, taking note of the way his jaw is set as he pokes at his gnocchi. His eyes are stone cold and if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you would guess that he’s angry - but the way his ankle is locked with yours beneath the table, heel brushing against his ankle, assures you that he’s not. “Looks delicious.”

You’re already reaching over with your fork to Harry’s plate before he can respond, taking a piece of the thick pasta and bringing it back over to your plate. You take your time chewing it, admiring your boyfriend’s features, illuminated in the candlelight - he’s always gorgeous, like a statue carved from stone, but especially so when you know he’s so turned on he can hardly function.

And you suppose you’re to blame for that. It isn’t as though you haven’t been torturing him the entire dinner, lifting your foot up to drag up his calf, pulling his dress pants up, even going so far as to brush it against his thigh, though you’ll blame it on the thick white tablecloth able to disguise every action. Every single reaction he gave you felt like adding gasoline to a fire, and you were loving it.

“That’s really good,” you tell him, resting your fork on your plate and grabbing your slice of margherita pizza. “The sauce is good, too. Thick and creamy - you know.”

Harry shifts in his seat, and you tighten your hold around his ankle, sliding forward in your seat just a tad. He doesn’t respond for a moment, and then he leans over across the table, loose fabric of his pink button up falling dangerously close to his pasta, and says, “You’re being mean.”

You can’t help the cocky grin that tugs at your lips as you lean back in your seat, increasing the distance between you once more. “How am I being mean? Just trying to enjoy dinner with you - once the baby gets here, who knows how many more we’ll have for a while.”

It’s getting more difficult by the minute to disguise your own arousal, but you try to, anyway. It isn’t nearly as fun to tease Harry when he knows you’re just as turned on as he is, so you’ll hide it for as long as you can.

“S’difficult to appreciate our last date night when I’m so fuckin’ turned on - I can’t even eat my gnocchi.” He pouts, as if it’s an absolute disgrace that he can’t enjoy his pasta, and you roll your eyes. It’s rare you get to see Harry so desperate like this, so needy it’s all he can think about. But he’s reaching over the table to clasp his hand overtop of yours where you’re clutching your fork, bringing the back of your palm up to his mouth to press a kiss to your skin, and you smile down at your pizza. It’s sweet, even if you know he’s only doing it so you’ll agree to leave dinner early to go home, or perhaps run out to the car for a quickie.

“Never said last,” you tell him, pressing your free hand to the front of your stomach. “It better not be the last, professor.”

“Not the last,” Harry agrees, lips still firmly planted to your hand so every word is mouthed to your skin. You watch him with arched eyebrows, trying to anticipate his next move, when he leans over further and says, voice soft and nearly pleading, “Are y’sure you don’t want a quickie? ‘Cause I can read you like a book, honey, an’ I can fuckin’ feel you clenching your thighs, y’know. Can practically smell how wet you are. M’not dumb.”

Fuck.

You exhale a soft shaky breath, and you know he’s got you right where he wants you, if the satisfied smirk on his face tells you anything. He drops your hand and you dig your fingers into the tablecloth, watching as he leans back in the booth.

It’s your move and you’re not sure how to play it, taking the brief moment to run through all of your options. You could go home, spend the rest of the night in the apartment, but you don’t reckon Harry would be able to wait so long. And you’re not too sure your back would appreciate getting fucked in the backseat, so the only other option is -

“Alright,” you murmur, and then your ankle unhooks from around his ankle so you can slide out of the booth. When you’re standing you rest your hand on the underside of your stomach, reaching out a hand for Harry to grab as you tug him from the booth. Immediately his arm wraps around your waist and you lift your head up to reach his ear, voice hardly rising above a whisper, “The bathroom, Har.”

His eyes flutter shut at your words, breathing out a slow groan, and you give him just a second to relish in the subtext of it - the second passes, though, and you nudge him once more. He tightens his arm around you and leads you from the booth, dragging you through the restaurant to a sleek, black staircase, a sign on the wall beside it declaring that the restroom is downstairs. When you’re out of sight from most customers and workers in the dining room, the two of you practically run down the stairs, Harry grabbing your hand to make sure you don’t trip, and you’re nearly breathless when you finally locate the bathroom.

Not a second after Harry pulls you inside, slamming and locking the door shut behind you, your lips are on his. Hands roam up and down your back through your dress and your fingernails dig into his neck, and for a moment, that’s enough - just feeling his touch after feeling deprived, even if you’d been trying to pretend you didn’t need him. But, God, he’s looked so good the entire night, donning a loose pink dress shirt, the first two buttons undone, and black dress pants - it’s not unlike what he would wear to class and maybe that’s why you love it so much.

The moment passes, though, because you know this needs to be fast and merely making out against the cool door won’t do either of you too much good. Harry’s fingers hook in the hem of your dress, beginning to pull the fabric up over your ass but you stop him, fingers wrapping around his wrist and meeting his look of confusion with one of pure seduction.

You slowly adjust your dress again, tugging it back down to the mid-thigh point where it belongs, and Harry watches you - his chest is heaving and his palms are pressed to the door, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this. So far gone already and you’ve barely touched him - it’s a gorgeous contrast from how it usually is, where you’re the one so needy and desperate for him.

The moan that cracks through the air when you drop to your knees in front of him sends a rush of arousal straight to your core. You’d love to have him pound into you right here, against the black tiled walls of the restroom, but when he’s like this? You need him in your mouth - God, you’re fucking aching for it. And waiting will merely make the inevitable pleasure so much better, later.

As if on instinct, Harry’s hand presses to the back of your head, fingertips gently smoothing your scalp as if to comfort you. “Sure y’don’t want me to fuck you? Know you wan’ it - feel bad makin’ you wait.”

You shake your head, leaning in to gently nuzzle at the bulge, so prominent in his pants. Harry’s hips jerk forward at the slight sensation and you give him a soft glare as he murmurs quiet apologies into the suddenly warm bathroom air. “No,” you tell him, voice hot against his dick even through his trousers. “Need you in my throat, professor.” And the resulting moan spurs you onwards, reaching for the zipper blocking you from what you need.

He’s rambling as you tug the zipper of his pants down, fumbling with the button so you can pull his boxers down over his member. You wait a moment before making any type of contact with his length, glancing up to meet his lust blown eyes with a small smirk gracing your lips. Harry’s digits tangle in your hair as you lean in, ghosting a soft kiss to the base of his cock before wrapping your fist around him. “God - gonna suck me off, hmm? Look so good on your knees, y’know that? Fuck, please don’t tease me -”

Your hand pumps up and down his length, hot and heavy in your palm, the head red and angry and already leaking precum. It’s a show of how deprived your boyfriend is as he hisses near violently when you press an open mouthed kiss to the dripping tip of his cock, hand still jerking up and down the base of him.

As much as Harry had begged you not to, you’re tempted to tease him - kitten licks to his dick until he’s begging harder than he already is - but you have to remind yourself that you’re not in your apartment, and you don’t have enough time to be going as slowly as you are. So you stick your tongue out, use your hand on his base to guide him so it’s sitting, heavy on your tongue. His breathing has all but stopped, watching with his mouth dropped open as you take him into your mouth, closing your lips around his cock when it’s nearly halfway down your throat.

The feeling of your lips shutting around his member has a wet grunt escaping his throat, and his fingers tighten in your hair to the point where you reckon you can feel strands disconnecting from your scalp - but you find you don’t truly care. It goes straight to your clit, every one of Harry’s reactions, from the way his fingernails dig indents into your head and his head falls back against the bathroom door with a dull thump that reverberates through you. Normally you wouldn’t hesitate to try and alleviate the pressure growing in your clit - maybe pull your dress up and get yourself off - but the thought of how good it’ll feel if you wait keeps your hands from wandering.

“Oh my god -” you look up at Harry where he’s got his fist, half buried in his mouth, muffling every noise he lets out. His face is coated with a thin sheet of sweat, eyes squeezed shut, looking as though you’d been sucking him off for hours instead of five minutes. “Please, baby - God, feels so good.”

You’ve been giving him blowjobs for over two years and yet, every single time, you need time to adjust to his size - it never fails to make him smirk but he’s too far gone to focus on it now, as you slide his cock down your throat, taking as much of him as you can without gagging. Harry’s fingers in your hair tangle, holding your head to his length though you had no intention of letting up any time soon, anyway - and you’re not sure he’d intended to push you further down on him, nose brushing to his pubic bone, but the way you gag around him has him crying out, entirely too loud even around his fist.

“Sorry, m’sorry - jus’ couldn’t help it -” he’s murmuring, voice strained as he pulls you off of him, letting you bring your wrist up to wipe at the strands of saliva still connecting his cock to your lips. You take just a second to catch your breath before leaning back in, flattening your tongue to lick a thick stripe up the bottom up his member, swirling around his tip once you’ve reached it. “M’really close - gonna cum so fuckin’ hard -”

You’d known from the telltale twitch of his cock when you wrap your lips around him that he’s close, and, as much as you love sucking his dick, your knees are aching and you’d do anything to run home and continue this romp in the sheets. So you continue pumping him, sloppy jerks of the wrist that have moans tumbling off his lips like a mantra, and then you release your lips from around him with a soft pop and stick your tongue out again, resting his head neatly in the center.

Whatever qualms Harry had been holding on to about keeping silent are almost immediately forgotten as his cock thrusts forward onto your tongue, your hand still thrusting the part of him that isn’t resting in your mouth. His head drops forward with a low, throaty moan and you barely get a moment to prepare before he’s cumming, ribbons of milky cum pooling in the valley of your tongue. You can’t help yourself from whimpering at the sensation that you’ve grown to love so much - it helps that his cum doesn’t taste terrible, though you suppose you don’t have much to compare it to.

Your scalp burns when Harry releases your hair, pressing his entire palm to the back of your head and keeping his cock firm in the center of your tongue, though you wouldn’t dream of pulling away until you’ve milked every last drop. He’s panting, chest heaving with desperate gasps of air, and you can’t tear your gaze from him even if he won’t meet it.

It’s Harry who finally pulls away first, shifting his hips backward until his length slides off of your tongue, eyes drifting shut. You reach for his thigh, pinching the soft skin through his trousers until he hisses, glancing down at you like you’d wanted, and you take the brief connection of eye contact to close your mouth, making a show of swallowing the cum you’d collected at the base of your tongue.

“God,” he breathes throatily, hand on your head smoothing down until he’s cupping your cheek, and he smiles when you show him your tongue again to prove that you’d swallowed everything. “Gonna fuckin’ wreck you when I get home.”

You take Harry’s hand when he offers it, intertwining your fingers so he can pull you up. Your knees burn and your back is beginning to ache, and you need him so bad that just his words have you feeling like you could cum in your panties. “Is that a promise?”

There’s that cocky grin you’d expected, spreading slowly across his face as he lands an open mouthed kiss to your lips - a show of love, considering his cock was in your mouth mere seconds ago. It’s a promise that whatever bits of dominance you’d had over him while you were on your knees has dissipated, and you’re more than happy to let him take over. “S’most certainly a promise,” Harry assures you, thumb coming up to wipe at your lip where your lipstick has surely smudged, as you reach down to tuck him back into his pants. “Now, let’s hope there’s not a line, right, baby? Wouldn’t want everyone to know what a dirty girl you were, sucking m’cock like that, now would we?”

And it’s all you can do to shake your head, watching as he feels for the doorknob and undoes the lock.

—

At the time, buying a book of nearly 10,000 baby names had seemed like the perfect idea. You and Harry had hardly talked about what you were to name your daughter, besides that her last name would, naturally, be Styles, and as you approached 34 weeks pregnant, you suspected it was about time to start considering it. Sure, she wasn’t due for weeks, but, realistically, couldn’t she pop out at any moment? You should at least be prepared. And, in the back of your mind, you’d expected to open the book and immediately find a perfect name you both agreed on, because it had seemed like your tastes aligned fairly well in just about every other aspect of life.

Now, though - you can understand why it may not be too great of an idea. If you hadn’t obsessed over her name before, now you were - there were hundreds of names you liked, and almost every single one Harry shot down. The ones that he liked you despised, and the ones you agreed one simply weren’t perfect.

It was all you thought about. The origin of the name had to be perfect, the spelling, it couldn’t clash with her (admittedly unusual) last name and you both had to agree on it.

“Do you like Madison?”

You can see Harry scrunch his nose from where he’s sitting, cross legged on the floor, glaring at the instructions for the crib you’d gotten the week prior. It’s the last part of the nursery to come together, and, admittedly, the most important - though Harry teased, I think the baby is the most important part, actually, and that is exactly why he’s on crib duty. You, meanwhile, sit in the rocking chair your parents had given you, humming to the music blaring from his phone and squinting angrily down at stupid book. Marie sits, curled on your lap, and you absentmindedly stroke your fingers through her fur as you read.

“Y’asked me about Madison last week,” Harry tells you, resting the manual on the plush, cream rug beneath him to examine the pile of disassembled crib lying in front of him. “I didn’t like it then, an’ I don’t like it now.”

You raise your eyebrows, exhaling softly as you flip through the pages of your book, already well worn from how often you’d been searching through it. “Alright, cranky. Sheesh.”

He chuckles at that, running a hand through his locks that fall around his face. You break your gaze from watching him and turn back to your look, scanning your finger down the list of ‘O’ names. Finding one that you like and that you haven’t already asked Harry about is a task easier said than done, and you can feel yourself getting more and more frustrated by the minute with every name you read.

“Ophelia?” you question, trying the name out on your tongue against the background of This Is The Kinks, currently playing The Contenders loud enough that you can barely hear your own voice - but you hear it enough to know you don’t like the name.

“I like that,” Harry says, picking up a piece of crib off the ground and glancing back at the instructions before resting it back on the floor just as quickly.

“I don’t,” you tell him, grinning at his responding snort. “Olivia?”

“Already asked me about tha’ one - s’a no.”

“Oakley?”

“Absolutely not.”

You sit further up, grabbing a section of the book’s pages and pointedly squeezing your eyes shut - Marie stares at you as though annoyed with your movement. “I’m going to flip to a random page,” you announce, voice rising in volume to be heard above The Kinks, “and we’ll pick a name off of whatever page it is.”

You can’t see him but you know he’s rolling his eyes before saying, “That’s a horrible way t’name our child -” but you’re already flipping through the book at random, ignoring whatever he’s calling above the music.

When you decide that you’ve flipped enough, you rest the book on the ottoman in front of the rocking chair and open your eyes, staring down at the page you’ve turned to. Sarah, Sadie, Sabrina - “We’re in the S section.”

“We can’t have our baby’s name be an alliteration.”

“Fine,” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut again, “I’ll flip again -”

“Baby,” Harry calls, and when you don’t react he repeats the pet name until you open your eyes, staring expectantly down at where he’s sitting on the rug. He lets the directions flutter down to the floor before pushing himself to stand, padding across the room until he can grab the baby name book, replacing its spot on the ottoman just in front of you. “We don’t have t’pick a name right now.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hardly able to resist your smile as Harry lifts the book up, flipping past the S section until he’s gazing down at a list of T names and their origins. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting together a crib, professor?”

He merely rolls his eyes, jabbing his finger in the middle of the page. “What about Tiffany?”

The Contenders transitions into All Day And All Of The Night and you bob your head to the change in music, gently kicking Harry’s ankles to try and distract yourself from the stress that’s slowly rising in your chest. “I hate it - and, besides, she might grow up with a complex if she’s named after one of the greatest movies of all time.”

Harry exhales with a small chuckle, finger sliding down the page until it stops again. “Thalia?”

That one makes you pause - it is pretty, and combining it with his last name doesn’t roll off the tongue too terribly. But it isn’t perfect, and you can’t possibly give your baby a name that isn’t perfect. So you shake your head, craning your neck so you can glance at the page with him, dragging your fingers down Marie’s soft back. “Tessa could be pretty, right?”

But he shakes his head, turning a few pages back until you’re staring into the R section. You rest a hand on top of your stomach, as if to ask your daughter what, exactly, her name is, and Harry presses his palm overtop of yours, lacing your fingers together absentmindedly. “I like Riley,” he murmurs, fingernail tapping against the small print of the name and question.

“It’s too similar to Styles,” you disagree, and when he gives you a doubtful look you continue, “The beginnings sound the same - Ri and Sty. Just sounds sort of weird.”

You’re in the middle of reading about the origin for the name Ryan when Harry slowly presses the book shut, and you hardly have time to give him an annoyed glance before he’s telling you, “We’ll look at this tomorrow, alright? We don’t have to find one right now - s’fine.”

“I feel like we’re running out of time,” you confess as he stands up from the ottoman, resting your dumb baby name book on top of the dresser and returning back to the middle of the floor. Marie, meanwhile, hops off your lap, bounding out of the room with her tail high in the air. “I feel like she’s gonna come and we’re not gonna have any sort of name picked out - and we won’t have a crib, by the looks of how this is going.”

“Watch your mouth, lazy butt.” But he can’t help the grin from appearing on his face as he flips through the pages of the small instructional pamphlet with the same degree of dedication you’d put into searching for your daughter’s name. “And y’know she won’t hate us ‘cause we didn’t pick out her name a month and a half before she came.”

You push yourself off of the chair, sending it rocking back and forth with just enough force that it gently hit the walls of the corner it was boxed into, and you maneuver your way through the mess of parts scattered on the floor until you can find a clean spot to sit down in, just beside Harry. He gives you a smile once you’re beside him and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, and you lean backward, resting your weight on one arm and pressing your other hand to the front of your stomach. “She could come next week, you know. Or tomorrow.”

“She won’t,” Harry says, voice sharper than what (you assume) he’d anticipated it to be, because it softens near immediately as he continues, “She won’t, but if she does, we don’t have t’have a name picked out jus’ yet. We’ll find the perfect one, and it’ll fit her, and it’ll be fine.”

His confidence is (unsurprisingly) not at all reassuring to you but you tuck your head against his shoulder anyway, feeling his lips land on your forehead. Your mind is whirring and you can still feel the beginnings of anxiety running its course through your veins, and you know it’ll only get worse until you find the perfect name for your girl - but you feel like you’ve looked at every single one and not a single one is right. Perhaps your superfluous worry about being a terrible mother was the source for it but you don’t want to bring it up to Harry. Not right now. Though he has to be feeling some of the same fear you are, it’s practically a no-brainer that he’ll be the perfect father.

You wish you had the same confidence in yourself, but you’ll work on it later.

“I just want to find the perfect name,” you mumble, muffled against his shoulder and entirely too soft to be heard over the guitar, strumming during the opening of Lola.

“We will,” he promises, and then holds up his pinky for you to hook yours into. A promise in its simplest form, and it makes you smile. “Maybe it won’t be in the book, though - feel like you’ve read every single name.”

You opt not to respond, mouthing the words to Lola as you pick up the directions, eyes scanning over the words without taking any of them in. As expected, you don’t quite understand what any of the guidelines mean - instead, you turn to the pictures, and when Harry pushes himself up, grabbing a small baggie of screws to get to work, you hand them back to him willingly. It was your meek attempt to help, but - well, as Harry had said, you were bringing the most important part of the nursery to the room, so you were fine to sit back and let him do the crib.

It’s only a second, though, of singing along softly to the song while you watch him begin to assemble the crib before it hits you - in plain sight (or plain sound, you suppose) is the name. You’d spent so long buried inside your dumb baby name book that you’d skipped over this because it’s perfect, rolls off your tongue so beautifully when you mouth it, soft enough that your boyfriend can’t hear it over the blaring of the song you’d taken it from.

“Harry,” you call, growing louder in excitement with every syllable. You wait until his eyes are on you, because you want to see his reaction when he hears it - it’s all you can do to pray it’s a positive one, because you know this is it. “What about Lola?”

He pauses, in the midst of inserting a screw into the small hole it’s destined for, and you can see his mind whirring - testing out the name experimentally, the same way you had. And then he says it, loud enough that you can hear, and it sounds as spectacular coming from him as it had from you.

