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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years ago

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Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

Everyone who had watched his poor attempt at a waltz at the Yule Ball knew it had been an embarrassing disaster, and a blessing when he had stopped – merely for Parvati Patil’s feet.

Everyone who had watched knew that Harry Potter had never before set foot on a dancefloor. And you had watched. You had watched with great interest because secretly, you had wished for him to ask you to the ball. But when there had been only two weeks left and Dean Thomas had asked you after Transfiguration class, you had said yes.

There you were, sitting with Dean beside Seamus and Lavender as well as Ron and his date Padma, your eyes glued to the raven-haired boy getting terribly out of step. You watched, of course, under the pretence that you found it disgracefully hilarious.

Harry had never thought about asking you to the Yule Ball, if he was quite honest with himself. He had been after Cho, and he waited way too long to ask her, so she was already going with Cedric. And you had a date with Dean.

As good as Harry was with fighting the dark and the evil, as bad was he with social interactions. He had no problem producing a Patronus, but he was absolutely useless when it came to talking to girls.

You were the opposite.

Yes, the boggart may had made you faint in front of your whole class, but on the other hand, talking seemed like the easiest task in the world. Whether it was a chat with a teacher or speaking to strangers, though you did not thrive off of that.

There was one other thing that made you stand out to the other girls (and boys) in your year: You knew how to dance, from a simple disco fox to a more complicated waltz.

So, when Professor Slughorn announced a Spring ball for the students in sixth and seventh year, Harry knew you were his only chance if he did not want to make a fool out of himself again. He asked you (after a whole week of practicing in front of the mirror), with heated cheeks and a fast-beating heart, if you could teach him how to dance.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by this request, but agreed, nonetheless.

Friday evenings, eight to nine o’clock, were now reserved for your weekly dance lessons.

Looking at Harry’s history, it should be no big deal to dance with a girl when you had already come across the most dangerous things existing in the wizarding world. He should not be nervous; what was the girl teaching you how to dance against gigantic spiders who saw you as their dessert?

Well, everything.

The thing was, Harry could prepare spells and charms, he knew what he had to do when he was faced with a Dementor or a Boggart. His mind, however, went completely blank when it came to you, like his nerves were on fire. To say he was nervous was an underestimation.

Harry ran his hand through the mess of black locks in a rather useless attempt to flatten them. They jumped back up immediately as he let go, pointing in every direction but the one he wanted them to. Stupid genes.

Sometimes he wished he had inherited his mother’s hair. It would have been fun to be mistaken as a Weasley and he could pretend he and Ron were actually brothers.

To keep his hands busy, Harry smoothened the plaid shirt he had thrown on before darting another glance at the clock over the door of the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. 8:01 o’clock.

His fingers drummed against the wooden desk he was leaning on to release his excited tension, which only worked until the door opened, and he jumped up into a straight position.

You stepped inside, a vinyl clammed under your arm and an apologizing smile on your lips.

“Sorry I’m late, Snape held me off,” You said, placing your bag on the table Harry had leaned on previously.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Uh, are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. I mean Snape just almost failed my assignment, but I found a new song to dance to, and I’m pretty sure you’ll like it,” You said as you rushed over to the old vinyl player in the corner and unwrapped the black record.

Harry followed your every movement. You could feel his eyes on you and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“It’s a bit slower than the other one, so it will be easier for you to follow,” You added and pulled the vinyl out, stroking a streak of Y/H/C hair behind your ear, your back still facing him.

When the record was placed correctly into the player, you turned back around and led Harry by the hand to the middle of the classroom. This simple touch alone made Harry’s head spin, and it did not help when you placed his hand onto your waist.

“Are you ready?” You asked and he nodded. “Good, follow my lead.”

There was nothing but admirable beauty, the way you moved to the soft piano music filling the room, Harry thought, and he hated himself for not realising sooner. You were like a sunset, and he was afraid to look right at you because what if you saw all the feelings swelling in his heart that dared to overspill at any moment.

You had been right, he adored the music you had brought with you, but he adored you even more.

You thought he looked at his feet because he was afraid to mess up the steps.

“Hey,” You said softly, taking the hand from his shoulder to lift his chin. “Eyes up.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

A sheepish smile spread over his face and your heart beat hectically against your rip cage as his emerald green eyes met yours.

It took Harry a great deal of strength to not break out of the dance routine he had so intensely studied and kiss you. But your hand slipped away from under his chin back to his shoulder and the moment was lost, like so many others.

Staying professional was not so simple for you either, as much as you liked to deny it. You liked Harry, more than friends should like each other, but who could blame you? Harry was very handsome, with his messy hair and those green eyes, he was sweet and caring, and he was dancing with you in an abandoned classroom, his hand on your waist.

Looking at it from this angle, there seemed to be no reason as to why you were so careful to deny your feelings.

Well, there was one problem: You thought he wanted to ask Cho to the ball to make up for the Yule Ball.

Harry was pretty oblivious when it came to love. Neither had he thought about you as more than friends before sixth year, nor had he realised that the feelings he had felt for Cho two years ago were similar to the ones he had for you now, though they were much more intense.

The worst part was that you two had been friends for three year and since then, you had spent a week of every summer holiday at the Burrow. Harry knew you; he knew that you liked his crappy jokes and his sarcastic comments, but never before had his stomach tingled when you laughed at them. Never before had there been goose bumps all over his skin when you hugged him. And to hell, never before had he acknowledged how goddamn beautiful you were.

“You’re getting really good.” You ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

It would be brilliant if he could dance without thinking about it all the time, fearing he could step on your feet.

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

“Well, I- I suppose I have a good teacher.”

The piano music faded out and you stopped in the middle of the room, slipping your hand out of his. It was a good excuse to turn around and start the vinyl again, so you did not have to answer anything.

Harry stood there for a second, gulping and scratching his neck. He should not have said that.

What he had said flattered you, but it was only a knife dressed like compliment, stroking over your heart to stab you right after. All of this was amicable, temporary, fickle. All of this was for Cho.

You sat the needle back on the record.

“What’s it called? The song, I mean,” Harry asked quietly.

“‘Il Reste du Temps’. The rest of time.” You walked back up to him and took his hand, leading you two into the dance. With his hand on your lower back, he pulled you a bit closer than last time.

“So, there are only two weeks left. You have asked Cho by now, I suppose?” You asked to remind your thoughts of reality.

Harry narrowed his eyebrows, not sure how you had come to the conclusion he still liked Cho. She was great, for sure, but she wasn’t you.

“Oh. Uh, not really, no,” He answered. Your heart jumped.

“Well, you should hurry up. You don’t wanna wait until last minute like last time.”

“I- yeah, I mean, I don’t- I don’t want to go with Cho.”

You stepped forward even though you were supposed to draw back and stomp on his left foot. His hand around yours clenched for a second at the sudden pain.

“Shit. Sorry.” You quickly brought you two back into the right footstep order. “You’re not asking Cho?”

“No. I wanna- No.” Harry stopped himself from talking any further. He couldn’t ask you. He just couldn’t.

“Well, who do you wanna ask?” You said.

Maybe it was Ginny. She was gorgeous, phenomenal at Quidditch and in the Slugclub. Nothing you could say about yourself.

Harry opened his mouth and stammered. “It’s, uh, you know…some…girl.”

Oh yes, great save, Harry, congratulations, He thought to himself, couldn’t be any vaguer, could you? For Merlin’s sake, look at her, she is completely confused.

You were pretty even when you were confused, with your eyebrows drawn together over your eyes curiously inspecting him – Stop.

“Ah, okay. The lucky girl’s a secret,” You said, laughing lightly. It was definitely Ginny.

“No, I mean, she’s –”

“It’s not my concern who you’ll ask, Harry,” You interrupted to calm him down. “As long as you ask her.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that. You really saw them just as friends.

The two of you danced for a while and Harry tried to memorise every golden speck in your dark eyes, every freckle, every curve, just so he could imagine you instead of the person he would dance with in a fortnight. If he would even go. Because what point was there to go to a ball if the one person he wanted to dance with more than anything else would not be there with him?

You tried to enjoy the closeness while it lasted. But the voices crowding your mind all shouted that he would never see you the way you saw him. That his face would never be so close ever again. That his hands would never rest on your body the way they did now, and never with any other intention than for the sake of learning how to dance, learning how to impress Ginny or whoever he would ask.

“Have you – have you asked anyone yet? To go to the ball with you?” Harry disrupted your thoughts and pulled you back into reality.

“No. I don’t even know if I’ll go,” You said and Harry’s heart dropped. “I mean, I’ll come to watch you dance, that’s for sure.”

Now his heart was way up in his throat, beating like hell. He swallowed and forced himself to answer. “No pressure then.”

You grinned at his comment. “Oh please, you can dance better than most of sixth and seventh year combined by now. You remember the spin I showed you last time?”

Harry nodded. He lifted his left arm and put a little pressure on your waist. You performed a small twirl before he caught you again, hand on your side. He smiled proudly.

“Really good.” The music stopped and you looked at the clock on the wall behind Harry. 8:57 o’clock. “I guess that’s it for today.”

Harry smiled sadly but you thought it was just your mind, playing you a trick. You packed the record back into the cover while Harry shouldered his back bag, handing yours to you. Then he held the door open for you, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

Harry had already pulled out the Marauders Map to check if the way back to the Gryffindor tower was clear. You weren’t technically allowed out after nine p.m. because of the new safety measurements, but it was part of the charm.