“I love it,” Harry tells you, though you’d already known just from the gleam in his eyes. The excitement that burns through you is nearly fucking overwhelming as you push yourself up (slower than you’d wanted, but your stomach does tend to do that nowadays) and step over the pile of crib parts carefully. His arm hooks around your waist as soon as you’re close enough and you stumble into his arms, winding your arms around his neck to press yourself as close as you can to him - and feeling his face in your hair, repeating the same three words over and over, is feeling strangely akin to paradise.

—

It’s so early in the morning that your bedroom is drowned in thick darkness, like a sheet wrapped around you. Can hardly even be considered morning, you think - as you reach over to tap the screen of your phone, squinting at the way it lights up obnoxiously, you discover that it’s 12:58 AM.

You’re half - no, completely - tempted to curl back into the comfort of Harry’s arms wrapped around you. One is thrown over your torso, palm pressed to the front of your stomach, and the other is pressed between your side and the mattress, hand curved possessively over your boob. He’s a cuddler and you know this, but you tend to move so much during the night with weak attempts to find a position that doesn’t destroy your back that it’s rare to wake up enveloped in him. But now that you’re awake you can feel Lola, pressing on your bladder to the point where falling back asleep would surely just result in an accident later in the night - so, reluctantly, your fingers curl around Harry’s wrist to lug his arm off of your waist.

He groans in his sleep, rolling onto his back, and you push yourself to sit up so you can spend just a second gazing down at him. It’s dark in the room, still illuminated only by your phone screen, but you can see him just enough. He’s a vision when he’s sleeping - mouth parted slightly, hair damp and spread over the pillow you’d been sharing. Hazy eyes take in every bit of his face that you can, blinking away the sleep that threatens to take you back over.

One hand goes to Harry’s cheek, stroking the soft skin and slight stubble dusting his jaw. You swear you can feel him lean into your touch - but then your phone screen finally dims, flooding the room with darkness again, and you sigh before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, pushing yourself up.

You rest your hand on the bottom of your stomach, waddling across the room to the cracked door of your bathroom. You make sure to leave it cracked, just a tad - Harry’s a light sleeper, and you can’t be positive that the soft click of the door shutting won’t wake him up. He’s been working himself again, preparing for exams that are already beginning to roll around, and you want him to get as much rest as he can get.

You bring your first up to rub at your eyes before flicking on the light switch, chasing out the darkness from the small bathroom. Eyes still blurred with sleep can’t quite take in your reflection, but you try anyway - your hair is knotted and the heels of your hand is still pressed into your eyes, and the oversized tank top you’d been donning to bed for months stretches taut against your boobs and stomach. It’s weird - and slightly scary - to imagine that, entirely too soon and yet not, your daughter will be here. Not sitting in your stomach, protruding it outwards, but lying in your arms. And you and Harry will be parents, finally, after nearly 10 months of waiting.

It’s too much to think about at barely 1 in the morning - so you tear your gaze from your reflection, head past the mirror to the toilet. You’ll ponder how strange it is to imagine your baby finally arriving later, but not now. Not when you’re forced to clench your thighs together to stop yourself from peeing, so -

Later.

When you’ve finished you wash your hands, making sure the tap doesn’t run too loud, but you swear you can hear a soft groan come from your connecting bedroom. You shut the light off once your hands are dried and push the door open softly, trying to ignore the inevitable creaking noise that will reverberate throughout your bedroom. It’s soft but still present, and you cringe slightly before padding back across the hardwood and rug until you reach your bed. You slowly sit down on the mattress before swinging your legs over and settling back beneath the covers, where Harry hadn’t moved too much since you’d left him earlier.

His breathing isn’t as steady as it had been, though - softly, barely above a breath, you murmur, “Harry?”

There’s a beat where he doesn’t respond, and then he grunts softly in lieu of a response.

So he is awake. You tug the duvet further up your body, shifting so you’re on your side and facing him. The room is still dark and you can’t see him open his eyes, but you can feel his hand move up until it’s wrapped around your torso. “Did I wake you up?” you question quietly, feeling his fingers already pressing soft circles into your hip. “Sorry.”

“No,” Harry tells you, voice raspy and dripping with desire to be asleep. It’s how his morning voice is but you’re not quite sure you can even classify this hour as morning. “Was awake - ‘cause I felt you move m’arm.” You nod, even if he can’t see it, and then he asks, “Wha’ time is it?”

“1.” You shift closer to him, as close as you can with your stomach acting as a barrier between you two, nuzzling your head into the pillow. “Had to pee.”

He hums softly, tilting his head so he can press a kiss to your nose. “I think tha’ means you’re 38 weeks, today. An’ that means 2 weeks until baby is here.”

Huh. You hadn’t known that, but Harry had been better at keeping track of that stuff than you were. “Assuming she arrives on time,” you remind him, eyes drooping shut. “Could come tomorrow.”

“She better not,” he mumbles. “M’not prepared to be a dad so soon.”

“You’ll be great no matter when she comes,” and you mean it. God, he’s been such a great dad so far, and you don’t even have a physical daughter yet. He knows your symptoms practically before you do, has read all of your baby books time and time again and he’s been so good working on the nursery - you can’t even imagine him being worried about her coming. “She’s gonna be a lucky girl, having such a great dad.”

There’s silence and for a second you think he might have fallen asleep - but after a moment he murmurs, “You’ll be the best mum, too - an’ the hottest one.”

You can hardly find the energy to roll your eyes at that but you do anyway, smiling as you hear his low chuckle. Harry’s hold around your waist tightens, tugging you just a bit closer and shifting his body so he can curve around you. You lean forward, puckering your lips softly and feeling him land a soft peck against them. Neither of you bothers to move your heads when you pull apart, merely resting them an inch apart from each other so you can feel his breath, hot on your face, as it begins to steady out again.

He’s an easy sleeper - it’s always been a bit more difficult for you, though. You don’t want to move again and wake him up but you can feel the beginnings of pain settling in your back and lower stomach, and your mind is whirring. 38 weeks feels awfully farther along than 37 and the real reality that you and Harry could be parents as soon as fucking tomorrow is terrifying. There’s so much you feel like you haven’t done yet, even if you know you’ve covered all of the necessary bases - she has a name, she has a crib, she has loving parents. You haven't taken any labour classes - were they necessary? Perhaps you’d made a mistake, not going to any. When the day came, would you be unprepared? Would the nurses be able to tell you’d never practiced any breathing exercises?

You haven’t even packed a hospital bag yet, and you’re not sure what’s supposed to go in it. Tomorrow, you’ll watch a YouTube video while Harry is at work, pack the bag and have it ready to go for when it happens. You’ll practice your breathing, too. Maybe even google some of the best stretches to do, to prepare for labour. It never hurts to be prepared.

“Can hear you thinking,” Harry whispers, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you sigh, eyes opening though you can’t see anything in the darkness. Should’ve known from his fingers, still rubbing circles into your skin, that he was still awake - you just hadn’t thought of it. “Go t’bed, baby.”

You nearly open your mouth to worry him with your concerns - you could tell him about the exercises and the breathing and the bag. Part of you wonders if he feels the same concern but masks it better. He’s been so steady about the entire thing from the very beginning, balancing out your nerves with logic, and you know that’s what he would do now. But it’s 1 AM, and he has to work tomorrow, even if all you’ll be doing is stress-packing a bag. Maybe tomorrow you’ll open a conversation about it, see how he’s feeling. So you hold back, exhaling softly as you bring your hand up to press against his cheek, skin soft beneath your touch. “I love you, professor.”

You can feel Harry’s face stretching into a lazy smile in your hand, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist. “I love you too,” he tells you, melodic and soft. “G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

You take a second to stare at him - even if you can’t see him, knowing he’s beside you is comforting enough that you allow your eyes to shut. The pillow is soft against your head as you sink into the bed, holding the covers to your chest with the hand that isn’t pressed to his face. It isn’t as though you’d gained too much closure from your very short interaction with Harry, and your tired mind is still threatening to race into another dimension, but it’s easy enough to even out your breathing and let the sleep you’re desperately craving to finally overtake you.

It lasts for a blissful two hours - and in your dreams, you’re lying in a hospital bed with Harry by your side. And you’re staring down at your daughter, a small bundle who looks identical to your boyfriend, and then she’s sitting in front of a birthday cake, and then she’s climbing into a school bus, and then Harry’s helping her with her homework -

It’s, truthfully, a rather nice one, watching dream-Lola grow up. It’s only a strange swooping sensation in your stomach that starts you awake, eyes snapping open to stare up at the ceiling. Harry’s arm is still around you though you’ve turned so you’re resting on your back, covers pushed down so they’re resting just on top of your stomach.

For a moment you reckon you may have actually managed to sleep through the entire night, though judging by the lack of sunlight peeking through the curtains, you haven’t. The insomnia that’s affected you through the entire pregnancy has only been getting worse and God, you’re tired of it. You don’t have a cramp, your back doesn’t hurt and you don’t have to pee.

It’s only when you shift onto your side, reaching for your phone to check what time it is, that you feel it - oh fuck. For a moment you think you’ve peed yourself but no, you just peed two hours ago. But the sheets are dripping wet beneath you, soaking through your sweatpants, and if it’s not pee, then -

“Oh, no.” It’s all you can think, sliding your hand beneath the duvet to feel the liquid that’s gathered on the sheets. Your phone screen, illuminated with a news notification, brightly informs you that it’s 3:28 in the morning, and Harry still snores beside you. “Oh no. No, no, no -”

As if he can sense that you’re seconds away from crying out his name, Harry groans softly beneath you, shifting just enough that you know he’s awake - barely, but you’re not quite all there yet, either. You lift your hand that isn’t coated in liquid to swat at his shoulder, feeling an entirely too familiar lump building in your throat as you do. “Harry - Harry, wake up, wake up -”

He finally jerks awake after the fifth hit to his shoulder, pushing himself to sit up so fast you can hear the familiar thunk of his head hitting the headboard. “What? What -”

You can hardly get the words out but you don’t need to as Harry reaches over to the nightstand, fumbling with the lamp for a minute before turning it on - light floods the room, finally. It’s not immediately obvious, staring down at the comforter beneath you, what’s wrong, and you can see the confusion clouding in his eyes before you throw the covers off of you, exposing the soaked sheets, and that’s when it hits him.

There’s still a second, like the calm before a storm, where all either of you can do is stare at each other, eyes wide and full of horror. She isn’t due for two weeks. And you knew it could happen at any minute but you hadn’t expected it to be this minute - you thought you had more time. But there’s a pile of wetness sitting beneath you, telling you that you’d fucking thought wrong, and that’s when you snap out of it.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes, and then you’re both moving - you gingerly shift so your legs are over the edge of the bed and your muscles are aching, your head is spinning, and your pants are drenched. You need to change.

But you can’t bring yourself to do anything more than sit there, paralyzed, while Harry moves around the room. He’s digging through your dresser, pulling out clothes at random - next to you lands a pair of baby pink joggers and one of his shirts for you to wear. In your head you try to recall the things you’re supposed to have at the hospital when you give birth, and maybe you should run to the nursery, where her clothes and supplies are, and try to pack a bag quickly -

“Baby, we need to go t’the hospital.”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away - much farther than barely five feet away from you - and you can’t process a single thing he’s saying. You need more time. You want to go back to sleep and do this in two weeks, when she’s supposed to come, because your heart is hammering in your chest. This isn’t right - it can’t be. “Harry - she isn’t supposed to come yet.”

It’s then that you feel a dip in the bed beside you, an arm around your shoulders. Harry’s breathing is heavy and the panic oozes from every word, every breath, as he says, “I know. But - but it’s happening, baby. S’happening now, and we really need to go.”

“I’m really not ready, Harry. We - we need to pack a bag. We need a hospital bag.”

“I’ll ask your mum to bring you stuff at the hospital,” because he always manages to have a logical response even when he’s stressed. And then he’s gently gripping your chin, turning your head so you’re looking at him, vision cloudy through the tears burning the back of your eyes. “It’s gonna be alright - I promise. Jus’ let me help you change.”

Truth be told, you’re more than content to sit here and panic about the entire situation but you let common sense take over, nodding slowly as Harry helps you up. You work with him to change out of your wet sweatpants, sliding on the fresh pair that he’d gotten you, and you merely throw his shirt over your tank top - you can’t be bothered to take it off.

The two of you slowly make your way out of your room, down the hallway to the sitting room, with your arm around Harry’s shoulders and his firm at your waist. You’re not sure if you need the physical support so much as the moral support - hearing his soft, congratulatory murmurs when you merely slide on your shoes is making you feel significantly better. As Harry ducks down to tie his shoes, you lean against the wall and turn to look at your apartment. It’s quiet and clean, and Marie sits perched on top of the couch, clearly having been recently woken up by your hysterics.

Next time you’re here, you’ll have a baby.

“Are you ready?” Harry questions, standing back up and returning his arm around your waist. You’re thankful he’s managing to keep his composure together because you most certainly can’t. You know him well enough to know just how fucking terrified he is but he’s keeping it more in check - when you’re at the hospital, settled into a bed, you’ll feel better. But for now, the mere task of walking down the hall to the elevator feels daunting.

You give your apartment one last fleeting glance before turning back to the door, hooking your arm back around your boyfriend. “I guess so,” you tell him, which is all the confirmation he needs to haul you out of the apartment.

—

You’re slowly brought back to consciousness, nearly 24 hours after your water first broke, by Harry’s soft voice, cooing besides you - even before you open your eyes to see him you’re smiling, and it only widens when you turn your head and glance at him.

As you’d expected, Lola is lying in his arms. Wrapped in a soft, white hospital blanket and eyes wide open, you still feel a soft urge to cry every time you look at the two of them. Harry’s rocking her so gently, her tiny fist wrapped around his pointer finger, and you reckon you could simply sit here and watch them forever - him murmuring so quietly to her that you can’t quite hear it.

And you’re not sure you’d like to. You like the thought of guessing whatever he might be whispering to your daughter when he thinks you’re not listening, but you’re more desperate to hold her again than to continue watching, so you softly clear your throat.

“Oh!” Harry exclaims softly, scooting his chair closer to the edge of your hospital bed. You reach out your arms for your baby and he maneuvers her into your arms, and immediately you lean down to press a soft kiss to her nose. “How’re you feeling, m’love?”

You smile at him, pushing yourself to sit up against your stack of pillows, and he’s quick to adjust them so it’s easier for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of Lola, and if you weren’t so tired you know the mere sight of her would send you into overjoyed tears again. You offer your finger to her, and you reckon your heart could nearly burst as her small fist wraps around the digit. “My vagina feels like it’s burning,” you confess to Harry, grin widening at his soft laugh. “But - God, she’s really beautiful, Har. Looks just like you.”

And it’s true - she has his nose, and his eyes, and the curve of his chin. You trace one of your fingers down her soft cheek, skin feeling like porcelain beneath your touch.

“She does, a bit,” he says, voice staying at its quiet, breathy level, though she’s clearly wide awake. You can sense that, though you’d just taken her from him, he’s already desperate to hold her again - it’s just the glint in his eyes as he stares at the two of you. So you move over on the bed, leaving a sliver of space large enough for him to inhabit, and he gives you a grateful smile before standing up and lying on the bed. It’s tight, and the bed certainly isn’t meant for two people, but you find that, when he wraps his arm around you and presses a soft kiss to the side of your cheek, you don’t quite mind. “I think she has your lips, though.”

Gently tracing your finger along her soft, pink lips, you think he may be right. “She’s perfect,” you repeat, leaning your head into Harry’s shoulder, and his fingers gently comb through your hair. It’s tangled and sweaty - the result of not showering for two days - and his fingers get caught on the knots a few times before resorting to wrapping his arm around your waist instead. “Can you believe we made her?”

He exhales quietly, and you can hear the disbelief present in his voice when he agrees, “Still feels like I’m dreamin’ - like m’gonna wake up, and you’ll still be pregnant.”

“I hope not,” you tell him, voice dropping even quieter as Lola slowly shuts her eyes, lips parting open just the slightest. “I really don’t want to go through that again - not for a few years, at least.”

Harry perks up, just a bit, at that, arm tightening around your waist as the other comes around to help you cradle your daughter. “Y’want to have another baby?”

“In a few years is the keyword,” you remind him. “Stay in the present.”

But no matter what you say, you can’t ignore the visible joy he’d gotten from your words - furthered only as he rests his two fingers on the bottom of your chin, tugging your face in for a soft kiss. “I love you,” he breathes against your mouth, and you can feel heat creeping up your cheeks. “And I love our daughter - s’our perfect little family.” He pauses, then, resting his forehead to yours. “And Marie.”

“And Marie,” you confirm, giggling before turning your attention back to your baby. She’s proper asleep now, breathing soft and steady, fingers loosening around yours. You rest her arm against her chest, pulling the blanket further up her body, and she nuzzles the fabric in her sleep. Your eyes are already beginning to well again, and you’re too bloody exhausted to turn on the waterworks again - so, reluctantly, you hand Lola over to Harry, and he’s more than glad to accept her back into his arms. “M’gonna try and get some rest - when is your mum coming?”

“She said 6,” he replies, attention undivided as he gazes down at the sleeping bundle in his grasp. He cradles her like she could break at any moment - gentle hands holding her head up, fingers softly tracing her blanket. “S’about two hours for you to nap, then.”

You nod, already snuggling into your bed as Harry stands, rocking Lola gently as he makes his way towards her cot. The last thing you hear before drifting off again is his voice, soft and full of love, cooing, “We love you, Lola - g’night, angel -” and you fall asleep with a soft smile on your face.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #prof!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #wowie

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abbysfrenchbraid · 4 years ago

Text

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 9

masterlist

in this chapter, the reader takes up combat training with Eivor and goes on a walk with Valka. I hope you all have some wonderful days with your loved ones!

CW for alcohol consumption, choking/assault imagery, nudity

Inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions

Heather

The next few days were filled with training, tasks, and getting to know people. You got up early every morning and either joined Valka for a few hours of learning about healing and plants, sometimes at her hut, sometimes on walks through the forest, or you helped Sfáva in the kitchen, preparing food for the day or running errands for her. Around noon you ate with your old friends and in the afternoon you had taken up training with Eivor.

Eivor’s wound was healing well, but she was not yet allowed to train heavily so she was all the happier to have you to instruct and guide.

You had been working with a short sword, first wooden, then metal, for a few afternoons now and while it was still extremely hard to swing, you started seeing a smoothness in your movements. When you stepped into the training area with the straw dummies and wooden targets, the sun already hung low on the horizon and tiny snowflakes were fluttering from a singular cloud in the sky. The days were at their shortest now, Winter solstice was only two nights away.

“There you are!” You turned to see Eivor, dressed in thick leather and furs, with two axes in her hands. She looked lovely, her lashes and hair embezzled by ice crystals and her breath moving through the air like clouds in strong wind. She gave you the smaller axe and fastened the other one to her belt.

“I want to introduce you to another weapon today. I have a feeling you’ll be good with the axe.”

You weighed it in your hand. It was wooden with a dark metal blade; thin red leather strips were wrapped and fastened around the bottom for better grip.

“How do I wield it?” You tried a few slow strokes through the air. Eivor stepped behind you, closing her arms around you as she grabbed the axe and your hands with it, encasing your fingers in her soft, warm palms. Her mouth was right next to your ear and when she spoke, her breath tickled your skin.

“You hold it with a firm grip, but make sure your wrists stay loose. Don't stiffen your arms, keep them moving and natural. Engage your core while you swing so the weight of the weapon doesn’t pull your body with it.” She lifted your hands with the axe to your top right and made a slow, perfectly diagonal cut to your bottom left.

“Never swing straight down unless you’re absolutely positive you will hit something. Otherwise, you might hit yourself. You can swing upwards, too.” She guided your hands from left to right with a slightly upward motion. “Never straight, though.”

She let go of you and stepped around you.

“If you need more momentum, you can turn and swing the axe just at chest level, drag it up or down into your target.” She took your hands and twirled you around as if you were dancing, then she grabbed them tightly and executed a quick stroke through the air.

“It is also important that you practice to stop this motion if you miss. You need strong arms and again, an engaged core. Try it.”

She took a few steps back and you assumed your fighting stance and tried a few cuts through the air. Eivor was right, you needed strength to move the axe without flinging your whole body around and you also needed the strength to stop its flight. She was watching you with crossed arms, biting her lip as she closely observed your every move. After a while, she nodded.