“Filch’s down on the first floor and Snape’s in his office,” Harry informed you.

“Okay.” You nodded.

Quietly and side by side, you two walked back to the Gryffindor tower. There was plenty of silence to break, plenty of time to ask you to the ball, Harry thought. But he was too afraid.

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

“Bloody hell, you spent every Friday evening with her! Half of our year thinks you’re secretly doing it in that classroom.”

For that, Ron earned a jab into his ribs. The two made their way through the masses of students down the last staircase to the Great Hall.

“Ow! It’s not my fault, you can’t open your mouth.”

“Oh, I can’t open my mouth? Have you asked Hermione yet?”

Harry was sure this would shut Ron up, but he was wrong.

“I asked her six weeks ago and she said yes, mate.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, stunned. “Wot?”

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

Ron shook his head, walking to breakfast. Harry needed a few seconds before he could move again, then he caught up with his best friend. He was about to say something back when Ron’s sister Ginny interrupted them, wrapping her arms around both of Harry and Ron’s shoulders.

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was covered in a pale blue and yellow, the upcoming sun shining golden through the high windows.

“So.” Hermione poured both of you a glass of pumpkin juice. “How was it yesterday?”

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

She sighed as if her question was rather obvious. “The dance lesson with Harry?”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

“So, nothing happened? Nothing you want to tell me?” She asked further.

You eyed her suspiciously, but she kept an innocent face expression.

“It’s not like we could do much besides dancing.”

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

“Believe me, there is a lot you could do in that hour besides dancing,” Parvati said.

“God, no! Have you met Harry?” Lavender said bemusedly. “Like he's the type to have secret sex.”

“Still waters run deep,” Parvati replied, a smug grin on her lips. “Don't they, Y/N?”

Hermione crunched her nose at the suggestive tone as you narrowed your eyes at the two girls, shaking your head.

“Yes, keep making fun of my non-existing love life.”

You grabbed the strawberry marmalade, determined to ignore any topic concerning Harry. While you had lain awake last night, you had decided to bury your feelings for him all together and get over it. This would be easier once your dance lessons came to an end and the ball was done.

“Well, it does exist for everyone else,” Lavender interposed.

“And it would exist for you, too, if you would finally do something,” Hermione said, leaning forward.

“What?” You asked. “I mean, yeah, I like him, but he is definitely not into me like that. And I can't force him to be.”

Hermione groaned, and Parvati rummaged through her bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and making some space on the table.

“Okay, let’s see,” She began, “He asked you to teach him to dance. Big step for him, you know that. He always stares at you during Quidditch instead of the Snitch. Wood would've killed him by now. He always sits beside you. He definitely smelled you in Amortentia, regarding how he looked at you during that class. And since then, he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He –”

“He does not,” You said, grabbing her wrist to stop her from writing any further.

“Yeah, he does,” Lavender argued. “Look!”

You turned to spot Harry alongside Ron and his sister Ginny coming through the doorway, and for one second, your eyes met. Then Ginny said something, and Harry looked at her, laughing.

You sighed and stuffed the rest of your toast down your throat to get rid of the sour feeling twirling and burning in your stomach.

“Well, Ginny’s pretty funny,” Hermione tried.

“Yeah, she’s funny and pretty and she likes everything he likes.”

“None of that matters because he fell in love with you and not Ginny,” Lavender said, smiling brightly.

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

Parvati waved the parchment through the air, and you snatched it out of her hand, drowning it in the pumpkin juice before anyone could read it. Hermione curled her lip as she watched the paper soaking up the orange liquid, sinking to the ground of the jug.

In the same moment, Harry, Ron and Ginny reached your table, and to your surprise, Harry really did sit down beside you, your knees touching shortly while he climbed over the bench. The sudden touch sent sparks through your body and filled you with a comfortable warm which was quickly extinguished by Ginny sitting down next to Harry.

You didn’t want to be jealous.

There was no need to compare yourself to Ginny, you were two completely different people. But hearing her talk about Quidditch to the guys and seeing her flicking her beautiful hair over her slim shoulder made it so obvious how perfect for Harry she was. You couldn’t compete with that, in fact, you didn’t even want to compete with that.

No, you would get over your feelings and maybe ask someone else to spend the next Hogsmeade weekend with you. Those evenings with Harry, those moments too good to be true would stay somewhere deep down in your heart, locked away from the real world.

The weekend left as fast as it had come, and soon enough Harry and you both found yourselves in your day-to-day school life, studying for an upcoming Charms test and writing essays for Snape and McGonagall.

There wasn’t much time to think about each other, yet Harry managed to glance up from his homework a few times to stare at you opposite from him, snuggled into an armchair while flicking through a book. He noticed that you captured your tongue between your lips or mouthed single words to yourself whenever you were so deeply sunken into thoughts that you forgot the many people around you.

The latter found Harry very impressive because he was never that relaxed if more than three people were with him. Your lips on the other hand found Harry... well, much more interesting than his homework was the least to say.

Every day he woke up thinking that today, he would ask you. But whenever he came close to ask, he changed the topic or was distracted by friends and classmates.

Even Ron had given up with his jokes by now, which was a very bad sign and a nonverbal way to say, Man, you fucked up.

–

You had decided to make the last of your dance lessons a memorable one. An hour of pretending, of being close to someone you know you would never be this close to ever again.

Therefore, you had asked your older sister to send some of your favourite records from home, which you were now sorting through in the abandoned classroom. It was ten minutes to eight and you were sipping a butterbeer to cool your nerves. All those times before you had been as calm as ever, but today you were on the edge.

The door opened and you turned to find Harry in the doorway, hair messy as ever.

“Hi,” He said and the corners of his lips jumped up into a lopsided smile.

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, you could,” You mumbled, pushing the needle of the record player down onto the vinyl.

Classic music filled the air and you walked over to Harry to lead him to the middle of the room after he had dropped his back bag to the floor. With the high heels on your feet, you were almost eye to eye, your nose at the height of his lips.

For a wonder, he did not need your instruction to place his hand on your waist and pulled you much closer than usual.

Harry felt his heart beating in his throat. Being this close to you was galvanic, every nerve was burning, and then again, for the first time in two months, he was able to close his eyes and let himself sink in, to melt with the music, to feel the tact pulsating through his whole body. It was what you had tried to teach him all along.

And yet his tongue was tied. He just had to ask. Would you like to go to the ball with me? One simple question. You had told him yourself to not wait until last-minute to ask, and now with every minute, every hour, every day passing it felt more ridiculous. He had known that he wanted to ask you and only you to the ball, but every time he thought about forming the question, his mouth failed him.

Your eyes lay calmly on him, tapping his shoulder in time to the music while secretly trying to remember every little detail of his face: His prominent eyebrows curved over his emerald green eyes, his flushed cheeks and the dimples created by his light smile lying on his lips.

Harry had become, for lack of a better word, quite fantastic at slow dancing. There was confidence in the way he moved through the room and held onto you, mingled with a certain elegance and appreciation of the art he was participating in. A good teacher, he had called you. Well, regarding slow dances, yes.

But there was one other thing he had yet to learn.

“You’re really good, you know that?” You said, and his smile brightened.

“Yeah? Or are you just saying that because it’s my last lesson?” He asked.

“No, I mean it. You know, I wrote my sister last week and she send some of my vinyl discs from home,” You told him as the music slowly faded out and let your hand slip from his shoulder and hand to turn to the record player, not noticing how his fingers lingered a moment longer on your waist.

Harry watched how you sorted through the discs, not able to make use of their names in any way. The only record he had come across before those dance lessons had been one by a singer named Bonnie Tyler, who Aunt Petunia secretly listened to on repeat during the summer when Uncle Vernon went grocery shopping or mowed the lawn.

Harry wasn’t a big fan, which was pretty much the only thing he had in common with his cousin Dudley.

“Here. To dancing and a nice Spring ball.” Harry snapped out of his thoughts. You held out a bottle of butterbeer, which he took and snapped its bottle top off, regarding for a moment to say something along the lines like To you, for teaching me how to dance or To us, but that seemed a bit too much.

Therefore, he went with a simple “Cheers” and touched glasses with you.

While he took a big sip in hopes it would make him braver, you decided on a turquoise and pink coloured disc with a man dancing on the front, the words Footloose in ornate writing covering its front. He couldn’t help but notice the grin you tried to hide, as if knowing something he didn’t.

“What’s that?” He asked, leaning against the table beside you and putting his beer aside.

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

You placed the needle onto the record. Drums began to play a fast rhythm, mixed with an electric guitar, and you slipped off your high heels, now only in tights. Harry watched with fearful curiosity how you snapped your fingers in time, bopping your head with closed eyes to internalise the music.

Every movement of your feet, your hips, your shoulders was nonchalant, effortless and... well, simply cool.

“Come on!” You said loudly over the music, waving Harry closer.

“No, no, that’s –” He shook his head, heat flushing his cheeks, and crossed his arms.

“Yes!”

You danced up to him, grabbing him by his hands and pulling him to the middle of the room.

Harry had improvised a lot when it came to fighting evil. His whole trip to the ministry had been decided because of his gut instinct, because he had thought he knew what he was doing. Well, that was probably a bar example. He had made everything worse back then.