“Try it on the straw figure. I’ll show you a combination.” She took the heavy axe from her belt and stood in front of the straw man. Suddenly she became a whirlwind, hacking at the figure three, four times and sending straw flying everywhere. Then she repeated the combination slowly, showing you a diagonal cut from the top left to bottom right, a horizontal blow from the right, a counter-clockwise turn into a full-force blow to the neck from the right, and at last a skull-splitting hit from the top down.

You could only imagine the terror and fright it had to cause in her enemies to see her on the battlefield. She was glorious, turning to you with a glow in her eyes.

“Now you.”

You stood in front of the figure and repeated her example slowly at first, trying to remember the right order and direction. She nodded encouragingly and seemed satisfied with your precision. You dared to work faster and started continuously repeating the combination, over and over again, harder and faster every time until your lungs and shoulders were on fire and sweat was running down your temples. Eivor was cheering for you with her booming voice, yelling at you to go another round and to hit harder, to keep your core tight and your wrists loose.

When you turned to her, out of breath and happy with your new weapon, she looked incredibly proud, smiling at you and stepping forward to grab your shoulders.

“I knew this was the right weapon for you. We shall continue training with others, but I think it wise to focus on the axe from now on. You will be a force to be reckoned with.”

You continued training until the sun was long gone, fighting the straw figures in the light of several torches, learning new moves and more difficult combinations from your drengr, and giving it your all until you had absolutely no strength left in a single fiber of your body. Eivor had made you run laps and fight every figure in the course, climb obstacles, and defend yourself from a figure behind you. In the end, all you could do was lay down on a snowed up ball of straw and try to regain control of your breath.

Even though Eivor’s training was rigorous and she always managed to completely drain you, you felt the happiest after working with her every day, proud of your accomplishments and hard work and delighted at spending this much time with the warrior. She was also in high spirits every time, amazed at your quick learning progress and your willingness to push yourself until the very end.

She let herself fall down on the straw next to you. It had stopped snowing and the last small cloud was slowly making way for a clear sky filled with thousands of stars.

“You did well today.” Eivor’s voice was smooth as silk, and she sounded very content.

“You’re a great teacher. It’s my pleasure,” you replied.”I never thought I’d be one for fighting.”

You thought back to the kitchen on the day you had first met Eivor. William had hit you so hard you had been thrown back into the shelves and almost died later when the wound had festered. What would happen if he tried this now? Would you be able to defend yourself, even without a weapon?

A meow tore you from your thoughts. Birna had come to pick you up for supper. Eivor greeted the cat with great enthusiasm and picked her up, cradling her in her arms.

“Are you hungry, my little princess? We shall find you something to eat.”

The cat answered with a satisfied grunt. You made your way to the longhouse together, all of your stomachs growling with hunger after the long day. Eivor gave you Birna and joined Sigurd at his table while you visited Sfáva at the hearth. She was delighted to see Birna and gave her some leftover ham right away.

“You hungry?” She answered your surprised expression with her almost toothless smile. “I learn English now. Eda.”

The old woman had only spoken Norwegian so far, making it hard for you to communicate. Apparently, Eda had started spending time with her and teaching her a few words of your language. Even though Sfáva spoke with a thick accent, it was wonderful to suddenly understand her. Following an impulse, you stretched out your arms in joy and she immediately hugged you tight, her smell of herbs and wool filling your nose. What a wonderful woman.

“Well, may I have some supper?” you asked, stepping back and smiling at her. She grabbed a bowl right away, filling it with hot stew and sausages.

“You always hungry now. You fight.” She gave you two additional slices of dark rye bread and you had to laugh. She was right. Ever since you had taken up training with Eivor, you ate twice as much as before. A voice next to you joined the conversation.

“Well, the best fighters deserve the best food.” Norvid was standing next to you, grinning widely. “I saw you training the last couple of days. You are making great progress.”

You lowered your head as a gesture of gratitude and thanked him for his kind words. It really did mean a lot to be noticed by the other warriors.

“Did I hear that right? You chose the axe as your primary weapon?”

You were surprised he knew.

“Word travels fast here,” you answered him, “but yes, I think the axe calls to me more than other weapons. We’ll see how much I call to the axe in the days to come.”

As you excused yourself and wished him a nice evening, you felt someone’s eyes on you and as you looked up, you could see Eivor watching your interaction with a sour expression on her face. When she caught your gaze, she turned to Sigurd and continued talking to him.

You made your way to Lewin, Aelfric, and Hal and joined them for your meal. They had also heard about your endeavors on the training grounds and were happy for you. They all knew how much you had had to take back in Williamsburg and how good it felt to become stronger and more confident now.

“Has anyone seen Eda?” Hal asked casually while he wiped his bowl with a last piece of bread.

No one had met her since she had left her cell and you were all desperate to know where she was and how she was doing. Maybe you could ask Randvi later. But you had been right in the assumption that she apparently just wanted some time to settle in and recover.

You left the longhouse early instead of staying to drink and talk. You were sweaty and dirty and in desperate need of a bath. Valka had offered you to use hers whenever you wanted, you just needed to fill it yourself. You knew she was still in the longhouse and you were glad to have some time to yourself, quickly grabbing a fresh tunic and a large cloth from yours and Eivor’s hut.

Valka’s cottage was only dimly lit by a few candles, but you did not light any more. You poured two buckets of water from outside into the kettle over the fire, then you went out a few more times and brought in as much snow as you could carry in your woolen shawl, letting it melt into the hot water. When it was warm enough, you filled it into the wooden bathtub and added some mint, sage, and lemon balm into it to help with your sore muscles.

You left all your clothes on a pile next to Valka’s bed and stepped into the steaming water. Slowly sinking down into the bath, you took deep breaths to adjust to the heat and inhale the wonderful scents rising from the water. The candles were flickering and painting landscapes and figures on the wooden walls, the steam was dancing through the air and your muscles were finally starting to relax.

After a while, you let yourself sink underwater, holding your breath as the water finally encased your head and your soft hair caressed your neck and shoulders. As you emerged, you began to rub off the dirt and sweat from your face and neck. A quiet noise at the entrance caught your attention.

Eivor was standing in the door, frozen and bright red, her hand still on the handle. You could see her heart drop when your eyes met.

“Forgive me Y/N, I didn’t mean to -” She rubbed over her eyes and stared at the floor. “Valka said I could take a bath in here, I didn’t know you…”

Of course. You were absolutely sure Valka had known. The little witch. You had to stifle a laugh.

“It’s alright, Eivor. I’m almost done. This bath is terribly dirty though, you should probably warm up some fresh water for yourself.”

The blushing warrior just nodded and went out again to get water and snow. You noticed you had forgotten the soap on the sideboard. Should you get up and risk standing completely wet and naked in front of Eivor when she came back? It was not like she had not seen you naked before; she had washed and dressed you when you had been sick and feverish. But things were different now. Even though you still had not kissed since that unlucky drunk embrace, the tension between you often thickened the air and stopped your breath.

You still did not feel completely ready to give yourself to Eivor, even though at times you wanted to. Randvi had been nice and respectful toward you since you had spoken to Eda and she had not moved in on Eivor anymore, but Eivor had also been mostly sober ever since.

It had been an idea of yours to wait until the winter solstice when everyone would celebrate and drink to see how Eivor behaved and to decide then if you wanted to let her in. Even though the wait was torture sometimes, it would be worth it in the end and it would show her how serious you were about your conditions for this relationship to work.

The door opened and Eivor came in, filling the cauldron with water and not daring to look in your direction.

“Eivor, could you please hand me the pine soap over there? I need to tame this nest on my head.” The last few days had really taken a toll on your hair, the braids from the ceremony now ruffled and loose while dust, dirt, and sweat stuck to your hair.

The blonde seemed to hesitate for a moment, then she took the dark piece of soap and slowly came over to you. When you saw how nervous she was, you suddenly felt a great calm and confidence come over you. Instead of covering or crouching in the water, you stayed splayed out and relaxed, visible for her under the surface. Red patches formed on Eivor’s neck as she handed you the soap, intent on only looking into your eyes.

“Thank you.” You began lathering it in your hair and on your neck and chest. Eivor had moved to the fireplace, but she suddenly straightened up and half-turned.

“I could… I can help you with your hair. If you want. I know how knotted it can get from training.”

She took the wide-toothed comb Valka had used to detangle your hair the last time and took a step toward you. You smiled at her.

“That would be nice. I’m still not used to maintaining it while wearing it down.”

Eivor knelt down on the floor right behind your head and started running her fingers through your wet hair. Every time her fingertips touched your scalp, it felt like tiny flashes of lightning struck your skull. The warrior began to hum as she slowly combed out every strand of hair, starting from the bottom and working her way up. Finally, she grabbed a small pot, took some of the warm, clean water from the kettle, and poured it over your head to wash out any remains of the soap.

As you began to get up, she held out a hand for you and helped you stand and step out of the tub. Like before, her eyes were fixed to yours as she handed you the large cloth to dry yourself off. You wrapped yourself in it, then you stepped to Valka’s great wooden table and took some of her Cedar oil, massaging it into your sore shoulders and arms. Meanwhile, Eivor dragged the heavy wooden tub to the door and emptied it into the bushes next to the hut before putting it back in its place and starting to fill it anew.

You slipped the tunic over your head and let the sheet fall to the floor before wrapping all your dirty clothes in it. You decided to wash all your things right in the morning, Eivor’s clothes included. As you turned around to her, you were now the one caught off guard. She had already undressed and was stepping into the tub with her back to you.

There were tattoos down her spine and on her shoulder blades, beautiful artwork in dark blue and black. She had loosened her braids and her long, wavy hair was falling down her back and over her shoulders. When she grabbed the sides of the tub and lowered herself into the hot bath, the muscles at her arms and back danced under her skin. My drengr.

“I’ll see you at our hut?” you asked shyly. Eivor gave you a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Yes, my darling. I will join you there.”

You had already fallen asleep from exhaustion when Eivor came back to your hut. She found you curled up with Birna. The quiet closing of the door woke you up and you kept your eyes closed, listening intently as Eivor threw her clothes on your pile in the corner, took off her shoes and slipped into bed with you.

She smelled fresh, like soap and healing calendula and sage. Valka must have come back and given her infused oils, probably for her healing wound. Eivor scooted close to your back and you lifted your head slightly so she could slide her arm underneath your neck before hugging you tightly to her chest.

“You smell nice,” you mumbled and pushed your hips back against her almost unnoticeably. You could tell she noticed very well though, her breath stopping for a moment before she replied.

“You look beautiful when you sleep.” She pressed a light kiss to the soft patch of skin behind your ear and hugged you tight. Birna was purring quietly. Her family was all here.

After training your axe fighting for the entire next day, ignoring your sore muscles and pushing yourself even harder, you were picked up by Valka at the training grounds for a sunset walk. She had brought bread and dried fruit, as well as two big jugs of steaming hot mead.

You thanked Eivor for another productive day and for her endless patience and confidence in you, then you dried off your face with a small cloth and slipped into your fur coat, gratefully taking a sip of mead.

As you made your way on a path along the shoreline, Birna joined you for your walk. Even though she still did not like the snow, she had grown so fond of you that she rarely let you out of her sight anymore. Valka showed you where to still look for plants and how to dig for roots while you told her about the things you had learned today. She was happy with your progress, content that you were fulfilling her prophecy so closely.

On a small meadow where thick fir trees spared some of the ground from the snow, you actually found small white flowers. Valka explained that it was winter honeysuckle, a beautiful little plant that was most beloved for its fragrance. She rubbed a few petals between her fingers and held them up to your nose. It smelled delightful. She would show you how to distill the essence of honeysuckle tomorrow.

A while later, while the sun was already setting and drenching the world in beautiful orange-golden light, you found little red buds sticking out of the snow. It was heather, a flower usually associated with good fortune. You collected it all in a jute sack and Valka told you that the tiny buds could be used to aid with digestion and bladder issues. It astounded you every day, the way nature gave you everything you needed to heal and to help, to eat and drink, a cure for every illness and aid in every situation. You stuck one of the small heather branches into your shirt so it rested between your breasts, right over your heart. The winter solstice tomorrow would bring you luck and happiness, you could feel it.

This year you would not celebrate Christmas as you had done your whole life, but instead, the solstice would herald Yuletide, twelve days of celebrations. There would be sacrifices and feasts, fights and dances, singing and storytelling. Valka’s eyes were gleaming when she told you of the traditions and her plans for this year’s feast. You could tell this was special to her and you had a feeling that it would be like nothing you had ever experienced.

As you started to make your way back, daylight now dwindling fast and leaving the world gray and dim, you could hear a wolf howling in the distance. You shuddered, terrified of the wild beasts that had sometimes ripped apart your Lord’s sheep and dogs. Valka sensed your fear and took your hand in hers.

“You must not be afraid of the wolves anymore, little dove. You belong to Eivor Wolfsmal and no wolf will ever harm you.”

Her words made you think. Up until now, you had thought the name stemmed from her family or maybe a sweet story from her home, but you had never really considered a strong meaning behind it. Now that you thought of it, that was stupid. Only people who went through extreme pain or overcame great obstacles were given those kinds of titles.

“Where did that name come from?” you asked Valka, “Wolf-kissed?”

The healer squeezed your hand. It was dark and the lights of the village only slowly became visible in the distance, but the moon was bright and lit your path in the white snow.

“You have to ask Eivor that, it is her story to tell. I can say however that it was not a mere kiss by the beast that gave her the title. Did you ever notice the scar on her neck?”

Your stomach twisted. You knew the scar she was speaking of. It was dreadful and large, covering the entire right side of her neck from her hairline to her throat. You had thought it a burn mark or something obtained in a fight. Had it really been the result of a wolf attack? The thought scared you even more. Valka held your hand tightly in hers.

“Ask her, she will tell you what happened. You need not be afraid, I promise.”

As you finally came close to the village again, Valka stopped and turned to you.

“I wanted to tell you how greatly I enjoy spending time with you. People come to me with questions all the time, but they just want to hear answers, they do not want to find the answers themselves or even learn how to ask the questions the right way. You truly listen to me and you have already learned so much. I hope I can teach you everything I know so that one day you may know more than me.”

You wanted to laugh, but she was completely serious. You drew her in for a hug and mumbled your gratitude into her furs.

“Thank you, Valka, for all you do. I am just as eager to learn and grow as you are to teach. You are a wonderful friend.”

“Y/N, is that you? Valka?” A voice in the dark called out to you. A big figure was stomping along the path toward you from the village. It was Eivor, visibly agitated. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You could see her breath in the moonlight as she came closer.

“Uh… We collected plants for Valka and for the Yule festival?” You were not sure what you had done wrong. Eivor came to a halt in front of you and immediately pulled you into her arms, sighing as she pressed you close for a moment, then she held you at arm’s length and shot you both angry looks.

“What were you thinking, alone out here in the dark without anyone to protect you or at least a torch? Have you gone mad? Thor's hammer, I was so worried! Valka, what is your explanation for this?”

Valka seemed not at all impressed with Eivor’s display of rage and worry.

“As Y/N said, we were collecting plants. The moon lit our way, we were close to the village and only walked along the shore. There was no need to worry. We are no longer in Norway, with bears and wolves all around.”

You quickly glanced at her but decided to keep the howl you had heard to yourself. Eivor grunted, then she grabbed you both by the arms and began to stride back to the village, pulling you along with her. You could have sworn you heard Valka giggle, but the drengr between you ignored her.

Back at the village Eivor told you, a little too sternly, to go to her hut and wait for her there. She had set up a basin with hot water for you to clean yourself and the clothes you had washed in the morning and hung in front of the fireplace would be dry by now.

“I need to go to the longhouse and make more preparations for tomorrow. Valka, will you come with me?”

The seeress just nodded, gave you a secretive smile, and went ahead. Eivor stayed behind with you. She sighed and pulled you in for another hug, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again. I thought you were lost and I would have to call up everyone to go look for you, the day before Yule.”

You wrapped your arms around her waist and looked up at her.

“I apologize,” you mumbled. “I should have told you where we were going and how long we would be gone. I won’t leave you in the dark anymore.”

“Thank you.” Eivor pressed another kiss to your temple. “I’ll see you later.” She left for the longhouse.

Birna rubbed herself against your ankles - you had completely forgotten about her! She had followed you this entire time. You had to laugh as you picked up the cat and held her close; you had not been without protection after all.

Back at your hut you dropped all of your clothes to the floor and splashed some of the warm water in the metal bowl into your cold face, relishing in the wonderful prickly sensation of your skin warming up. You cleaned your body with a small piece of soap and a cloth, then you slipped into a fresh tunic that was still warm from the fire.

As you waited for Eivor, you mended a few holes in your clothes and the quilt that kept you warm in the cold winter nights. Picking up your clothes and folding them so you could stack them in the corner, you noticed the little branch of heather among the heaps of fabric and fur. You spun it between your fingers a few times, contemplating over the things you had learned from Valka today.

The Yule festival would be wonderful and you were hoping to bond with the other clan members even more, maybe even to see Eda again. You noticed that you had forgotten to ask Randvi about her. Hopefully, the matter would resolve itself tomorrow. Even though you were on good terms with Randvi now, you were still not too keen on spending more time with her than was absolutely necessary.

You were half asleep when you heard Eivor at the door and sat up to greet her. She seemed to be in a great mood.

“How are the preparations going?” you asked, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“Oh, fantastic. We will slaughter an ox tomorrow and roast him over a great fire. We will eat like kings for days!” Eivor beamed at you and jumped into the bed, quickly sliding under the blanket and pressing her cold cheek to your shoulder, making you squeal and try to scramble away, but she only pulled you closer.

After playfully wrestling with her for a moment, you settled down and she tucked a strand of hair behind your hair. An idea suddenly came to your mind.

“Eivor, will you teach me how to fight without weapons?”

“What do you mean, my dove?” She gave you a confused look.

“I mean fighting like when you pulled Norvid off of me the other day. I want to learn to defend myself even if it’s not a life or death situation.”

“Oh, I see.” She sat up. “Right now?”

You had thought she could just put this into her training schedule for you, but you would not say no to a few new skills on the spot.

“Why not?” You got up and stood next to the bed. Eivor stood next to you. Birna seemed to know exactly what was going on and hid under the bed.

“Alright. First, what to do when someone hugs you without your approval. Show me what you would do.” She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around you. Your first instinct was to hug her back, but you remembered just in time that you were supposed to fight her off. You put your hands between you and tried to push against her ribcage, but she did not move an inch. Instead, she pressed you closer and you could not move your hands anymore.

“See, this is your first mistake,” Eivor chuckled. “You gave up your hands. Never let them capture your limbs and if they have, try to free them first. What you could do now is either headbutt me, stomp on my foot, or kick me in the groin if your legs are free to move that way.”

You slowly put your foot on hers and pressed down. She laughed at your careful movement and let go, then she hugged your ribcage again, leaving your arms free.

“Now you could punch me in the ribs or the head, but as you have no training in that regard, I could probably take the hits and lock you in again. It’s better to go straight for the head. Grab it with both hands if you can and twist it away from your body.” You gently placed your hands around her head and turned it away. “If I don’t want you to snap my neck, my body has to move along.” She turned with her head and loosened her hug. You mimicked stomping on her foot and she let go completely, stepping back and grinning at you.

“Perfect!” Eivor took your hand and whirled you around, suddenly grabbing you from behind and pinning your arms to your body.

“Now how about this?” Her breath was hot behind your ear and sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to wiggle free, scratched at her sides with your fingernails, and put all your strength into freeing your arms, but she held you in her iron grip. You resorted to stepping on her toes again, but she only loosened her grip slightly.

“You need to drop your weight first,” she instructed. “Bend your knees and let yourself fall down, then smash my foot with yours.” You followed her command and she gave way enough to take a step forward. “Now kick your foot back and catch my knee.” You did as she told you and she let go before immediately pulling you in again.

“You can also throw your head back and try to break my nose before taking that step forward and kicking my knee.” You tried it out carefully.

“If you need to run away, always go for their knees or groin so they drop and cannot follow,” she reminded you. “Let’s go again.”