But everything he had done to fight off the hundreds of Dementors at the Great Lake, or the creatures in the maze two years ago, or Voldemort at the graveyard, every single thing had been purely and spontaneously improvised.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he was that good at improvising dance moves, but you had other plans.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” You said as his fingers clenched around your hands, unable to let go, like a man clinging onto a life buoy in the middle of the ocean.

And Harry wanted to say back that of course he trusted you, more than he probably knew himself, but all that came out was a “Yeah” which sounded more like a laugh than an actual word because of the grin stretched across his lips.

“Just dance the way you dance when no one’s watching,” You said.

“I don’t – I don’t do that,” He admitted, feeling how his cheeks burned under the unbelieving look coming from you.

“Okay, then close your eyes and just – just do it. Here, I’ll do it, too!”

You closed your eyes, smiling brightly, and slipped your fingers out of his, twirling on the spot like you usually only did behind closed doors, and clapping your hands in time with the music.

Harry couldn’t rip his gaze off of you, the way your body moved without any shame, your ridiculous head banging while acting like you play the guitar – air guitar, that’s what it was called, he had seen Dudley and his friends doing it, but never with so much... passion?

You were quite passionate about dancing, much more passionate than you were about school or Quidditch, and it fascinated him. How you could let loose, could forget what everyone thought of you, and he wanted to feel it too, wanted to not think that everyone was judging him.

So, Harry closed his eyes, concentrated on the beat of the music and your hands clapping, and then he did what you had been doing: Moving his arms, his legs, his feet, all a bit offbeat, all much less cool than what you did, but it had the effect he had wished for.

He forgot. Forgot about everything going on, everything in the past, everything that would come. It was like the music had deleted Voldemort from his mind. There was only his body and those absurdly freeing dance moves he would have been ashamed off any other time.

But not with you.

“Hey, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, look at you!” You shouted over the music, and Harry ripped his eyes open in the same moment as you grab his hands again. He slowed his legs.

“You said you wouldn’t look,” He said breathlessly, very aware of his fast-beating heart.

But if he was honest, he did not mind that you had seen him. If he could choose any of his friends to watch him dance like this, it would definitely be you.

“I had to, I’m sorry!” You laughed, and the song came to an end. “Oh, I have something even better, you’ll like that!”

You hit him friendly in the chest and rushed over to your pile of vinyl discs, wrapping the Footloose back up and pulling out another one from a white and pink packaging with two people on the front.

Harry would’ve never believed that dance lessons would be more exhausting than Quidditch training, but he had soon been disabused. He took a huge sip from his bottle of butterbeer and watched how you placed the needle on the disc before reaching for your own bottle.

“‘You broke my heart – ‘cause I couldn't dance – you didn’t even want me around!’” You were mouthing along the words the singer was speaking in an overdramatic seriousness, holding your bottle like a microphone. Harry was grinning at you, afraid of what would come next. “‘And now I'm back – to let you know – I can really shake 'em down!’”

The music dropped in, and you shook your hips, hands on your black skirt.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dirty Dancing,” You dared as Harry stayed at his spot, and he shrugged helplessly.

You shook your head at him with a smile on your lips, placed your bottle away and pulled him away from the table until you two were almost as close as in your usual dance lessons.

“Okay, like this.” You grabbed him gently by the waist and pushed him a bit down so his legs were slightly bent. Harry’s heart jumped at the unexpected touch. “Good, yeah, look at what I’m doing.”

Your grip became firmer, circularly moving his hips like you did. His eyes jumped up between your face and your waist, and he tried his best to copy your movements while calming his heart speed down.

“Yes, good! Now, your upper body, look at me – yeah! Good, eyes up,” You reminded him, and he glanced at your face, his cheeks flushed.

“Is that okay?” You asked, stepping closer so your hips almost touch, and he nodded. You took his hand, placed it on your lower back, and wrapped your own arms around his neck, just like Johnny and Baby had done it in the beginning of Dirty Dancing.

“That’s good!” You encouraged him, and he grinned at you, his face bright red. “You know, in the movie, they have another dance with a lift.”

“You’re not gonna make me do that, are you?” He asked.

You shook your head, laughing. “No, definitely not without training and a mattress,” You said, slowing your hip movements. “Maybe after the ball. I mean –”

The words had just slipped out of your mouth without thinking about them before. But Harry smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his forehead, while I’ve Had The Time Of My Life began to play, and Bill Medley’s voice filled the room.

Harry felt like he was on fire. If you wanted to continue the dance lessons next year it must be because you liked him. In some way, you liked him, and it was very hard for him to concentrate during this dance. And training on a mattress would not make that easier – Stop it, stop it, just answer!