With a playful growl, she jumped toward you and you squealed as she grabbed you from behind, then you let yourself fall down, stomped on her foot, and kicked her shin. She gasped in pain and let you go, rubbing the spot where you had hit her.

“Good girl,” she groaned. “Remind me never to surprise you from behind.”

You laughed and began to apologize, but she just grabbed you and threw you on the bed, pinning you beneath her. She sat up between your legs and pinned down your throat, keeping the weight of her hands on your collar bones instead of actually choking you. Her face was smooth and focused.

“Now, what you do if someone is holding you down like so is this: You grab my left shoulder with your left arm, so go across” - you placed your hand on her shoulder, your pinky finger touching her burning hot skin - “then you press my right hand to your chest with your right hand and hold it tight there.”

You grabbed her hand and pressed it to your collarbone, almost sure she could feel your heart beating faster in your chest.

“Now you raise your right leg all the way up under my left armpit and wrap it across my back.” She waited until you had hooked your leg around her body, now completely entangled with the large woman on top of you.

“Your final move is raising up your left leg, pushing me further to the left with your hand on my shoulder, and lifting the leg over my head.” You suddenly realized that you were only wearing a tunic and linen undergarments, your legs wide open underneath her and your tunic sliding up to your stomach as you lifted your hips to wrap your legs around her shoulder. Your cheeks began to burn hot with blood, but you followed her orders quietly.

“Now you have my shoulder in a tight lock, my head is pushed away from you and you have captured my right arm. If you pull it, it will seriously hurt me.” You immediately let go of her hand and she straightened up and smiled at you. You pulled your tunic down, blushing at the look she gave you.

“Again, faster this time.” She repositioned herself between your legs and pressed her hands to your throat.

You concentrated. Left hand to her left shoulder, right hand holding her right arm down, leg up, left leg over and pull. Eivor tapped your thigh and groaned again, rubbing her shoulder this time and moving her arm in circles a few times to loosen up the strained muscle. She looked quite impressed with you.

Jumping up from the bed, you got in your fighting stance.

“Let’s try again, full strength this time,” you said and you could see Eivor was stifling a grin. She would never risk hurting you.

She got up and paused for a moment, then she moved in so quickly you had no chance to react, hugging you from the side and clamping down your arms. You tried to drop your weight, but she just pushed her hips forward and picked you up, your legs flailing in the air uselessly. She threw you on the bed like a sack of flour, then she straddled you and pinned down your wrists above your head.

You were so stunned that you did not even attempt to wriggle free, staring up at the blonde above you. Her icy blue gaze burned into your face, her mouth was slightly open and her breath fast as her eyes wandered to your lips. Slowly, she lowered her head down toward yours, her gaze still fixed to your lips and her grip tight around your wrists.

For a moment, you breathed in each other’s air. You were one.

At the last second, you realized your advantage. In one swift motion, you rammed your hips upwards so she flew forward over your head and had to let go of your hands to catch herself. You wrapped your legs around her waist and pulled her right arm underneath her and to your right so she fell on her shoulder and rolled to the side, leaving way for you to roll on top of her. Now you were straddling her, her arm still in your hands.

She was completely thunderstruck, her eyes wide as she realized what had happened. Then she started laughing, her deep baritone filling the room. You could feel her chest vibrating beneath you, a sensation that made blood not only rush to your cheeks but also further down.

Quickly, you got off of her and let yourself fall to the mattress next to her. She was still chuckling.

“You got me, my delicate dove. An important thing people often forget is the element of surprise. If you have it on your side, you can defeat the greatest, strongest warrior.”

Eivor turned to you and rested her head on her bicep, dreamy gaze wandering over your face again. She was completely infatuated with you.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

“Of course, my darling.”

“Why do they call you Wolf-kissed?”

The warrior rolled on her back again and crossed her arms over her head, studying the wooden ceiling like she always did when she was struggling to put the chaos in her head into words. You followed her gaze and waited patiently.

“Sigurd is not my real brother. His father was the head of our clan and my parents were great drengrs, fighting at his side. One day he was giving a feast when we were attacked. I was only a child. It was Kjotve the Cruel. He slaughtered my parents and many of our clan. I only survived because Sigurd fled with me, but we got separated and I ended up injured on a frozen lake.” She laid her arm over her eyes as if trying to see the scene before her.

“When I came to my senses, a wolf was there with me. He was all alone and looked like he was starving. His pack must have cast him out. My axe was just out of reach and he attacked me, biting down into my neck to kill me. My cries alerted two ravens nearby” - she lifted her arm again and gave you a bittersweet smile - “and they distracted the wolf long enough so I could grab my axe and strike it. Sigurd found me soon after and his family adopted and raised me.”

Your heart felt like a little clump of cold, hard clay after listening to her frightful story. What could you say to her? She let out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t worry, you do not have to pity or console me. I have long made my peace with wolves and I have taken vengeance for my parents. Now all that is left of that terrible day is my scar and my voice.”

She hesitated for a moment, then she looked at you again.

“And a tremendous fear of losing those I love.”

#eivor #lady eivor #f!eivor #eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #assassins creed valhalla #lesbian fanfiction #eivor fanfiction #angst #fluff #comfort

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samwilsonsbabymama · 4 years ago

Text

Baby, It’s You

18+

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black Reader

Summary: @princessmisery666 sent in this prompt

*electric slides back into your asks* Sam spends a full week playing old r’n’b songs about getting married/being in love. But his gf doesn’t get the hint, she’s just like “damn this is my jam, dance with me babe.” How she figures it out or Sam just asks is dealers choice 🤷🏼‍♀️ songs for inspo. Jagged Edge - Lets Get Married. Next - Wifey. New Edition - Something About You. 112 - Only You.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, more fluff, sex in the kitchen, fingering, bad singing and more fluff, dirty talk, and ummm... idk what else lol 💖

Word Count: 1,800ish

A/N: This was fun to write lol i feel like i haven’t written a full Sam fic in a while and I’m glad that I got the chance to lol I hope yall like it!

Songs used

Happily Ever After by Case

You by Jesse Powell

Let’s Get Married by Jagged Edge

You heard the music as soon as you pulled into the driveway. This was the third day in a row that Sam beat you home, and each day music flowed from the house while he waited for you to come home.

When you entered, Sam was in the kitchen already starting preparing dinner. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. You felt him relax into your embrace before he turned his head and greeted you with a kiss.

“Hey, baby girl,” Sam said after he had pulled away causing you to pout at the loss of his lips.

“I missed you today,” you responded as you relaxed against his back. You felt his muscles move as he continued preparing dinner.

He hummed in agreement. “Why don’t you go get changed then come help me?” you loved cooking with Sam, so you scampered away to your shared bedroom to change.

When you returned, Sam had already set aside some vegetables for you to chop and a glass of wine. While you chopped, you and Sam sang along to the music that was playing.

You don't have to look no further than me (don't look no further, baby yeah)

You don't need much more than my lovin' to make you happy (I'm so happy, babe)

Beneath the side of God, I will make this vow to you (come on baby)

I'll be right here, stay with me (stay with me, baby hey)

“I remember when I realized that was Beyonce in that video,” you laughed when the song ended. “I watched that video on repeat asking myself how I didn’t see it.”

Sam just chuckled, but he didn’t respond as the next song started.

“This is my JAM, Sam!” you said before you cleared your throat getting ready to attempt some high notes that you knew you weren’t going to hit. “I love this song so much.”

I've finally found the nerve to say

I'm gonna make a change in my life

Starting here today

Sam started singing before you could start and you laughed. You both knew that Sam was the better singer between the two of you and that he would be the one to make money from singing if he ever quit his day job.

But when the chorus began, there was no way to keep you from holding out that note.

“And baby, it’s you!” your voice wavered as you held out the tune. Your eyes tearing up as you strained to hold the note.

Sam filled in the background lyrics as you continued to attempt the high notes in the chorus, but he took over for the chorus.

Next year lets call this day our anniversary

The day I put my heart in your hand

And said that it was yours to keep

From this moment on say that you'll always be mine

Cause girl when I'm alone with you

There's only one thing that's on my mind

“I gotta try those high notes again,” you laughed skipping the first one when the chorus repeated. You took in a deep breath and prepared to belt out the note.

“FROM THIS DAY FORTH!!!!!!” you closed your eyes as you sang, internally wishing that you had taken a deeper breath before you started. You stretched out your hand imitating Jesse Powell in the video as you sang.

When you reached the end of the note, you took in another deep breath and opened your eyes to find Sam smiling at you. Instead of letting you continue singing, Sam turned the music down and reached for your left hand.

“Sam, wha-” you began but stopped talking when he shook his head.

“I don’t know how to say this, y/n,” he began, and you could tell that he was nervous.

“I know that I can’t sing, Sam,” you laughed, “we’ve been through this before.”

“That’s not- I mean, it’s true, but that’s not what I wanted to say,” he laughed. “I’ve practiced this at least a dozen times already and after each time I feel like I know what I’m going to say but I can’t seem to remember what I had planned out because every time I look at you my mind goes blank and I can’t seem to remember anything other than how much I love you and how much you’ve made my life better and-”

“Sam!” you interrupted. “You’re not making any sense.” You were laughing at the way he was acting because you had never seen him so nervous before.

He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face and was silent for a moment. While you waited for him to continue, the music changed and after the first few beats of the song played, everything clicked.

See first of all

I know these so-called playas wouldn't tell you this

But I'ma be real and say what's on my heart

You raised your right hand and placed it on your chest, “Sam,” you whispered. You tried to pull your hand away from him, but he held on tight.

“Just, hear me out.” He let out a deep breath and locked eyes with you. “Y/n, we’ve been together for a while, hell, practically our entire lives. We’ve grown together, and I don’t see me loving anyone else but you. You’ve made me a better man than I thought was possible.”

Sam knelt down onto one knee and pulled out a ring from his back pocket. “I want to spend my forever with you. Will you marry me, y/n?”

Your eyes were clouded with tears as you thought about the events of the last few days. Sam had been trying to propose to you. All of the love songs, the flowers, him coming home before you. You hadn’t noticed because this was typical behavior from Sam; he was constantly showering you with love and affection.

You wiped the tears from your eyes before you wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck and drew him in for a kiss. His arms immediately went to your waist as you kissed. Your hands moved to the front of his shirt as you began plucking the buttons open. You wasted no time removing the shirt from his body.

As you removed his shirt, Sam worked on removing your shorts and panties. You pulled away for a second and stepped out of your pants and pulled your shirt over your head while Sam stepped out of his.

Your eyes roved over his body as the two of you stood bare before each other for a moment and when your eyes locked once again, the two of you reached for each other and your lips crashed together.

Your movements were frenzied as you kissed. Sam’s hands gripped all over your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. You wrapped one of your legs around his waist in an attempt to bring him closer, so Sam lifted you up and sat you on the counter. Sam was the first to break from the kiss as he began to move down your neck. He palmed your breast and rolled you nipple between his fingers while leaving a trail of bites down your neck.

Neither of you spoke as he kissed his way down your plump stomach and set your knees on his shoulders. He placed a gentle kiss along your inner thighs and locked eyes with you once again. Your eyes rolled back when he first licked you, drawing out a moan from the both of you. Your eyes snapped open when Sam pulled back. You watched as Sam adjusted himself and got comfortable; he wrapped his arms around your thighs and spread you open to him.

“Such a pretty sight,” he mused before he dove back in.

Your hands shot to his head as he ate you with fervor. You chanted his name over and over as he licked and slurped at your core. You felt yourself getting closer as he ate, and you clenched when he slid a finger inside of you.

Sam pulled back and continued to fuck you with his finger. “I know you’re close, baby girl” the movement of his finger slowed and he slipped another in. “But you never answered my question.”

Your eyes snapped open at his statement. “S-Sam, please!”

He shook his head, “Nah, I need to hear you say it. I need an answer, baby girl. Will you marry me?” his fingers thrust in time with his words.

You were so close to your release, it was right there. If you moved just right, you knew that you could get it.

As if sensing your thoughts, Sam gripped your hip with his free hand and he completely stopped moving.

Your chest rose and fell a couple of times while you tried to compose yourself. You reached out and cupped Sam’s cheek. With as confident as Sam always was, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Sam wasn’t a mind reader, and you needed to reassure him that you were his and his forever.

You locked eyes with Sam and nodded, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The smile that graced Sam’s face made your heart swell. And when he swooped down and kissed you, with his fingers still inside of you, you swore you saw stars.

Sam resumed his movements while he kissed you, his fingers moving faster than before. You panted against his lips as he continued to fuck you.

“Cum on my fingers, baby,” he egged you on. “Cum on my fingers so you can cum on my dick next.”

You clenched on his fingers as they sped up.

“You feel so good, so wet and warm,” he praised. “I can’t wait for you to cum on my dick again and again and again.”

You gripped his arm when your legs started shaking, you threw your head back and Sam attached his lips onto your neck.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me. Cum for me, wife.”

So you did. You clenched down hard on Sam’s fingers making it hard for him to continue moving.

“That’s it, baby girl, fuck you look so good cumming for me like this, Sam praised again.“Spread out on the kitchen counter like the meal you are. I can’t wait to be buried inside of you for the rest of the night.”

A/N 2: If you ‘like’ this, please reblog or leave a comment (even if it’s just an emoji) It would mean so much to me!!!

#sam wilson needs more love #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x black reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson x plus size!black reader #sam wilson x black!reader #maree writes

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love-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

build a rocket with me

pairing: joshua/reader

genre: angst, fluff

content: angst, break-up, long distance!au, idol!au emotional cheating, seunghee from clc!, angst ending

wc: 5k

note: omg 5k, i’m gonna be writing a part two for this too! thank you so much to @secndlife for helping me edit.. you’re amazing and i appreciate it so much. inspo: 《rocket》by seventeen (joshua and vernon), a continuation of my own long distance au blurbs: blurb1 blurb 2, netflix original: love alarm, @tonicandjins lie to me

It’s early in the morning when Joshua arouses you from your slumber, with a gentle shake and a soft, husky whisper, laced with drowsiness. The curtains are strewn shut in the dark room, the only source of light was the thin crack between the door and the wall of your bedroom. After another lackadaisical attempt to pull you out of your reverie, you opened your eyes, glancing sleepily up at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes, a yawn already beginning to lodge itself in your throat. Groggily, you try to force your body upright with your forearms but your body is heavy from sleep and your limbs are limp without energy in the early morning.

“Josh, what time is it?” you mumbled, with an arm stretching out and fingers pawing at the bedside table for your glasses.

You yawned mid-sentence, causing Joshua to chuckle, bending his body slightly over yours to impel you gently back to your original position. You gave in without resistance, arm limply hanging off the side of the bed and messy curls of hair framing your face on the pillow.

He gazed into your sleepy orbs lovingly, caressing the side of your face with smooth strokes of his thumb. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I have to leave now. For tour. The guys and manager-hyung are waiting for me.”

In your sleep induced haze, you don’t fully comprehend Joshua’s words, lips mouthing an automatic, “Bye bye,” and your body already relaxing into the cushions.

Joshua couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at his lips, his heart feeling a little heavier as he gently pulled the door shut until it clicked, leaving you shroud in darkness once more. The last memory you have of that encounter was the warmth of your blankets embracing you.

“You should have woken me up!” you complained over the phone after you woke up. With a bloated face and oily skin, tangled strands of hair floating over your sight, Joshua almost chuckled at the fact that, even after just waking up, you were thinking about him. “I wanted to see you one last time before you left.”

Joshua smiled through the screen, a sleepy, exhausted smile, slight circles discoloring the skin under his eyes. “I didn’t want to, it was super early and I knew you had plans for the next day too.”

You pouted slightly, disappointed at the fact that you couldn’t send Joshua off to the airport, where he would soon be leaving for SEVENTEEN’s Asia tour. For three whole months. Just thinking about the time spent away from him made your heart hurt and your head swim.

As you pulled out a chair from the countertop, you faintly noticed the white styrofoam box empty of its contents on top of a table behind Joshua.

“You already ate?” you questioned through a mouthful your breakfast ensemble.

Joshua nodded his head, a tired sigh escaping from his lips. He grabbed the phone off from where it was resting against a tissue box and collapsed onto the hotel bed, holding up his phone high above him, vertically, allowing you to see the crisp white sheets contrasting Joshua’s dark-colored hair; you could see the planes and slopes of his face and the slight dark circles rimming his beautiful chocolate brown orbs. Even then, sleep-deprived and bare-faced, he looked beautiful.

He heaved another sigh, eyelids fluttering shut momentarily. “I miss you, Y/N.”

You purse your lips, trying to formulate an answer that will satisfy Joshua. “I do too, Shua. Work hard but don’t push yourself too hard, got it? Tell the other guys that as well,” you managed.

Joshua opened his eyes to stare at you through the screen. For a moment, there was a flicker of unease in his blank stare, causing your heart to stutter for a beat, but then, like a flick of a switch, his lips morphed back into a melancholy smile. “Okay, I will. Take care of yourself as well.”

You nodded, mirroring his smile, “I always do, Joshua.”

🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊

You really hoped that you could hold down the fort on your own without your boyfriend’s presence, but by the second week, it became apparent that you were heartbroken. Each passing day of living your life in absence of your boyfriend chipped at your heart; coming home to an empty home, eating dinner by yourself with two containers of takeout, routinely checking your phone for calls or texts. Your head was constantly plagued by worries of your boyfriend, if Joshua was eating well, if Joshua was tired from rehearsal, what Joshua saw that day; it became near-suffocating.

The daily phone calls dwindled to once every few days to once or twice each week. Every evening you would make dinner for yourself, shower and sit, alone, under the covers of your bed, waiting beside your phone to see if he would call; sometimes he did and sometimes he didn’t. Either way, you had developed an unhealthy habit of staying up late at night until the sky was jet black and the city was silent, waiting in the dim, silent bedroom until you fell asleep.

“Hey baby, how are you? I’m sorry for not calling yesterday.”

A month had passed and Joshua was still touring with the other SEVENTEEN members. At this point you had developed a steady rhythm to your life and, although the yearning for your boyfriend was still present in your heart, you had started to feel a little happier and less lonely.

In the background you could faintly make out other echoes of voices, informing you that your boyfriend wasn’t alone in the room. It looked like a new hotel room as well; the sheets were crisply tucked into the mattress with thick cream-colored blankets laying neatly on top.

“It’s fine, we were performing anyway and didn’t get back until way late. Have you been eating well?”

You smiled half-heartedly, a little bloom of warmth nestling in your chest from his concern. You uncrossed your hands from your lap, poking your chopsticks at the little untouched grains of white rice in your bowl. “Yeah, and you? I hope you’re eating proper meals.”

“Shua! The kimchi fried rice is here!”

Joshua’s lips broke out in a grin and yours cracked into a small smile as well at Jeonghan’s voice.

“Okay, wait a sec,” Joshua whispered. “I’m talking to Y/N right now!” he called back. Dropping his gaze back to you, Joshua frowned apologetically, “Baby, can-”

“Go get your food, Shua,” you interrupted reassuringly, “Make sure to take care of yourself okay? And I promise to do the same.”

Joshua nodded and tilted his head endearingly, “I will and I love you, Y/N.”

Then he hung up.

On one fateful Saturday morning, your friend and coworker, Seunghee, decided to take you out to a cafe as a cure for your loneliness. It was a small cafe nestled in the city landscape, with large windows letting the rays of morning glow dance across the polished wooden floor. The two of you seated yourselves by one of the glass windows and ordered coffee with some snacks.

“So,” she leaned in, interlacing her fingers and resting on her elbows, with her weight over the table. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Joshua.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise of the sudden question, choking on the green plastic straw of your iced americano. You coughed slightly, reaching for a napkin to dab at your moist lips. “I’m not sure what you mean. Josh and I are fine. We even called… just the other day,” you trailed off, voice growing weaker at the end.

Seunghee rolled her eyes disbelievingly, retracting her arms to reach for her drink, taking a sip as well. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why you’ve been arriving to work looking like you’ve stayed up all night crying to rom coms.” You chortled in disagreement but didn’t refute what she said. “C’mon Y/N, you obviously have something up. Are you two fighting or something?”

“No, no,” you shook your head. You pushed your drink aside, folding your hands neatly on top of your skirt in an effort to look organized, brushing stray strands of hair out of your frame of vision, tucking them neatly behind your ears. Averting your gaze to the large windows of sunlight, you spoke softly, “We’re not fighting or anything. It’s just a little hard to explain.”

Seunghee nodded, backing off and scrunching her nose in discontent. “Well, that’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, just lemme know when you’re comfortable, okay? I’m worried about you.”

You smiled and gratefully thanked her for asking about you, settling into a prickly, awkward silence between the two of you. That serious atmosphere was finally lifted after a waitress delivered your orders; the two of you thanked her profusely and continued on with another light-hearted conversation. In the middle of drinking your coffees and taking small bites out of your sandwiches, Seunghee left for the restroom, grabbing her purse and phone to retouch on her makeup, all the while leaving you alone with your plates of food all by yourself.

You could hear the background cafe sounds of a coffee maker grinding and the rush of cars in the street; the city was just starting to wake up for the day ahead. It was a peaceful, and calm atmosphere, with a few more customers trickling in, it was like you were surrounded by a bubble of tranquility-

“Hey.”

Your head whipped around in surprise, heart jumping two beats. Your head turned side to side frantically as your eyes scanned the desert of vacant tables and chairs for the sudden voice.

“Oh, sorry for surprising you! I’m over here, haha,” he laughed shyly, scratching his head awkwardly.

Turning a whole 180 degree rotation, behind you, you were met with the smiling face of a stranger. He was sitting backwards on his chair, head resting across his arms hanging over the back of it.

You let out a breath of relief, head falling forward slightly.

“Um, hi, do I know you?”

He grinned wider, a line of straight white teeth and full, pink lips. You refused to note the way that your heart skipped a beat and your cheeks became warm.

“No, but you can now! I’m Leo, and you must be Y/N?” He spoke in an optimistic, cheerful manner adorned with a cute eye smile. He radiated a type of innocence like the morning sun that was, at this time, turning into a blazing, burning heat outside of the air-conditioned building.

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling apprehensive and suspicious. “Yes, my name is Y/N, and how do you know that?”

Leo chuckled and leaned back a little, sheepishly saying, “I may or may not have overheard your conversation with your friend... Seunghee, right?”

You parted your lips to respond but before you could, Seunghee was back from her trip to the restroom. Her lips were painted bold, apple red lipstick, and a new coat of mascara was applied onto her eyelashes.

She halted in front of the table, confusedly glancing between you and Leo. “Sorry, am I interrupting something here?”

You reeled back, turning away from Leo to face Seunghee. Plastering a smile on your face, you shook your head, “Ah, no. We were just making small talk while I was waiting for you.” Seunghee raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, but slid into her seat anyway, a little smirk present on her face as she daintily bit into her sandwich. By the time the two of you had finished your meals and drinks, it was already a little past noon and the city was full in motion. Cars were whizzing by on the streets, accompanied by a steady rush of footsteps on the sidewalk.

As you got up from your seat, grabbing your things along with you, you noticed that the stranger hadn’t left yet, head buried in a book and a forgotten cup of coffee on the table.

You felt a nudge to your side, glancing behind you in annoyance. “Go!” Seunghee whispered encouragingly, pushing you toward the male and walking briskly away to pay for your food.

Leo looked up, just as you stumbled toward him, unsteady footsteps drawing his attention away from the book.

“Wait- I-. Hi. Um, sorry, my friend-” you stammered, sweat already beginning to build up at the uncomfortable situation your friend had just pushed you into.

His face broke into a smile, taking off his round-rimmed glasses and closing his book softly. “Hi Y/N.”

You turned your head to scan for Seunghee, but she was already vacant from the cafe, leaving you by yourself in the most awkward situation you would have imagined. You sighed in slight annoyance, fingers pinching at your nose in habit.

“I’m sorry, my friend… Seunghee pushed me, I didn’t mean to bother you or anything. She thinks I might be interested in you or something, I’m really sorry.”

Leo maintained his eye smile, gesturing dramatically at the chair opposite to him for you to sit down. Cautiously, you slid into the seat, tucking your skirt underneath you clumsily. Your eyes darted from Leo to the counter, then to the windows on your left.

He took a sip of his coffee, unbothered by the nervous tension radiating from you. Scrunching his nose from the bitterness, Leo set down the cup and folded his hands in his lap. “It’s okay, we can’t control our attraction, not that I’m saying you like me or anything. We can’t control a lot of our feelings,” he paused tracing the lettering on the cover of the book. “We feel what we feel, loneliness, love, anger, that’s all natural and you shouldn’t feel apologetic.”

You nodded, fingers twisting the fabric of your skirt into wrinkles. “I guess you’re right, but don’t we have to be understanding sometimes? I just think that always conveying our emotions is sometimes selfish.”

Leo tilted his head, lips pursing, “I heard that you and your boyfriend are going through something? Do you want to talk about it?”

You averted your gaze to pick at the sleeve of your dress. “Yeah, he’s on tour at the moment, so I guess I decided to go out for once.”

“You sound a little unhappy about that.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, trying to choose your next words carefully with consideration. “Well, it does get a little lonely, but he’s pursuing his dream, and that’s all that matters. I wanna support him on this.”

“And you? Do you have any life goals?”

You paused again, leaning back into the chair. “I’m aspiring to be a writer, so yeah, I suppose.”

“Wow, aren’t you two an artsy couple, huh.”

You smiled in slight embarrassment, cheeks rising in temperature. “I guess we are. How about you? Any life goals?”

He broke into another breathtaking grin, hopes and aspirations pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall. As you sat with him, you felt so refreshed and energized with a new bout of motivation. Your heart swelled in happiness for the first time in weeks and you couldn’t help the broad smile tugging on your lips.

When he finally paused, you voiced your thoughts, “Thanks for chatting with me, Leo, I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”

Leo grinned, choosing to ignore your statement. He rose his cup to gulp down the last droplets of his now cold coffee. Letting out a discontent sigh, he gazed forlornly at the empty cup. “Unfortunately, by talking to you all this time I neglected my poor cup of coffee. As payment, you could, I don’t know, give me your number?”

You held his gaze with a warm smile, a shy blush creeping onto your cheeks and a faster tempo playing in your heart. It was endearing, his attentiveness to you. A therapeutic sense of calm washed over you and you couldn’t help but feel grateful and indebted.

You agreed on impulse, without an inkling of hesitation in your voice.

After paying (Leo insisted on doing so, for the both of you), the two of you exited the cafe together and parted ways good-naturedly. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, you pulled out your phone, you saw multiple text messages from Seunghee and a couple missed calls.

Dialing her number, you raised your phone to your ear hesitantly, glancing at the people strolling past you.

“Hello?”

“Jesus Y/N, do you know how long you spent there? It’s been almost two hours already! You have a boyfriend, you know?”

You laughed her comment off, twirling a strand of hair around your index finger and kicking at the loose gravel pieces. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Seunghee, and don’t worry, it wasn’t like that. We talked a little and, it’s fine, he already knows that I have a boyfriend.”

Seunghee huffed, “Fine, but I can’t believe you ditched me like that, I thought we were friends.”

“Technically, you ditched me first.”

She mockingly sighed, “For the good of your sorry relationship! Anyway, stay safe on the way home and text me later.”

You called for a cab, sitting in the leather backseat quietly with your phone in hand. Pulling up Leo’s contact evoked a smile on your face; the two of you had exchanged numbers in the midst of having more-than-one cup of coffee together, and also having more conversation than you had had with Joshua for months. You held your phone up to your chest, heart beating rapidly and eyelids shut in imagination. Your thoughts drifted to Leo’s smile, his brushed, brown locks of hair, his plush, peach lips-

Joshua.

A truck of guilt smashed you out of your reverie, sending tremors of stress and anxiety to vibrate through your body. It was a crushing type of guilt that squeezed at your heart and collapsed your lungs. Adrenaline rushed through your veins, and you clenched your fists out of reflex. You were just romanticizing about another man when you were in a perfectly content, perfect relationship with your boyfriend. In your head, you could only imagine what Joshua’s face would look like if you told him what you had happened or the feelings that you had felt.

The second the taxi pulled up to your street you pushed the car door open wide, swaying slightly on your feet, feeling distraught and shameful, knowing that it would only be downhill from that point onward.

🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊

“If you’re not happy with Josh then you should break up with him.”

You leaned back in your reclining chair, head tilting backwards and eyes squeezing shut from the bright light. You rubbed at your temples, trying to fend off the impending migraine creeping into your skull. “It’s not that easy, Seunghee, and I am happy with Josh.”

Seunghee spun you around, throwing herself into the empty chair beside you. “Is this about that guy we met in the cafe the other day?”

You opened your eyes in surprise, a sudden bout of stress striking your stomach. “Wh-what? What about him?”

Seunghee leaned on your desk, rolling her eyes, “It’s obvious. You clearly like him, and maybe that’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not,” you adamantly denied, fingers digging into your computer keyboard as you pounded the backspace key. “I’m dating Joshua, and I barely know Leo, we saw each other for one day and that’s it.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Well maybe you should get to know this Leo guy better.”

You turned around, eyes narrowing into a withering glare. “Seunghee, stop it. I’m trying to figure out how to talk to Josh, not destroy our relationship.”

Seunghee backed off, reluctantly standing up and holding her hands out in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m just saying that, it’s not fair for you to be ignored either.”

You stayed silent that time, fingers pausing slightly over the keys as you pondered her statement. You readjusted your glasses, tucking another strand of hair behind your ear.

“Like, when was the last time the two of you even called?”

When was the last time you heard Joshua’s voice? Or held each other? You were even beginning to forget the features of his face: the curve of his nose, the plush of his lips were all fading away.

Your heart sunk in your chest, “I’m not even sure anymore.”

🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊

You started to prepare dinner, taking out your ingredients out of the refrigerator meticulously in an organized fashion, a complete contrast to your actual state of mind. Your head was too wrapped up in your own thoughts to even concentrate on the vegetables being laid out in front of you. Scenarios upon scenarios filled your brain to the brim, until the stress and anxiety bubbled over; your hands shook while holding the knife when thinking about how to explain to Joshua about Leo and your stomach cramped at the mere thought of Joshua’s facial expression. Bringing down the knife onto the cutting board, you rapidly finished preparing your ingredients.

The dial tone of your phone rang through the sound of the kitchen machinery, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. You quickly scooped up some of the fried rice into a porcelain white bowl, setting it down on the countertop along with your eating utensils.

Shakily, you pressed “accept” on the screen, Joshua’s face popping up within seconds adorning a wide smile and shiny crescent eyes full of happiness.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and suddenly you felt a rush of light-headedness.

“Y/N! I’ve missed you so much, it’s so good to see your face again,” he said softly, fond adoration present in his voice.

You nodded shallowly, poking at the rice grains with your chopsticks absentmindedly. “I’ve missed you too,” you mumbled in a lackadaisical manner, your eyes refusing to meet him.

“Y/N?” Joshua trailed off, a confused look on his face with flashes of hurt present in his eyes. “Is there something bothering you?”

You swallowed roughly, fingers roughly gripping onto your chopsticks.

Just spit it out, do it, do it, do it now-

“I-I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Silence. Dead, immovable silence. Your heart stopped beating and it felt like your ears were on fire, taking in every movement of sound.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up briefly to assess the damage, but it was like the screen was frozen: Joshua’s facial expression was frozen, but his eyes were devoid of the smile from before. For a moment, you were scared that the connection had timed out and that you wouldn’t have the courage to repeat your statement. Then you noticed the slight trembling of his pink lips, frail and shy like blush flower petals.

“You don’t mean that,” he managed out in a spluttering breath, a fake smile plastered onto his face.

You shook your head, voice a little louder this time, “I want to break up, Joshua.”

Your veins were on fire and your vision was constricted to just the phone screen. It was like a tsunami of pent up emotions, sadness, anger, loneliness, were rushing to shore, spilling out of your mouth in a single sentence.

Joshua repeated your gesture, shaking his head rapidly. His head tipped down in a mess of hair so you couldn’t see his face. “You said that the distance didn’t matter, that you were still mine! I thought-I thought we were fine together.”

Joshua’s voice broke at the end. You noticed the slight heaving of his shoulders and chest and the quiet sniffles of his tears.

Taking a deep breath to control your nerves, you firmly rebuffed him, “I thought differently back then. We’re both reaching our peaks in our careers, I don’t want us to get in the way of both of our dreams.”

You could see Joshua trying to calm down his rapid breathing, a hand coming up to wipe the shimmering droplets off his cheeks.

“Did-did I do something wrong?” he stammered. “I don’t want to give up on us, Y/N. Can you just explain yourself a little bit? Just a little. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can figure it out, together.”

You took another deep breath in, letting your eyelids fall shut for a moment. After a couple beats of silence, you brusquely answered him, “I’m sorry, Josh. I’m really tired, I don’t want to come home to a silent house, or go to bed by myself waiting for you. I’m tired and I’m also lonely. These once a week phone calls just aren’t enough for me, and I know that you’re busy, I understand that. I just don’t think I can wait for you anymore. The group is doing super well overseas, and I would never want you to have to choose between your career and me.”

You stopped for a moment to contemplate your next words. Joshua was silent and unmoving except for the slight shudders of sobs and fluttering of his eyelashes. When he didn’t respond, you continued, driving your next words deep into Joshua’s flesh and skull. “I’m choosing for you, for us. I’m choosing to let you go.”

Your words rung in the silence between the two of you, in the background of your side of the screen, you could hear the slight hum of the lights and the city bustle on loop outside. Contrary to you, Joshua heard nothing but your words replaying in his mind in his empty hotel room. He had asked the other members to leave since he wanted the call to be private and more meaningful. Now, alone, his mind had tuned out from reality, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden rush of emotions: sadness, despair, hopelessness. He swallowed, his dry throat protesting from the harshness, but refused to take a sip of water from the bottle in front of him.

“Josh? Are you still there?” you asked gently, worry creeping into your voice.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. He grabbed a tissue to dry his tears. “I’m tired, Y/N. I’m going to hang up now and go to sleep.”

“Okay…” you hesitantly agreed, “Sleep well, Joshua.”

“I will.”

And then he hung up, collapsing into the armchair in wracking, heartbreaking sobs.

🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊

“Wait, what? What do you mean Y/N broke up with you?”

Joshua groaned at Jeonghan’s incredulous tone, covering his face with the hotel pillow, the white covering crinkled and stained from his tears. Digging his face deeper, Joshua didn’t even know where to begin. It was as if the more he tried to understand you, the more he grew entangled in his never-ending web of questions.

“She said she was doing it for me,” he mumbled into the pillow. Joshua turned so he was facing Jeonghan, arms gripping the cushion to his chest. “And the worst part is that I don’t even know this was coming.” He sat up, legs crossed, to look at Jeonghan through puffy, red eyes. “Y/N was probably thinking about this for weeks and I didn’t even know. And I didn’t even call her for two weeks.” A tear slipped off the bridge of his nose, little droplets darkening the sheets. “I was hurting her all this time and I didn’t even know,” he sniffled.

Jeonghan sighed and slung an arm around his best friend, hugging him close to his body as Joshua cried his eyes out, another wave of sobs wracking his frame.

Jeonghan patted Joshua’s back while listening to the sobs of the other male, letting his arm hang limp around him. “I don’t understand either. Y/N seemed fine when you guys were calling each other, something must’ve happened for her to make this decision so abruptly.”

His sobs died down as Joshua tried to catch his breath. He looked up, “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan exhaled, bringing up one hand to ruffle through his hair. “I don’t know man, I think you two have to talk though. Face to face. It’s not fair for her to break up with you through a call, you know, closure and stuff.”

Joshua nodded along, slowly drying his tears. He reached over for a tissue, blowing hard and throwing it into the trash bin. He stared at the blank sheets before saying determinedly, “Yeah, you’re right. I need to talk to her face to face.”

🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊 🟊

The second the members left the airplane, stepping out into the airport lobby, Joshua pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the keys in a text message. “Hey Y/N, I’m home...” He paused, thoughts whirling in his head, thumb hovering over the send button.

“Shua!”

Joshua glanced up to see the members standing a few steps before him, all of them adorning confused, exhausted expressions, some annoyed, some indifferent to his aloofness.

He quickly tucked his phone back into his back pocket, taking quick strides to reach the other boys.

“Hey man, you okay?” Mingyu muttered under his breath as Joshua caught up to him.

“I’m fine,” he responded nonchalantly, walking closer to Jeonghan in an attempt to distance himself from the other members. Jeonghan slung an arm around Joshua, trying to comfort him in any way possible. “I’m fine,” Joshua repeated firmly.

The car ride to the dorms was silent, only the softness of snores and intakes of breath could be heard in the van. Most of the members were either sleeping or keeping to themselves after the long and exhausting Asia SEVENTEEN tour. Joshua felt immense guilt and blame for the breakup; he blamed himself, essentially, for abandoning you and for choosing his career over you.

Now, as he looked out of the rain splattered window, Joshua understood the suffocation you felt when he was gone. The guilt gripped at his heart, making it harder for him to breathe.

By the time they had all arrived back in the dorms it was already evening, the sky turning a beautiful swirl of pink cotton candy clouds and blue gray.

Pink represented his love for you, ever so light and present, fluffy wisps drifting into nothingness.

Gray represented his sadness, his anger for you. He could never bring himself to hate you though, Joshua knew that you must have had a reason.

So he waits. Waits for you to come back to him, to explain to him.

210 notes · View notes

boymeetsweevil · 4 years ago

Text

the most magical place in hell

Grouping: (For Science) Reader x JK

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings/Themes: implied sex, 5 is a crowd annoying friends since that’s the vibe these days, d*sn*y please don’t sue

Prompt: “For Science, I miss this couple sm. Any scenario would be fantastic! For inspo, did JK and OC get to go on a vacation, (jk expressed he wanted to in his journal) if so how did that go? Any fun new experiments?”

A/N: This commissioned fic is part of the Changes with Luv project, hosted by FicsWithLuv. Here you can find more information about the project, cause, places to donate, and ways to commission a piece or offer your services if you are a content creator. Thank you!

On the third day of the cruise, Jungkook rolls over in his sleep. His hand reaches for you. His palm meets the bare skin of your shoulder already moving despite how pale the morning light is under his lashes.

“What’s happening,” he mumbles before grabbing more greedily at you. There’s not too much resistance as you let yourself be dragged a few inches across the sheets.

“We have to get up. Breakfast starts in 10 minutes, remember?”

You lean down to press a peck just above his brow bone and he groans. As you pull away, there’s a sweet waft that hits him and lets him know you’ve already showered and gotten ready. Now it’s his turn.

He gives himself just until you gather your things and shut the door to the room. Then he’s pulling himself out of bed with every ounce of energy he has left. He brushes his teeth with his eyes closed, does a perfunctory shower with the lights off like it’ll give him some more sleep. But he’s still dead tired as he throws on an outfit and heads out the door.

The walk to the dining area was exciting 3 days ago. The decadent decor, the view from the high balcony separating his floor from the others, the grand 20’s style atrium with Mickey Mouse memorabilia incorporated throughout. Everything used to be exciting 3 days ago. Sadly, the first day passed and things quickly lost their charm.

As he scoops a smiley-face omelette onto his plate in the buffet line, he searches for your face in the crowd of families scarfing down their first meals of the day so they can take their kids to the waterfall pool on deck 6. By the time he reaches the end of the line, there’s still no sight of you among the tables. So he ventures outdoors where there’s less seating but considerably more sun. He thinks back to his quick routine in the room. Did he remember to put on sunscreen?

When he finds you, you’re stretched out on a beach chair and taking in some of the sun. His mood is partially lifted when he sees just how content you look getting warmed like a lizard on a rock in your tiny bikini. He stands over you deliberately just to see you pout and pull down your sunglasses with a huff.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Who’d you think it was?”

“I thought it was Hoseok about to ask me to take his profile pic again.”

Jungkook chuckles a little before sitting in the open seat next to you. “Couldn’t have been him. Too early.” “That’s true.” You sit up then, peering at his plate. “What’d you get us?”