“Yeah, okay,” He said, and your heart jumped up in excitement. You smiled back at him and grabbed his free hand with yours, leading you back into a simple dance routine fitting the music. Harry followed almost effortlessly, only shortly glancing at his feet.

“I’ll have to demand payment if we keep doing this.”

“What kind of payment?”

His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer, you were almost chest to chest. Was he... flirting with you?

Whatever it was, it made you speechless, and in a moment of incautiousness, your eyes fell down to his lips. You held your breath for a second as you looked back up into his eyes, slowing your movements. He returned your gaze, but just as you were about to gather all your courage, his eyes shifted to the door of the classroom, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“What?” You asked, turning around.

“Filch,” He said and not far down the hall, you heard the meowing of Mrs. Norris.

Panic flared up inside of you as you saw the clock on the wall: Half past nine.

“Argh, fuck.”

You let go off him and rushed over to the table with the record play on top, shoving your vinyl discs into your schoolbag and collecting your high heels in a hurry.

Outside in the hallway, the scratchy voice of Filch mixed with the clicking of his cat’s claws on the stone tiles. Harry had grabbed his bag from the floor and fished out his Invisibility Cloak. As you turned around, he had reached you and enveloped you two in the cloak, standing almost as close to you as a few seconds ago.

“Have you found someone, Mrs. Norris?” Filch’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Is someone out of bed at night?”

“We have to get out,” You whispered, not very keen on getting detention any time soon.

“If we open the door now, he’ll know someone disguised is there,” Harry answered.

“How often have you snuck out of bed at night?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a lopsided smile.

“Enough times to know what to do.”

The scratching on the classroom door reminded Harry that, despite the fact that they were invisible, it was still pretty obvious that someone had been in here. Harry flicked his wand at the ceiling light right in time – the candles went out and the two of you were coated in darkness just before Filch pushed the door open and the light from his lantern fell onto the stone floor. You held your breath, hoping he would leave again.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Norris’ red eyes scanned the room and the greyish cat walked up to you as if she could actually see you. Instinctively, you wanted to move backwards, but Harry’s arm wrapped around you, holding you in place. You looked up to him and he slowly shook his head.

Mrs. Norris eyed you for a few more seconds before she suddenly jumped onto the table behind you, walking up to the two almost emptied butterbeer bottles and bumping her head against them.

“Oh no.” Your voice was no more than a whisper. “I didn’t –”

Harry placed his hand over your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

Filch had turned away from the other side of the room he had inspected and was now walking over to his cat. With his arm around your mid, Harry pulled you two quietly away from the table he was now inspecting. You weren’t entirely sure whether it was the panic of escaping Filch or Harry’s chest pressed against your back, but the butterflies in your stomach were jittery as though they were on drugs, and your heart beat unbelievably fast.

Harry felt your heartbeat. He felt the pulsating blood in your veins on your neck where his arm lay, reaching up to your mouth. You were barely breathing, and he figured it was because he was holding you like he was about to kidnap you.

“Run when we’re in the hallway,” He whispered, eyes steadily watching Filch, and removed his hand from your lips to grab your free hand. You nodded shortly. Fortunately, Filch had left the door open, and in one swift motion, Harry had steered you outside.

Fingers still interlocked with yours, he began to run, you by his side. And despite the fact that you two had almost been caught, despite that you had been interrupted when he had felt most confident, despite the ruined moment, he felt light and free and happy.

You were clutching your shoes, slithering over the cold tiles in your black tights, and Harry, looking at you, almost missed the last step of the stairs leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He held onto you as he staggered, and you giggled breathlessly, pulling him back up.

“That – stupid – fucking – cat. Can she see through your cloak?” You asked.

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

“Don’t know. I think, but I’m glad she can’t talk,” He said, and a grin spread over your lips, which he returned.

He caught your eyes, looking at you like before, like there was something he needed to say – the tingling feeling in your core got overwhelmed by heart-racing panic and because of some sour mix of uncertainty and fear, you slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, taking a few steps away from Harry.

Not a second later, he emerged as well, fighting to keep the smile on his face like his heart hadn't just sunk so deep he wasn't sure if it was even still connected to his veins.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Your voice was too loud, too squeaky to convince him. “Yeah, I – I'm sorry, it's just been a long week and I'm really tired. I'm gonna �� gonna go...”

You gestured to the portrait behind you, avoiding his eyes, and turned to escape the situation.

Harry stared at the spot where you had vanished into the common room, his fingers clenching around the fabric of his cloak before tossing it to the ground. It didn't give the satisfying sound he had wanted to make, so he sent a “Fuck!” after it.

“Young boy, that is not a very appropriate language, now, is it?”