“Us?” His smile is warm. “I thought you’d have eaten by now with the way you left the room.”

“I was looking for an empty spot for us. It was your job to find the actual food.”

“No one else would willingly wake up this early,” he cuts a fraction of the omelette before holding the bite up to you. “But I guess it’s only fair.”

You open your mouth happily.

“Permission to board the S.S. girlfriend?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m wasting fuel in the port,” he continues to hover the fork just outside your reach, even when you jump forward with a nip.

“Permission to board,” you grumble.

He laughs like you told a great joke and gently feeds you the bite. With soft eyes, he watches you point to different things on the plate and dutifully feeds you your fill. This might be the first time he’s been able to spend a few moments alone with you since the five of you got on the cruise. He finishes up the bit of toast you couldn’t finish and the few blueberries that didn’t interest you. He must be staring because you turn to him in your reclined position and return the favor.

“You’re looking a little red. Did you put on sunscreen?”

“I think I forgot. I was trying to get ready fast so you wouldn’t have to sit around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” you reach into the bag you brought for sunscreen. “Yoori was with me. She left for the gym maybe 2 minutes before you came out here.”

“Oh,” is all he says.

Jungkook scowls a bit as you rub the lotion onto his face. That Yoori and Hoseok, and probably even Taehyung, might be spending more time with you on this trip than him is starting to be the horrible icing on this shitty vacation cake.

“Why don’t we take some time to—” He begins but a large shadow looming over the two of you makes him stop in his tracks.

“Hey,” a man with thick blond hair and even thicker muscles nods down at you. “You were at the adult lounge last night, right?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open. Thor—or the actor who plays him during the Marvel day activities—has come up to your spot. He’s got the Ragnorok breastplate on with board shorts adorning his chiseled lower half. From the top up, he looks just like the real thing.

“Wow. Yeah I was, I’m surprised you remember,” you hold a hand over your eyes so you can look up at “Thor”.

“How could I forget. You and your beautiful friend were quite the sight yesterday.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks.”

In all his excitement, he overlooks the flirting. Jungkook stands up from his seat then and sticks out his hand. “Thor” shakes it hesitantly.

“Hey. I know you’re not the real thing, but it’s great to see you. I wasn’t at the adult lounge last night, so we didn’t get to meet.”

Jungkook makes sure to puff out his chest so “Thor” will notice the print of his button down shirt. Tiny little hammers.

“Do you like the shirt?” He beams.

“Thor” squints down at the animated hammers.

“I can’t say I really know what’s on it, but sure.”

“They’re...they’re Mjölnirs.”

“Mole-whats?”

You gasp, clapping your hands over your mouth.

Jungkook drops “Thor”’s hand at the same moment, disappointment turning down the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing. They’re just drawings. Have a good day, man.”

“Thor” chuckles before looking back down at you. “Cute kid,” he says before sending you a wink and making some comment about getting to rehearsal.

Yoori returns from the gym that moment, nearly running into “Thor”. He gives her an appreciative once over which she returns smugly. Her expression changes as she approaches you and Jungkook looking like you had both seen a car crash.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you respond quickly with a subtle look at the back of Jungkook’s head to tell her ‘not now’.

“Well,” she plops down on the end of Jungkook’s beach chair, “How was breakfast?”

“It was fine,” Jungkook sighs and scoots back so she’ll have some room. “We finished a little while ago. Now we’re just making plans for the rest of the morning.”

“Couple stuff...I’ll go get myself a plate, then.”

You wait until Yoori’s disappeared into the dining area to turn to Jungkook. He doesn’t look angry per se. Just resigned.

“What were you saying before?”

“Hmm,” his eyes are far away, “I was just saying we could take some time to ourselves.”

He wants to say he feels like he’s barely seen you since he stepped on the ship, but he doesn’t want to make you feel bad. The funny thing is that you weren’t even looking forward to the trip before the first day. The tickets for this Marvel cruise were a last minute gamble. You had dropped many not-so-subtle hints about wanting to go somewhere a little less kid-friendly, but he’d waited until the last minute.

At first it seemed like the best possible last choice a person could have. You were all fans of the comics and movies with the exception of Taehyung and Yoori. Taehyung was more of a DC fan and Yoori just sort of let the movies wash over her. You’d been worried that the week would be torture for you with all the screaming kids around. But you were actually having the time of your life. Meanwhile Jungkook was having a less than ideal time.

“Sure. Like what?”

“Maybe we could relax? I’ve had research video meetings the last two nights, so I haven’t really been up for the late night stuff. And I’m just barely up for the morning stuff.”

“Hmm. What about the spa? I haven’t been there yet and it’s on my list.”

“The spa?” Yoori comes out with a mountain of waffles and rumpled-looking Taehyung and Hoseok behind her. “Yeah, let’s go to the spa!”

“Actually, I think Kook just wanted to—”

“I heard it’s actually pretty decent on this boat. They have a hot rock massage where all of the rocks look like the Tinman’s suit.”

“The Tinman,” Jungkook practically chokes.

“I think she means Iron Man,” Hoseok grins sleepily. “Anyway, I’m down for the spa thing too. Never too early to have a tiny lady go in on my thighs.”

“You’re literally so nasty,” Yoori glares back at him.

As your other friends bicker, you flash Jungkook an apologetic look. He shrugs because that’s easier than fighting it. He relishes the second plate of food you get for him and lets you feed him the bites in between kisses and mini-reapplications of sunscreen. It’s all the rest he gets that day. The spa is probably the least relaxing moment of his life.

He doesn’t even get to sit near you. Instead, he gets roped into the men’s section where Hoseok’s tiny lady goes too hard on his thighs and the resulting yelps make Jungkook’s ear drums pound. Taehyung falls asleep two minutes into the Iron Man hot rock massage and snores in a way that’s nearly identical to the 60 year old guests napping nearby.

You emerge from the women’s section with Yoori looking like you’d smell and feel like a rose petal. But Jungkook doesn’t ever find out if you do, because he’s being thrown right back into more “fun”. Somewhere in the back of his mind—between Black Widow meet and greet and the Ant-Man lunch show—he thinks that he would probably be having actual fun if he had some time to breathe. Although, he figures it’s enough to just breathe you in. He feels slightly less drained looking at your smiling face and wide eyes as a wild Hulk appears behind you at the pool after lunch, spraying you lighty with comically huge muscles and a comically tiny water gun.

“You’re not coming?”

Jungkook groans, partly out of guilt and partly out of exhaustion. It’s nearing 10:30 at night and you’re getting ready to go to the adult lounge again. This time it’s for all-things-Spiderman trivia and drinks. He wants to want to go. But he can’t find the strength. He figures too much sun and too much socialization is the answer.

“You’re not staying,” he counters as he does his best to sit up in bed. There’s a nice soft glow bleeding in from the giant picture window of the suite that looks onto the water and there’s some Loki pajamas calling his name. Your tight little dress is calling to him too. I’d look better on the floor, it says.

“I figured this would be a lot more lowkey than everything else we’ve done today. There’s no water and no noisy families. Or screaming Hoseoks.”

“You heard that earlier?”

“I did,” you grimace. “He must have really pissed off that masseuse.”

“I’m pretty sure he just talked with her like he talks normally.”

“Can’t fault her for that, then.”

There’s a beat of silence as you test the security of some strappy heels. Naturally your eyes wander from the shoes to your boyfriend. He’s tapping away at some emails on the ship’s slow wifi no doubt. If you couldn’t tell how tired he was from the slope of his shoulders and the bruise-like shadows under his eyes, the giant yawn he barely stifles is a giveaway.

“Maybe I could just—”

The door to your suite swings open, revealing Taehyung looking frightened in a silky peach button down as Yoori pinches Hoseok’s ear.

“You’re coming, right? Please tell me you’re coming.”

“She’s coming,” Jungkook pipes up from the bed. His eyes never leave the screen of the computer as he types away, but he blinks slow and long. Your heart aches a little.

Taehyung breathes out a sigh of relief and links arms with you. You get one last look at your exhausted boyfriend before you’re pulled out of the room entirely.

“Do you think they’ll even bother asking about the Garfield version?” Taehyung’s question shakes you out of your worry.

“Pfft, no.”

On the fourth day of the cruise, Jungkook is awakened earlier than he wants yet again. A large clap of thunder and the bolt of lightning flash from the other side of the window. He crawls quietly around your sleeping form and throws on his glasses. There’s heavy rain too—a sure sign that the pools and sundecks will be closed. Out of habit, he checks his email and sees a message from the ship coordinator.

Esteemed Guests,

As some of you may know, two performers at last night’s dinner show in House of Mouse theatre (Deck 5, room 6B) showed signs of a stomach bug during the performances. For the safety of the rest of the cast, staff, and guests, we will be postponing today’s shows to sanitize the performance rooms and allow the actors time to recover. Room service will still be available.

We know this is a large inconvenience, and to thank you for understanding, please check your trip accounts for a refund for today’s fares. Additionally...

Jungkook can’t help the fist pump and small hoot he lets out. The email gives him the same feeling he gets on those days when he wakes up hours before his alarm only to discover his professor had cancelled class for the day. With a skip in his step, he returns to bed.

When he wakes up hours later, it’s natural. You’re still spooned to him, still soft and warm and pliant in sleep. He runs the tip of his nose along your neck while the fog of sleep lifts. The smell of your soap and skin is warmed with sleep. The sniffing must tickle you, because you stir before arching against him in a morning stretch. He moves so he doesn’t get in the way of your swinging limbs and smiles to himself. It feels like it’s been forever since he last got to hold you like this without the threat of someone whisking you away.

“Morning,” your voice is gravelly from disuse. “What’s going on. What’s the plan?”

“There’s no plan.”

You’re still half asleep, but you have the social awareness to let your voice go high with incredulity. “No plan?”

“No plan. They sent an email.”

“Read it to me?”

He reads the formal apology while you turn in the covers so you can embrace him while you wake up. By the time he’s done reading, you’ve sat yourself up to look at his phone screen as well.

“Sounds good,” you chirp.

“Really? I would have thought you’d be disappointed about not having a packed day. You’ve been zooming around since we got on board.”

“Yeah, but this was supposed to be our time together. It’s only natural that your friends would tag along.”

“So they’re my friends now?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Only when they’re annoying.”

As if on cue, the front door sounds with knocking. Taehyung is the one who calls out about breakfast plans, but you know all three of them are out there. It’s almost a menacing thought.

“Your friends are here,” he groans. His head falls back onto his pillow defeatedly. They’re likely to burst in any second.

“Don’t worry.”

The sound dies down momentarily when Yoori mentions the extra keycard you gave her for emergencies. Hoseok and Taehyung continue to jiggle the door for sport while chatting idly. Meanwhile, you crawl underneath the sheets and re-emerge on Jungkook’s side of the bed. You look him over, as if searching for something. He’s about to ask what you’re looking for when you reach out and pinch both his cheeks suddenly. While he’s mid-yelp, you swoop in and nip at his lips. It’s quick but it was just harsh enough that his face looks blotchy and his mouth starts to swell.

He whines. “Is this because I called them your friends?”

“Just trust me,” you hiss before your hands disappear further down the sheets to tug off your own underwear and throw it towards the door.

A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Yoori, Hoseok, and Taehyung. Their smiles are bright until they take in the scene. Jungkook’s hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his mouth looks like it’s been lightly ravaged. Though you’re mostly covered with the sheets, the underwear that is very clearly not on your body and the way the sheets drape over your head as you lay between his knees tell a very convincing lie.

“I think I just caught that stomach bug.” Yoori says lightly, still smiling. Hoseok peers behind her, looking mildly interested.

“I hate it when I remember they have sex with eachother,” Taehyung buries his face in his friend’s shoulder looking mortified as Yoori slowly closes the door.

“Yeah, it’s kind of like walking in on your aunt and uncle doing it. But, like, 12 times worse.”

Jungkook basks in the new silence for a few moments before it’s replaced with the rustle of sheets.

“What are you doing” he trails off to a whisper as you tug the waistband of his underwear down. Your hands still.

“You don’t want to have boat sex?”

“No, no, I do. I wanna have boat sex.”

He nods intensely and you laugh at how earnest he still is. Jungkook’s cheeks flare up, now doubly red from quiet excitement.

“Guess I should have just proposed this, huh?”

“Yeah,” you hum thoughtfully while moving on your knees to straddle his hips. “I can't see how this would have ruined anyone’s fun.”

“I can think of a couple people’s fun we just ruined.”

“I really meant my fun. Speaking of which,” you settle onto his lap and begin to grind.

He shudders, head falling forward with a sigh. This, he thinks, is the real happiest place on earth.

#changeswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriters #bangtan bookclub #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #honestly not sure where this title came from but who cares i guess

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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bitter : d.d

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED UNTIL MID AUGUST. Please do not send one in right now, as I can’t get to it sorry guys.

brief summary: after you and david break up, you return months later with another guy. yet david can’t help but feel a little bitter

word count: 1.5k requested: yesss by one anon initially and then another gave me more inspo. love that i can use fletcher for this one, she truly is a babe warnings: david being a lil bitch

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

With you, I thought things would’ve gone differently. You lit up an entire room with your smile, the way you could easily comfort me during stressful times with your fingers in my hair, it was effortless.

Every time you came over, I could see that underlying look of lust in your gaze. You loved when the house was empty, a chance to explore and play games with me, not that I ever resisted.

Yet, you brought it to an end. Out of the blue, you hit me with it. One moment, we’re lying in bed together, a sheen of sweat across your forehead as you run your fingers through your hair.

I was still panting lightly, feeling your lips hovering above mine before you pulled away.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

Then you got up, I watched the silhouette of your body walk out of the room with clothes in hand, and you vanished for months.

No one could find you, no one had seen you. And then you returned, three months ago you walked back into our lives like we hadn’t ever happened. You seemed fresh, but entered Scott’s home with a stale looking guy.

I watched as we went on nights out how you sat on his lap, your arm around his neck as your fingers glided through his hair. You laughed at his shitty jokes as I remained on the sidelines, witnessing you fall for someone else.

“Dude, let it go already.” Ilya muttered to me as we sat by the bar, my hand clenched around the glass of Pepsi they had instead of Coke. “She’s happy, just let her be.” He sighed, but I couldn’t let it go, not yet.

You began to turn your body away from the bar, from our friends dancing together. Ilya watched alongside me as your body started to rock back and forth against his, your hips grinding. It was something I could make out as clear as day even through the sea of bodies grinding together, I could still see yours.

“You know she was late arriving tonight, don’t you?” I told Ilya who merely rolled his eyes, but I continued on. “I could smell it on her, and he couldn’t wipe that dumb smile off his face.”

“She’s moved on, Dave.” Ilya reminded me as I took another swig from the glass. “You should too.”

It wasn’t that easy though, seeing you with him. Whenever you turned up somewhere, he followed you like a puppy dog.

“Hey, you coming to Y/n’s tonight?” Natalie asks as I glance up over my laptop.

“I’m invited?” I question, and Ilya sighs beside me. “What? It’s a valid question.”

Natalie and Ilya exchange a quick look before she nods. “Yeah, we all are.” She states, crossing her arms. “I’ll let her know we’ll be there then, she’s cooking a meal, a special occasion she said.” Natalie shrugs her shoulder, leaving me with that lingering thought.

“Special occasion, huh?” I mutter to myself before trying to focus back on my work, but the only thing that circles my mind is the thought of what you’re celebrating with him.

Standing in front of your apartment with Natalie and Ilya felt strange. I was so used to coming on my own, a bunch of flowers in hand after a fight or to just be with you for a few hours. Yet, I can already hear laughter inside, gentle piano through a speaker. This isn’t your influence, it’s clearly his.

“Be civil, yeah?” Natalie mutters over her shoulder to me as I keep my head down.

The front door swings open, and I can hear your laugh already. “Hi guys, come on in, food won’t be too long.” You hug Natalie tightly, Ilya following suit.

“Hey,” I try to force a smile, but unlike mine yours is genuine. “sorry we’re late.”

You brush it off, kissing my cheek quickly. “It’s all good, Dave,” You tell me with another one of your smiles, but this one doesn’t reach your eyes like they used to.

“Is that everyone, honey?” He, Blake, calls out from the kitchen, peering his head through the door as I stand by your side, remembering how good we looked together at events like these.

Moving away from me, you walk toward him. “Yeah, that’s everyone.” You comment before kissing his lips chastely. “Dinner in the oven?”

Blake smiles as his hand rests on your lower back. “It’s all under control, babe. Enjoy yourself.” He reassures you as you turn on your heels, returning to a conversation with Carly who clearly gushes over your relationship with Blake.

“How’re you holding up?” Heath pitches in as he passes me a beer, one that I gladly accept.

I nod briefly, picking at the label on the bottle in my hand. “I’ll get over it. Least she’s happy.” I mutter, and Heath pats my arm supportively as he begins to tell me about the new truck he was looking at buying.

As Heath talks in earnest about his car collection, my eyes wander over to you stood on the other side of the room. You’re always just out of reach, but Blake’s hand rests on your hip as you both talk to Zane, Scott and Erin. But then I catch it, you glance my way before quickly retracting as if it never happened.

But I saw the way you looked at me, even if it were for a split second, I felt my heartbeat stutter like you did with your words.

Sitting down for dinner, I can’t help but observe how the photos of us are no longer on display. You’ve replaced countless frames with ornaments along with the occasional polaroid shot of you with Blake. I want to comment on it, but Natalie hits my leg, cutting me off before I can.

“So what’s the special occasion?” Erin asks as you begin to take the empty plates away.

My eyes follow yours as you focus on Blake with a nervous smile. “We’re, we’re moving in together.” Blake states, and everyone speaks up at once.

A series of excitement spreads throughout the room, but you’re waiting for me to say something, I just know it.

“Congrats, you guys.” I add, and I watch as your shoulders relax as the tension releases from them. “Here, let me help.” I offer, taking a few of the dishes from you, following suit into the kitchen.

“Thanks, Dave.” You mutter, placing the dishes in the sink as I hover by the door, slowly closing it over allowing us a moment. “I know what you’re thinking,” You start, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“That so?” I comment, crossing my arms as you face me now, your arms spread out as you lean against the counter.

“I know this all seems kinda fast, but I’m happy, I really am.” You laugh lightly. “I just want you to know I’ll always care about you, regardless.”

Shaking my head, I step closer toward you. “I am happy for you, Y/n.” I rest my hand on my chest. “Cross my heart, I just,” Pausing, I’m in front of you, mere inches away from you. I can hear your breath haltering as you focus on my eyes. “there are some things I’ll never forget.”

“What’d you mean?” You quietly ask, standing up taller in front of me as I smirk, edging closer until I’m leaning against you.

“Things like this.” I mutter before lifting my hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your head toward mine as I kiss you passionately.

Your lips mould against mine like old times, muscle memory clearly working as a small moan escapes you.

“No,” You sigh as you push me away, your hands resting on my chest as you lower your gaze. “I, I can’t, David.” You admit.

“That’s fine,” I reassure you, placing my hands over yours as I gently lower them. “but can you still taste me when you kiss him? ‘Cause I’ll never forget the taste of you on my lips.” I add, and you quickly take your hands away from mine, just as the kitchen door opens.

“Everything okay in here?” Blake peeks his head through the door with a small smile, clearly noting the shift in your body language as you glide past me into his arms.

“Yeah, David was just helping with dessert.” You tell him, and Blake focuses on me.

“That I was, and trust me, it’s real sweet.” I chuckle, taking the cake left on the side and exit the kitchen past both of you, even if you’ll never be mine, doesn’t mean I can’t be a bit bitter.

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ripleyfm · 4 years ago

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･ﾟ☀ good morning to everyone except those who hate on legend of korra ! skskskks i’m teddy , i’m a lil ole baby swinging back into the rpc heart emojis a - blazing ! this is my lil sunflower chaos seeker known as ripley , a newer muse for me but i’m really excited to flesh her out here with some extra spooky elements . i have a god awful sense of humor and too much enthusiasm for angst so tbh ? come get y’all PLOTTIN JUICE to distract me from thirsting over avatar kyoshi ! disc / ord is @𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 !#6439 since i’ll be mobile for the afternoon !