His eyes flew up to the Fat Lady, who had apparently watched with great interest. “Besides, what are you doing that late out of bed? I mean I know it gets later on Fridays for the two of you but it's later than usual today –”

“Chinese Fireball.”

“I just don't know what you are doing during that hour. There are rumours, for sure –”

“I told you the password, now will you open the fucking portrait? Chinese Fireball.”

“Oh, fine.” She let the portrait swing forward. “I'll find out by myself... maybe visit some paintings down on fifth floor...”

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

He also ignored Ron calling after him from the sofa in front of the fireplace, as well as Hermione's questioning look and all the other people staring at him as he darted through the common room and up the stairs, slamming the door of his dorm shut behind him.

He ignored them because the only person he wanted to be seen with had just left him standing in the hallway and he wasn't even sure why.

The first time you saw each other again was three days later in Potions. You had ignored him on purpose, which you knew was obvious to him: Leaving the Great Hall whenever he stepped inside, sitting as far from him in the common room as possible, avoiding his eyes... that did not leave that much room for speculations.

You didn't want to hurt him, you really didn't, but you couldn't be friends any longer, especially not after last Friday. You weren't even sure what exactly had happened – had he really flirted with you or had that been your imagination? Probably the latter. He had asked someone else the ball after all. Right?

Parvati nudged you with her elbow, and you snapped out of your thoughts, noticing the hole in your parchment created by your quill. The two of you sat in the far back of Professor Slughorn’s class, who was in the middle of telling one of his anecdotes instead of teaching about Veritaserum.

“What’s going on?” She asked in a hushed voice. “You’ve been weird since Friday.”

Lavender, who sat in front of you, turned around. “Is it because of – you know?”

She gestured towards Harry in his usual place diagonally across from you. You sighed, placed your quill aside to rub your hands over your face and shrugged. You had also avoided any questions from your friends about Friday, mostly because you could not even answer them yourself.

“I thought he would ask you,” Lavender whispered while throwing a quick glance at Slughorn to make sure he was still occupied with his story. “Didn’t he?”

“No,” You mouthed. Parvati shook her head.

“Man, you’d think he had grown a set of balls after all. If it turns out he just used you to look good in front of Ginny, I swear to Merlin –”

“Well, that’s what it looks like, I mean, he had enough time to ask you,” Lavender said.

Before you could reply anything, Parvati had grabbed her wand and leaned forward. In the next second, the blue Jobberknoll feathers on Harry’s desk burst into flames with an ear-piercing noise.

Both Harry and Ron jumped up, startled from the sudden explosion, and Hermione let out a little shriek as one of the sparks got caught up in her locks. Snickering came from the Slytherin table, and Crabbe and Goyle were stupidly grinning.

“Was that you? Stupid tosspot, I’ll shove that feather up your –,” Ron swore loudly, fists high and ready to walk over to the Slytherins, who had gotten up as well and were throwing insults through the room.

“Calm down, m’boys, no need to get abusive.”

Slughorn stepped between the two fronts while both Harry and Hermione pulled Ron back down onto his chair. With a wave of Slughorn’s wand, the feathers stopped burning and were as good as new.

“Have you gone mental?” You asked during the turmoil. Parvati shrugged and innocently shoved her wand aside.

“You’re my friend and if he hurt you, he’ll get what he deserves –”

“He didn’t hurt me!” You whispered angrily. “I was the one who panicked, I ran away that evening because I was afraid of what he would say! Not Harry. I left him like the idiot I am even though he – he was super nice and said he wanted to learn more –”

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

“Talking to Ms. Patil, I noticed. Could you still answer my question?” Slughorn eyed you, and so were all the other students.

“Uh...yes... if you could repeat it? Sir.” You said, and once again snickering echoed through the classroom, the loudest coming from Pansy Parkinson.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Parvati reaching for her wand again, and you quickly pressed her hand down to the table, awkwardly smiling at Slughorn.

“I asked if you could tell me anything about the usage of Veritaserum in court,” He kindly repeated and you straightened your back, ignoring Hermione’s raised hand.

“Well, the potion is strictly banned by the British Ministry of Magic, therefore they don’t use it during interrogations and such, which is also because, like any other potion, it’s not infallible. But I read that in some Asian countries, the accused can choose if they want to take Veritaserum before they give testimony. Unfortunately, in some courts they give the accused failed Veritaserum in order to alter the given testimony fraudulently.”

You had never read about that, you were – ironically – making it up, but Slughorn didn’t seem to notice.

“Very well, that’ll be five points for Gryffindor,” He said. “That reminds me of –”

As Slughorn fell back into his old habit of telling personal stories during class, you sank back into your chair and stared at the chapped top of the desk for the rest of the lesson.

Only the bell ripped Slughorn out of his monologue, and over the rustling of chairs, he told the class to read the next chapter of Advanced Potion Making until Wednesday.