* [ bruna marquezine + cis female + she / her ] —— have you met tallulah ripley ? they are a twenty-two year old senior currently studying biology & music theory. they live on decker house, and word around campus is that this leo is vibrant + gregarious, as well as hedonistic + philophobic. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. trailing sand in on the hardwood with bare feet , running late to meetings ( and asking forgiveness with a mere flash of a grin ) , tucking a greta van fleet album among the family collection of concierto classics .

EDIT : wanted and current connections can be found here !

youngest of four , born into an old money surname , her mother , an international student from sao paolo , brazil , and american father meet as competing pianists at holloway , falling in love , marrying , and beginning the next generation of the ripley virtuosos soon after graduation . her childhood is privileged and uneventful , strict and stifling as early as she can remember , tallulah causing trouble enough as if to make up for her perfectly behaved siblings .

her father becomes one of the most prolific modern composers of his time , and splits his efforts between composition and teaching music theory at julliard as his wife continues performances as a famed pianist . though her siblings branch out into other instruments , tallulah is the only one stubborn enough to weather the callouses on her fingers , figuring if she’s going to be forced to play an instrument of any type , it’ll at least be something she likes . thus , the only stringed instrument in the ripley household becomes hers as she takes on the cello by storm .

practicing cello is perhaps the only thing lu truly commits herself to — charming and sociable as she may be , her selectiveness with her efforts makes her sluggish with schoolwork as if to give her family a hard time . her siblings , all honor scholars and first chairs at their respective instruments , pick on her for her unmotivated wild child ways at the encouragement of her mother . the only person who takes the time to sit with tallulah and keep her on track is her ever - tired ( but endlessly generous ) father .

her world is turned upside down her freshman year when her father’s occasional stumble turns into a more regular struggle to keep his balance , an ultimate diagnosis of a degenerative disease rattling their family as they know it . tallulah , wild and only tamed by the kindness of one man , starts acting out in an effort to ignore the world around her . the rift between herself and her family only multiplies when she discovers her mother having an affair as her father’s health continues to decline .

he passes away on a vacation he and tallulah take to the ripley summer beach house , something they had done to have some quiet time together away from the judgement of her siblings . having to be the one to break the news to the family , she feels herself shut down and lose whatever desire she had left to live the perfect life her mother and siblings tried to force on her .

she starts going almost exclusively by her surname , making it into holloway more as a favor to her family’s generous donations to the music program than on grades . she’s barely hanging on by her involvement in the university’s symphonic orchestra , where she’s a first chair cellist that shows up late to every damn rehearsal and somehow can cold sightread well enough to piss everyone off ksksksk .

given this , she’s only minoring in music theory to stay in the orchestra , and partially to feel close to her dad . though her dream is to write music scores for films , she’s majoring in biology to have a respectable backup plan . if she can’t do music forever , she’ll disappear onto a beach somewhere in costa rica and be a marine biologist and never be heard from again lmao

PERSONALITY : ripley is happiest shotgunning a white claw before piling into the squad car and calling aux immediately ! loves her friends and sees her circle as found family that she would do anything for .

she’s laid back and observant , one of the quieter in the group as she tries to suss you out but is the first to approach a newbie and act as if you’ve been friends for ages . she makes an active effort to not judge others on the basis of first impressions and tends to be rather open minded when meeting others , which makes her a sort of universal friend - to - all ; given this , when wronged , she’s a stubborn little shit and though she wont let them live rent free in that headspace , she’ll go full send to making sure they’re aware they don’t exist to her !

she hates petty drama and tends to skirt most responsibility by sweet - talking her way out of things , giving the impression that she can be lazy or unmotivated . this is true to some extent , such as with her grades or her timeliness , but those who strike the right balance will see a side of ripley that is laser focused , whether its drunken ramblings about the brilliance of the chord progressions on fleetwood mac’s rumors or an astute observation about the emotion behind a certain cello movement . though she prefers to skip the hard thinking and just enjoy the moment , ripley’s admittedly a clever girl , simply needing the right push to unlock her truest potential .

she’s incredibly relaxed ( sometimes a bit too much for the preference of some ) and tends to try and avoid over - complicating issues in order to not have to face them . especially considering the infidelity of her mother , ripley is a staunch believer that relationships are a waste of time and is the annoying bitch who argues that being in love is a scam made up by the simps to feel valid !

acts as if she isn’t FULL of feelings and emotions 24/7 n listens to emo 70’s power ballads when the person she likes doesnt confess their love for her under the moonlight like they were supposed to in her fantasy ……. smh . she’s too busy trying to be ~cool and effortless~ that she sometimes sabotages the things that would bring her the most happiness , then blaming herself in a vicious cycle that just leaves her trying to distract herself w crazy antics to avoid focusing on her feelings .

RANDOM BLURBS : hates men n regrets all attraction to them . thinks all women r too good for her . convinced she will be a useless bisexual forced 2 be forever alone

plays guitar as a mental break from cello and loves it . i’m still deciding a vc for her

knows the beaches in maine are cold af but wants to go every weekend anyways

drives the most impractical soft shell jeep which sucks in the east coast wind and snow and yet it is somehow exactly an embodiment of Her Brand tm

like 5′9 tall and hates wearing real people shoes she said berks or nOTHIN

wishes she could go vegan but is so bad at keeping track of her meals she’d forget instantly and down a 20 pack of chicken nugget

too mellow & apathetic to be a chaotic neutral but too adventurous to be a true neutral so she lives somewhere in that lawless grey space skskskks

acts REAL california for someone who grew up exclusively on the east coast .... hm ..... 🤔

grew up disconnected from brazilian culture due to her mom's whitewashing and she resents it greatly . can understand scattered portuguese but took spanish in high school so that's as close to the language as she'll get . wants to take lessons online tho !

inspos r lila from umbrella academy , wynonna earp , beverly marsh from it , michelle manlon from derry girls , korra from lok , adora from she ra and the pop , and that ugly yellow overtone used in outer banks 💖 skskskks

#holloway.intro

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darlinglissa · 4 years ago

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i req something w our girl steph. anything u want babe

shelby!!!! thank you, i love this! writing it was so much fun, i had a blast. steph is my queen, i love writing her. i took some inspo from jay’s (@wisdom-walks-alone) batfam quiz, specifically steph’s aesthetic answer about a 24 hour diner at 2 am.

link to my ao3 collection!

Bells jingle overhead as they stumble through the door, and they’re still trying to quell their laughter when the waitress behind the counter tells them to pick a seat anywhere. She has a small smile on her face as she says it, gesturing to the empty booths throughout the diner.

Steph walks with a purpose before plopping down at one of the vinyl booths beside the window to the quiet night outside. Jason and Dick follow suit dutifully, Damian trailing behind slowly while looking at the dinky diner in distaste.

She’s sure they must look out of place in their various crime-fighting garments, but she’s learned that if you walk with purpose and confidence you’ll never look out of place.

As Jason slides in next to Steph, Dick takes a seat across from her and gestures wildly for Damian to join him. “C’mon, Robin!”

He does as he’s told and gingerly sits on the padded bench, but not without a wrinkle to his nose.

Steph rolls her eyes. “It’s a diner, not a dive bar, kid.”

Jason chuckles, nudging Steph with his elbow, and says, “Not much better, if we’re bein’ honest.” The waitress stops at the end of the table with four menus and a tray of four glasses of water, eying the masked vigilantes with mild amusement as she hands them out. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The waitress nods with that amused smile still in place and says, “Let me know when y’all are ready to order,” with a wink at Steph before walking back to the counter.

Dick looks up from Damian’s squirming form to tilt his head at Steph and Jason. “Like we’d ever be allowed to set foot in a dive bar, let alone with Robin in tow.” He punctuates his statement with a pointed finger at Damian and a crooked smile. “B would roll into an early grave.”

Steph laughs, her mask digging into her cheeks. “Well luckily for me, B’s not my boss. I can go wherever the hell I please.” She barely spares the menu a glance before setting it aside carelessly.

She’s responded with indignant sputters from Dick and Jason.

“He is not my boss, Blondie—”

“We were partners, and now we’re equals—”

Damian chimes in with, “Batman has no control over me—”

Her laugh becomes louder, causing more sputters, but she cuts them off. “Are you ready to order or what?” Steph’s grin is nothing short of shit-eating, and only entices glares from the boys — grown, semi-grown, and still-growing — at the booth. She cocks an eyebrow at them, taking a sip of her water, and they just grumble and glare at their menus.

She hears Jason mutter under his breath, “Says the girl wearing bat ears,” but maturely ignores him with a swift kick to his shin under the table.

A black-clad hand waves the waitress over, Steph’s grin never leaving her face. “Heya, Sylvia. I’ll take my usual, thanks, and whatever the boys want.” She turns her gaze on them expectantly.

Jason looks up with that mischievous street kid smile that he never grew out of. “A cheeseburger with a side of fries, please.” His menu is put on top of Steph’s in the center of the table, and Dick picks them up seamlessly.

Fingers push the menus into a neat pile in his grip. “A stack of chocolate chip pancakes, thank you.” He hands her the stack of menus with a flourish, and Sylvia takes it with a glance at Steph that says Is this guy real? She shrugs; Dick’s never been one she’s positive is real, the entire time she’s known him. It’s the circus in him, that need to please an audience, Steph guesses.

“An egg whites omelette with mushrooms and tomatoes.”

He’s real.

Damian turns his nose up when Sylvia glances at him after jotting his order down. His mask enhances the distant snootiness, and Dick smoothly pushes his face back with a charming smile at her. His hand muffles Damian’s protests as he hands the last menu to her.

“I’ll be back with your orders,” she says with a wry smile, heading over to the chef’s window, her head slightly shaking as she goes.

Steph’s foot reaches all of their shins in succession, ignoring their cries of surprise. “I have to come back here, doofuses. This is my regular spot. Just because we happened to cross paths and decided to have a pow-wow doesn’t mean you can ruin the best waffles on this side of Gotham for me.”

Jason puts his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t do shit!” He’s met with a glare that has him rolling his eyes.

Before he can continue, Damian says, “Don’t worry, we won’t ruin your ever-so-good ‘reputation’ at this establishment, Brat-girl.”

“What he means to say—”

“I meant what I said—”

“—is that we’re happy to be here,” Dick finishes with a bright smile, as if Damian hadn’t spoken.

Placated for the time being, Steph leans back against the old vinyl booth. She wasn’t exaggerating; this is her spot. Something about the cracked vinyl seats, the broken jukebox in the corner, and the flood lights overhead that could blind you if you looked at them longer than ten seconds just calmed her. Sylvia’s almost always on shift when her patrol route finishes, and Jerry in the back makes waffles that rival the ones her mom used to make when she was little and had the time to spend with her daughter.

It may not be in the best side of town, or the best neighborhood, but it feels a little like what she’s always thought home should feel like.

Jason seems to recognize the look in her eye as her gaze roams the diner, dropping the subject for her. “Riddler is giving B a run for his money this week, huh?”

That startles a laugh out of Steph, bringing her back to the booth. “Eddie’s stepping up his game, good for him.” She fiddles with her straw wrapper, hands fidgety.

“Only you would be happy for a villain,” Damian sneers, but there’s no real heat behind his words.

Sylvia comes by with a large tray, setting the meals in front of them one by one. “Let me know if I can get y’all anythin’ else.” She goes back to the counter, pulling a book from below and settling down to read.

There’s relative silence as they all dig into their food, Steph drowning her waffles in syrup and then Dick drizzles it lightly over his pancakes.

There are two kinds of people in this world, and Steph doesn’t trust Dick’s kind.

Damian is uncharacteristically complacent as he eats his omelette. Steph won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, it’s not her style, but she eyes him a bit. He notices and stiffens. “What?”

“Is it to your approval, your highness?” she teases lightly, taking a bite of her waffles then gesturing to his plate with her syrupy fork.

His shoulders tense up slightly, but he nods. “It is acceptable.”

With a nod, Steph takes another bite. “Good,” she says through her mouthful.

Damian’s lip curls, but he refrains from commenting. Dick looks mighty pleased with this progress, and eats his pancakes with more enthusiasm.

Jason and Dick make quick work of their food like the boys they are, while Damian eats his neatly and efficiently like the little weirdo he is.

Steph finishes her waffles as Sylvia comes by with the bill, and she and Dick race to put their credit cards on the table. Neither card had their name on it, per se, but it was in their wallets nonetheless.

“B isn’t my boss, my ass,” Jason mutters as he watches them fight to pay without really paying. “You waste his money like he is.”

Steph swivels to fully face him. “Waffles are never a waste, Hood.”

He shrugs her tone off and slides out of the booth. “Thanks for the burger, Blondie.” He waves a hand out as he walks out.

Dick pouts, looking down at his card that had won the battle, but hadn’t really gotten the victory. Steph smiles smugly at him, handing her card to Sylvia without looking away from him.

“Well, time to head home, kiddo,” Dick says, ushering Damian out of the booth. “We should do this again, Batgirl.” He winks, before putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder and guiding him out of the diner.

Sylvia hands Steph her card back, not having really needed it with the card already on file. “They’re something else, Batgirl.”

Steph chuckles. “Aren’t they?” She watches as Damian shrugs Dick’s hand off of him, but stays close to his former Batman as a true Robin would. Jason starts to disappear into the shadows of his home neighborhood, but he flashes a smile at her when he notices Steph’s eye. “They really are.”

#mel writes #mel's 100 #dc #steph brown #batgirl #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #damian wayne #robin #my writing #shelbychild #my darlings #shelby the light of my life

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shenevertricks1831 · 5 years ago

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GET OUT part 2

*Author Note- Alright I did a part 2 to Get Out. These have been the first times my works have been shared and like on Tumblr and I can't thank you all enough for the likes and reblogs. If you like this part as well please like it and reblog and please, please, PLEASE send me some requests for short Imagines, Blurbs, or headcanons so I can get some inspo so I can keep on trying my hand at this. I love you all, thank you again!!

"Y/N, please. Please just talk to him. Meet with him once, that's all I'm asking." You had been on the phone with Annette for nearly 30 minutes listening Duncan's 'mother' beg for you to acknowledge him. "He's been a mess for 3 weeks now. He rarely eats, he refuses to leave the house, he works all day but will only work from home. I'm not even sure how much he's sleeping, I lay in bed at night and all I can hear is him crying down the hall."

As much as it pained you to admit, hearing that Duncan was crying over you brought you both a sense of satisfaction and almost broke your heart at the same time. After ignoring every attempt he had made for the last 3 weeks were you really considering giving him a chance? He hurt you in a way no one had before, but you did miss him. Hell you love him, loved him? Love him? You weren't sure exactly. But whether you still loved him or not he was the father of your unborn child, and sooner then later you would have to discuss everything with him.

"Fine Annette," you swallowed your pride, "tell Duncan to meet me at the penthouse for dinner at 6 o'clock, any later and I won't answer the door." Once you spoke you promptly hung up before Annette even had a chance to respond; the last thing you needed was her protesting or trying to set her own arrangements. The next thing you knew your phone chimes with an incoming text.

Duncan: "Thank you."

You set your phone on the coffee table and when to begin dinner.

The doorbell rang and you checked the clock, he was early. Duncan Shepherd, the man who was always 'fashionably late' was almost 15 minutes early. Maybe this was important to him. You pulled open the door and were honest shocked by what greeted you. There stood Duncan looking the most timid you'd even seen him, and holding an arm full of gifts.

"H-hi Y/N," he sounded like a nervous teenager going on their first date, "I uhm, I brought you some stuff." You silently nodded and welcomed him inside. Duncan went to the kitchen table to unload his arms. He blushed slightly when he saw his favorite meal sitting on the table waiting. He cheated on you, and then you make his favorite dinner when you finally agree to meet. You were to good for him, he thought, he did not deserve you; that or you were going to attempt to poison him. "I uhm brought you flowers," he thrust a bouquet of *your favorite flowers* toward you, "I know these are your favorite. And then I brought some sparkling cider since you can't drink; and theres two pints of raspberry sorbet since I know how much you've been craving that." Duncan folded his hands and looked down ashamed, maybe he'd never be able to look her in the eye again.

"Thank you Duncan, and thank you for coming. Now please lets eat before the dinner gets cold." You sat in your seat began to open the cider, pouring yourself a glass before you began eating. "We can discuss everything after dinner." Duncan nodded then took his seat across from her. He looked at her slowly eating before he began to eat as well. He regretted everything.

You both sat on the couch, each on separate ends, Duncan waiting for you to speak. He was trying to prepare himself for the worst while hoping for the best.

"I'm sorry!" Duncan blurted out before he could stop himself. Y/N looked at him, the tears in his eyes that threatened to spill at any moment matched her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had a chance Duncan blurted more words knowing he would regret it forever if he didn't get a chance to say what he needed to. "I was a fool. I was an absolute fucking idiot. Out of every mistake I've made in my life, every regret I've ever had, that..that absolute fuck up will haunt me until the day I die. At a time when you needed me most I let my own fears and insecurities drive me away from you in the most inexcusable way possible. I ruined a wonderful life with a perfect girl all for a chance to get my rocks off. I can never apologize enough to you or our baby for all the pain I have caused this family." When Duncan finally paused for a moment he realized both of you had begun crying during his speech. "Please don't cry more," he got on his knees infront of you and cupped your cheek, "please I can't stand to keep making you cry like this. I don't care how bad I hurt, just please tell me what you want or need me to do so you won't hurt. Anything, please. If you want me to leave and never see you again or our child, just send you a check every month so they never go without, I'll do that if it's what you want. Please Y/N, I know I fucked up and I will do anything now to take your pain away." Duncan was bawling. He removed his hand from your face and slumped onto your lap in tears. You took your own hand and placed it to his cheek, lifting his head to look at you.

"Who was she?" You asked quietly, tears slowly streaming down your own face.

"She, I-I don't know," he looked down ashamed of himself, "one of the guys at the office uses an escort site, I overheard about it. She was just an escort. Just an escort."

"Was it just her? No others?" You asked wearily. He nodded. "How long has it been going on?" You couldn't help but wonder if his infidelity had taken place your whole pregnancy.

"Just about two weeks. Two weeks, then you saw the messages, and I never contacted her again."

"How many times?"

"Wha-?" Duncan looked up at you confused by the question. You bit your lip, not wanting to elaborate.

"You many times did you fuck her?" A harss sting accented your words.

"I-I didn't." Duncan cried as he admitted more. "I just texted her. Sexted a bit. There was a dick pic, but I couldn't bring myself to actually meet her. I was supposed to a couple of times but I couldn't ever get myself to leave the car. I'd just sit in the car outside whatever hotel she told me, cry for an hour or two, and then I'd come home." Duncan stood up and walked away from you. He wiped the tears from his face. He was full of shame. Not only was he unfaithful to the only girl he'd ever truly loved, but he couldn't even actually bring himself to sleep with another woman. He hurt the one he loved in the worst was possible all without even touching another being.

Slowly you got up and followed Duncan, pressing your swollen baby bump against his back, you hugged him from behind. You spoke quietly into his ear with a quiver in his voice. "If you swear on our child that you never did more than text her I will believe you and I will forgive you." Duncan turned around to hold you.

"I swear, on this child," he placed his hand on your stomach, "and any future ones that may come."

"Duncan," you looked down to afraid to look him in the eye now, all future fear and anxiety hitting you at once, "this is your one chance. If this ever happens again, even just texts like that. I will leave and I will never forgive you." He nodded looking at you with tear clouded eye full of love and adoration solely held for the woman in front of him. He moved his lips to yours in a light, gentle, loving kiss. When your lips separated he placed his forehead to yours. He closed his eye, breathing you in before he spoke.

"Understood. Nothing bad will ever again happen to this family, especially from my own hand, you have my word."

Gonna tag a few who might like this.. @sojournmichael @langdxn @leatherduncan @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @fckinsupreme

#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd x female reader #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd imagine #Duncan Shepherd x fem reader #imagine #fan fic #angst #cody fern character

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beerecordings · 6 years ago

Text

Want

Part 18 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

My taglist is a separate post so let me know if you want to be added or removed! This is v long chapter because I love.... so many of these scenes... I hope you will enjoy it. Also happy Henrik appreciation week he deserves better I love him <3333 and also you for reading <3333333

Edit: yo @florenceisfalling made SUCH A LOVELY JAMIE AND CHASE PIECE with a tiny bit of inspo from this chapter and I love it so much!!! you can see it here

tws for self-hatred, panic attacks, and weight mentions/food

also major abuse themes sorry i should have included that right away this whole fic has major abuse so please be careful

He thinks that maybe all that he hoped for has come to be, and yet...

“Well, what do you need now, Jameson?”

“What do I need?”

“What do you want to do, I mean? We can get some food in you, you can lie down, maybe we need some more ointment for that throat of yours – where did Chase put that, he might have something for your ear infection too – well, whatever you feel like. What sounds good?”

“What – you want me to choose?”

“Yes, we have time for anything. We have a lot of time now. What would you like?”

Jameson stares up at Henrik, still sitting in the warmth left on the mattress as they slept.

“You sure you want me to choose?”

Henrik stops bustling around and turns back to him. He tries to smile but he can’t make his mouth move, just tries to look warm. “From now on,” he says. “You get to choose what you do and who you are. How does that sound?”

Sounds like breaking the rules. He bites down hard on his lip, closing his eyes, trying to banish the thought of all that Anti would do to him if he knew he was anything other than a prisoner here.

If he knew that he was beginning to be glad that Anti let him go.

“I want,” he says. “To go back to Anti.”

Henrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Well,” he murmurs. “That is the one thing you cannot do.”

Jameson stares down at his scarred hands.

“Come on, Jamie.” Henrik steps closer, hands outstretched. “What do you want to do?”

What do you want to do? What do you want? What do you want to be?

“I want,” says Jameson.

He has to pause, has to pause to choke, overwhelmed just for an instant, as he realizes he has never once in his life signed the word.

“I want,” he repeats. “I want a shower.”

“A shower,” says Henrik, and smiles. “Well, I think that much can be handled.”

He's staring at his hair.

“What did you think it looked like?” Chase laughs, presenting him with a clean t-shirt.

Jameson ducks his head down, nervous with a stranger beside him, but his eyes flicker up again, and he's staring at his hair.

Staring at his face, clean.

“When was the last time you got to wash it?” asks Chase, frowning now. He reaches out to touch Jameson's hair and then thinks better of it, drawing away politely. Jameson tries his best to smile at him. If he's gentle and harmless, Chase won't hurt him, right?

“Long time,” he manages, his hands stammering as they tremble.

There are three different showers in the house that Marvin made. The one in the bathroom across from the spare room is, in two words, absolutely spiffing. Jameson's not really supposed to use old words – Anti said they made him sound stupid and didn't make sense to sign anyway – but for the remorseless pressure of the steaming hot water, where he stayed for two hours, rubbing shampoo into his hair and scraping his skin clean with soap the scent of oranges, he makes a mental exception.

Besides... Anti's not here.

He tries to smile at his reflection in the mirror. His hair has dried into a warm, earthy brown color. Its stiffness is gone and the streaks of dust and filth that used to make him feel so disgusting have vanished into a warm coconut smell. It even curls, just a little – tumbling gently over his forehead in a fine coil of brown and teal.

He's clean. He's clean and so is the house. Everything's clean. Even his nails are picked into white crescent moons. Finally, finally.

“You look good,” says Chase, and Jameson flinches to be mocked, but then he turns his gaze and sees only sincerity in Chase's face. “Here, want your shirt?”

“My shirt?”

“Yeah, sorry, I haven't had time to go buy you anything new yet. Just went to work and came back today, didn't even visit Jack. Schneep's feeling a little jumpy still, but when he chills out, I'll take you out of the house and we'll go buy you a whole wardrobe. Yeah?”

“Yeah – really, clothes all for me? – wait, can I – can I visit Mr. Jack sometime?”

“I like that sign for him.” Chase laughs and copies him, making the sign for infection over his eye. “You're kind of sassy, aren't you, Jay? I don't see why not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude! He's, uh. Not great company, but still... I like to think he'd be glad you came to see him. I like to think he's glad when I come to see him, you know?”

Jameson doesn't know. Coma patients do not rejoice for a visit in his understanding. But the thought of finding Mr. Jack, of seeing him, of knowing where he is and how to get to him – that sounds amazing.

He chooses that. Henrik says he can do what he wants. He wants to find Jack. He's been wanting to know him his whole life, so a few days? That's nothing. He can wait.

He grins at his reflection again, easier now, and tugs Chase's shirt – no, no, it's his shirt now, Chase said so – over his head.

“How about some food?” offers Chase. “You want something to eat? Skinny little guy, I gotta tell you. Schneep says you probably need to put some weight on, which is great for me, cause I really like to fucking cook.”

Chase talks a lot, and never with any malice. Jameson kind of likes listening to him.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, a little less nervously.

And when Chase grins and reaches out, Jameson accepts his hand in his own, and lets him tug him towards the kitchen.

He's hungry so he gets something to eat.

That's just how things work here. It's bizarre.

Bizarre and wonderful.

That first meal they share together is pasta, if only just a little, to go easy on his stomach. Chase presents it to him with garlic and chicken and sweet alfredo sauce and basil and tomatoes.

“Does that look good?”

Jameson can't even sign “yes.” He is gripping the fork too tightly. He puts a mouthful of pasta in his mouth and then he reaches up to hold his head in his hands, crying over a fork’s worth of penne.

Chase reaches out and takes his hand and tells him, “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay! It's okay, bud. It's all okay.”

Jameson says “I'm sorry” and Chase says “don't be, it's just pasta” and Jameson says “not for that, for everything, for trying to kill you, for hurting you – ”

And all Chase says is, “Oh, well.

That's okay too.”

Over the course of the next few days, Chase makes sandwiches with pesto and feta and savory pork with spoonfuls of yellow rice and zucchini fried in bread crumbs, brings home ice cream with big chunks of chocolate, drizzles fruit in sweet sauce, cooks fish and American burgers with barbecue sauce, bakes fresh bread, gives him protein and fats and sugars according to the diet Henrik helped them decide on, and asks him, every day, if there's anything new he'd like to try, anything he didn't get to have before.

“Sorry, I just like spoiling you, cooking is like the only thing I'm good at and I always cook for my family, you know? Is that weird to say, that we're family? Really, I think we should have been brothers a long time ago, like, right away, but then – see, but you're here now, so we're brothers, right? Anyway, here, I'm making a grocery list. What do you want, JJ?”

No one's ever asked him what he wants. No one's ever called him JJ. No one's ever cooked for him. He thinks he might love Chase. Anyway, he nods when he calls him “brother.” He smiles when he calls him brother.

Yes, he thinks they should have been brothers a long time ago. Isn't that what Anti told him? That if Chase hadn't been Mr. Jack's for so long, he would have been a good puppet too, and they could have been brothers a long time ago?

Jameson would have liked that. He tries to be grateful for right now.

Things are good.

Things are unbelievably, impossibly good.

And he doesn't deserve any of it.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asks Henrik on that first night after he has called him his brother.

“Oh,” says Henrik. “Look, Jameson, I had some dependency issues when I came back from – well, I've had some dependency issues too, but I wonder if it wouldn't be healthier for you to sleep on your own.”

“Please,” Jameson begs. “Please, it's too cold in my room and Jackie is across the wall from me. I'm frightened. I want to sleep in here with you.”

Henrik's face is blue and white with bruising and exhaustion. His chest hurts badly. He has just re-stitched one of the cuts on his stomach, not that he told anyone it tore open.

Jameson isn't the only one who could use comfort.

“Okay,” Henrik admits, sighing and flopping down onto his pillows. “Yes, alright, you can sleep in here. Come lay down and let’s get some sleep.”

The bed is warm. There are no bugs or bloodstains. During the night, nothing bites him or attacks him or crawls, unexpectedly, into bed beside him, dragging static-electric hands along his flesh or kissing at the side of his throat, whispering promises of torture for later if he doesn't behave –

The nice thing about his panic attacks – Chase has been trying to teach him about having a positive mentality – is that they are silent and stiffer than a frozen tree, so he doesn't wake Henrik up four times a night like he would otherwise.

He thinks about Anti often, about all the things he should have done so that his big brother wouldn't have had to throw him out. His brain has also begun to play a cruel trick on him where suddenly the warm memories he had with Anti become sinister.

Do you remember the time he gave you your knives? You were so happy. (He also threw you down the stairs once for missing the target twice in a row, and your head split open and you bled and bled and bled.)

Do you remember the time you were so hungry you could not rise from your bed, and then he brought you – oh, they were so tasty – real donuts covered completely in sugar? You wept for joy. (The only reason you were starving in the first place was because he thought it was funny. He could have brought food for you anytime.)

Do you recall Christmas, when he brought you your blanket? You loved that thing. Slept with it every night and dragged it around after you everywhere you went. He called you his baby and you smiled. (That thing was filthy and disgusting and I hate being treated like a child, I just played along because it made him smile, and anyway Chase and Henrik have a dozen blankets a hundred times better than that one, my only fucking comfort in that god-awful – oh, oh, what am I thinking?)

He is scared that he will no longer want Anti if he stays here.

And that is the worst thought of all.

The thought that maybe – just maybe – Anti didn't actually – Anti wasn't actually –

No, no, no, no. He can't admit it. Can't even think it.

Because if Anti never really loved him, what was he doing all these months?

Anti loved him. He knows that. He's sure. It was all worth it. It must have all been worth it. He cannot accept that his suffering was meaningless. Impossible. Unthinkable. Terrible.

He loves Anti. And this place? As wonderful as it is, it is not where he belongs.

He's afraid of what it will turn him into if he stays.

Sometimes he hears Jackie moving around downstairs. This noise alone is enough to make him tremble harder than before, and bury his face against Henrik's chest, wondering if the doctor is powerful enough to protect him from the hero, when the time comes for Jackie to kill him.

He's allowed outside whenever he feels like it.

He and Anti had to hide, so, at the old house, there were only certain times he was allowed outside, and only for so long, and anyway it was winter. But this?

This is spring and he is free in it.

He doesn't know where they are. All he knows is that it's as beautiful as the glimpses of stars he used to catch through his window.

They live in the midst of a grand forest, creaking with age, where trees stretch up to the sky like God has invited them to the best garden party ever and they're trying not to be late. The branches are full of hollering birds and budding leaves and there are these fat little chipmunks scurrying along the forest floor like a kid spilled a whole box of fluffy brown marbles, and the air is clean and good and warm and Jameson – Jameson –

Jameson is in love.

He walks through it often and his brothers don't even ask him where he's going or when he'll be back. They just let him wander. His favorite spot is a river, among the trees, where he likes to come and just stand, rolling up the jeans Chase gifted him and watching the water sighing past his feet, cool and clear. The rocks press against the pads of his feet.

Once, he saw a white cat, there on the bank of the river.

He got so excited he nearly slipped, and, anxious and delighted, he signed a shaky “hello!”

The cat looked at him with big, clever blue eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but it ran away.

He still hopes to find it, one of these days. He thinks Chase feeds it in the morning, but that feels like cheating, so he waits until the sun is high in the sky, and walks every day, watching, wandering, free.

He plans to escape by way of the forest.

He'll be sad to see it go. Maybe someday he can bring Anti back here, and they'll walk through the trees together, and no longer have to hide.

“Okay, like that – yep, turn a little!”

Jameson curves the remote.

“Yeah, yep! There, now you're in the right direction. Okay, hit – yeah, that button there – and you're off! Okay, watch for the ledge!”

He sees the ledge getting closer and closer, but can't turn in time. He watches with a disgruntled twitch of his mustache as Bowser Jr. plummets to his death once again, only to be resurrected by a flying turtle.

Chase is laughing. “It's okay,” he says. “It's okay. Want to try again?”

JJ straightens up, the frown melting away. Chase never gets angry with him for fucking it up. “Yes,” he nods quickly, lifting up his little remote again. He'll keep trying til he gets it right.

“Okay, turn, then button – there you go. Can you get around the hill? Curve it – good job, bud! I'll show you how to drift in a second. Watch out for the – oh!”

Baby Bowser successfully swerves his motorcycle out of the way and continues through Moo Moo Meadows.

“Good job!” cheers Chase.

JJ puts his remote down, laughing. His clock reads eleven o' clock in the morning. “You have to go to work,” he reminds Chase warmly.

“Damn, you're right! Guess I have to say goodbye.”

JJ grins wickedly, scooting forward. Chase watches with raised eyebrows, slowly beginning to get up from the couch.

Jameson tackles him back down, grabbing a pillow to slam it over his head, and Chase yelps out a laugh and grabs him around the waist, heaving him up and off him. “Help, help,” he cries, shoving Jameson halfway off the couch, so his head hangs over the edge. “A dork with a hipster mustache is attacking me again!”

Three days ago Chase had tried to go to work and Jameson had grabbed his hand and refused to let go, grinning mischievously as Chase struggled to get free. It was the most emotion he had shown Chase thus far, and he was so delighted that he tussled with him for a full hour and then stayed home from work.

Fuck videos. He's got a little brother now. And Jameson smiles easier every day.

“I love you,” mumbles Chase, leaning down to press their heads together.

“Asshole,” signs JJ, cheekily.

And then he presses his forehead against Chase and smiles, closing his eyes and pressing the word “love” against his brother's chest.

Chase smiles til his face hurts.

“What are you morons up to now?” asks Henrik, appearing at the top of the stairs with three used mugs hanging off his hands, only now being mercifully returned to the washing machine after days of neglect.

“I was trying to teach Jamie to play Mario Kart.”

“Ah, I hate that fucking game.”

“He only says that cause he's bad at it,” Chase whispers to Jameson.

“Aren't you late for work?” asks Henrik, washing his mugs off in the sink. Jameson rises and steps towards him, soaking in the sunlight wandering in through the glass-windowed door to the patio.

“I set my own schedule!” says Chase. “And by that schedule, yes, I'm late.” He lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. “I’m distractable lately! Jamie, toss me my shoes? Good throw – got it! – oh, shit – ah, barely caught that one!”

“Stop throwing shoes!” Henrik snaps, turning to glare at his giggling brothers.

“Bye, guys!” calls Chase, clutching the door handle. He leans his head towards it for a second, closing his eyes, and then steps through.

Weird. That door's always locked when JJ tries it. Shrugging it off and tidying his mussed hair carefully, Jamie moves towards Henrik and sets his chin on his brother's shoulder, watching him rinse out the cups, still stained with coffee at the bottom.

“How are you doing today?” asks Henrik. He moves the mug in his hand and the water splashes up towards them, getting water in Jameson's face.

Jamie shoves his shoulder playfully and falls back, shaking his head at Henrik's laughter. He comes closer again and takes a coffee-free mug from his brother, turning to set it in the washing machine.

“Actually,” he admits. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

“Don't keep me in suspense.” Henrik hands him a second mug and picks the third one up in his hand, turning to look at him as he signs.

Jameson puts the mug in the washer. “When are we going back to Anti?”

Henrik drops the mug.

Flinching hard at the awful shattering of the glass, Jameson backs away.

The whiteness of Henrik's face only makes him flinch harder, cowering, a long-conditioned fear waking up in his stomach, making his heart pound a harsh reprimand against the inside of his ribs. He is terrified, suddenly, of the old stories Anti told him about all the things he would do if the others were his puppets, how he would bring his prisoners to the doctor and make him name each one of their bones as they shattered, keeping them alive for weeks after Anti had made them beg to die, and Jameson sees Henrik before him as he was in that cold basement only two weeks ago, covered in blood and subject, completely, to Anti's will, and terror burns at the back of his throat like whiskey.

“Get the broom,” whispers Henrik.

“What?” signs Jameson, and then he panics, realizing he's questioned an order, he didn't mean to, it just happened, he reaches up a hasty first to circle a “sorry!” around his heart –

Henrik reaches out and grabs his hands. “Just go get the broom,” he rasps, closing his eyes.

Jameson dashes towards the laundry room. He brings the broom back right away, but in the seconds he was gone, Henrik has collapsed in on himself. His hands, stiff on the kitchen counter, are keeping him standing, but his face is so pale Jameson drops the broom and reaches forward to hold his shoulders, anticipating a fall.

Henrik grabs his shoulders in return, looking up at him with exhausted eyes as blue as the ocean where the light hits the water. “Why would you ask that?” he asks.

Tears fill and overflow and come running down his face.

“I thought,” he whispers, trembling, holding onto his little brother as tightly as he can without hurting. “I thought you were happy here. Or becoming, anyway. I thought you wanted to be our brother.”

“I do, I do!” Jameson resists the urge to tear at his hair, panic rising like a bonfire in his stomach. “Don't be upset with me, please! I just thought we would go back to Anti together! You and Chase and I could all be together still. We could all go back!”

“Go back to Anti together,” Henrik repeats.

He is no longer whispering. He shouts.

“Go back to my torturer? Go back to your torturer? And bring Chase Brody? Bring my fucking little brother? Bring my friend?”

“No, no, no.” Jameson shakes his head so fast it hurts. “Not back to a torturer, he wouldn't torture us if we came willingly!”

Henrik shoves him away, gasping on the despair in his throat, and Jameson falls back like he's been struck, covering his face with his hands and collapsing to the floor, huddling back against the patio door, crying so hard he can barely breathe.

“Oh, God, why?” pants Henrik. He wants to turn away, he's scared of what he'll do if he looks at him, but it's not fair to turn away from his signing. “Oh, God. You don't – you don't understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” Jameson protests, trying frantically to wipe the tears off his place. “I understand that being in this place has already made you forget who we belong to.”

Henrik screams aloud, slamming his fist against the counter.

“How can you say that!” he howls. “After all he put you through! I thought you were happy here! I don't understand! How can you say that!”

“What the fuck is happening?” a voice interrupts them, and Jameson stiffens like a rabbit that just heard a gun go off.

Jackie stands in the entryway, eyes wide.

Eyes angry.

“Henrik, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” fumbles Henrik, barely able to speak. He is stumbling away from Jameson, his eyes flickering desperately from wall to wall. “Nothing, it's not his fault, he doesn't know, it's not my fault, I didn't know, I was just trying to be his, I just didn't want to get hurt, I was just trying to survive and he told me I was his but I don't believe him I don't believe him I don't believe him – ”

Jackie moves forward to grab him as he falters, gripping his hands firmly and leading him back towards the couch as his brother unravels, drowning in his own terror.

He doesn't even look at Jameson.

Stiff and silent, shaking in the corner, alone.

His scarred right hand rests on the handle of the patio door.

Henrik will not come with him. He understands now. His brother has been through too much. The bad blood between him and Anti can't be settled. Jameson will go without him.

And Chase, too, he must leave behind. It was selfish, thinking he could bring him. Anti always talked about slaughtering him like a pig. Chase is too far gone, too loyal to Mr. Jack, his old friend, sleeping sound. Yes, Jameson must go without them.

It will break his heart, but he must go without them.

He’s trying to work up the nerve.

Anti didn't love you, says one part of his brain.

This part of his brain has told him this since he was perhaps two days old. He has ignored it every time. Repressed it. Swallowed it down. Told it to shut the fuck up and wondered if he could cut it out of the side of his head before Anti sensed his disloyalty.

But that night, beside a forgiving, bone-weary Henrik, with Chase across the hallway, both sound asleep, both watching over him –

For the first time in his life, the rest of him answers that part of his brain: I know.

But I must go back anyway.

I don't deserve this.

To be clean and fed and free and happy.

To be loved.

I don't deserve them.

He wants them. Wants all of it. Wants to be theirs and his own, but never again Anti's. He wants it so much it makes his heart hurt and his hands shake and his eyelids have to squeeze tight together to stop tears from falling.

He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it.

He begins to plan his escape.

#jameson jackson #chase brody #jse egos #writersofjack #tw self hatred #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #food tw #thought about titling this 'this chapter doesn't deserve a title'#and also 'god answered my prayers and i told him to fuck off'#but i decided against them lol #bee writes #hey thank you so much to all of you who give me comments they make me so happy #i think about things you've said as i write #it gives me comfort you know???#anyway ty ly :)#tw aggressive reaction

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