“Courtyard?” You asked Parvati as to where to spend your free lesson.

“Yeah, but I got a question about that graded essay from last week. Just go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” She answered and made her way to the front. Alongside with Lavender, you were one of the first to leave the Potions classroom.

“I wish I hadn’t picked Arithmancy,” Lavender complained.

“You can sleep longer on Thursdays, remember?” You said as you reached the entrance hall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Lavender began to climb up the stairs to the third floor, and you walked down the hallway. It was freezing cold outside, but the courtyard was beautiful during every time of the year, especially in the early mornings when the sun melted the iced-up grass and you could share a hot chocolate with your friends on one of the benches.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

You turned to spot none other than Theodore Nott running up to you, his Slytherin scarf loosely around his neck.

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

“Actually, yeah. I wanted to ask if you have a dance to spare at the Spring ball? I mean, I know you’re going with Potter, I just wanted one dance with someone professional –”

“I’m not going with Harry,” You blurted out. Theodore narrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked, a bemused smile on his lips.

You gulped and shook your head, crossing your arms. “I’m not going with... anyone.”

“Oh. Well, then,” His body relaxed visibly, and he raised his eyebrows, “do you wanna go with me?”

You opened your mouth, an agreement already on the tip of your tongue, but you knew that was just out of desperation and not because you actually wanted to go to the ball with Theodore.

“Hey, you know what, no pressure at all, okay?” He said, placing his hand on your shoulder casually. “I’ll be at the ball anyway, so if you want to dance then, I’m free.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Theodore. I’ll think about it.”

“You can call me Theo. Only if you want to, obviously.”

A grin crept upon your face. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll think about it.”

Whatever Harry had felt the two days prior, it was nothing compared to the sour feeling circulating in his stomach now, like some dragon-creature spitting fire and tearing at his entrails with sharp claws. Inside of him, everything was clenching and itching, but on the outside, he was numb.

Like his brain had been disconnected from his muscles, wherefore he was only able to stare at Theodore Nott and his stupid, complacent grin and his hand on your shoulder while he asked you to the ball.

This wasn’t fair. How come everyone else but him was able to do it, how come everybody else had managed to find a date, when – to be honest – he had been provided with one of the best initial situations? How come the only thing he was apparently fit for was getting himself into trouble and escaping death every goddamn year? Harry had kind of forgotten about all that was to come, all that Dumbledore had told him, and the memory Slughorn was still tending like dark secret simply because of you.

The worst thing wasn’t that Theodore Nott had just asked you to go to the Spring ball with him. No, the worst thing was that you had agreed.

The only thing that was left for him was to run, which he did now: Up to the Gryffindor tower, tossing his back bag into a corner and grabbing his Firebolt from under the bed, then back down to the Quidditch pitch in record time.

Flying was one of the most freeing activities known to Harry, especially in the cool, fresh morning air with no one else around. High above the frozen grass and the wooden stands, much higher than probably allowed without any teacher near by, Harry paused to watch the sun over the Forbidden Forest.

He wondered if you had ever flown before, if you knew how brilliant it was to hover a thousand feet above the ground, far away from all the problems. Far away from Ron asking what the bloody hell was wrong with him. Far away from Hermione telling him that it was his own fault for waiting so long but that you surely weren’t interested like that in that tosser Theodore (though she would probably word it much more formal).

Time was relative up here, Harry had noticed over the years, so he closed his eyes and shut the world out for a moment. Saturday was still light-years away anyway, so –

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

With his heart still beating way to fast and adrenalin pumping though his veins, he turned his broom around to find no one other that Luna standing inside commentary box and waving up to him. Oh well. So much for being alone.

He steered his Firebolt down to the blonde witch and landed beside her.

“What are you doing her, Luna?” He asked as climbed from his broomstick. “Don’t you have classes right now?”

“Oh, yes. But I saw that you are sad so I asked Professor Sprout if I could go because I’m not feeling very well,” She explained and sat down on one of the benches.

“You lied to a professor?”

“Oh, no,” She said, looking at him with her dreamy blue eyes. “I don’t feel well when my friends are sad.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that, so he simply sat down next to her. Luna had such a strange, but calm energy, like a pulsating, pink bubble inhibiting her, and if you were lucky, she let you inside this bubble and you could shut the world out for a moment.

“Harry, why are you sad?” Luna asked softly after a while.

“Because... because I like someone who doesn’t like me back,” He said.

Luna placed her hand upon his, and he saw that she had painted her fingernails in every colour of the rainbow. Though that was probably Ginny’s work.

“I think Y/N likes you very much,” She said. Harry scoffed.

“Not the way I like her,” He said. “She just agreed to go to the ball with Nott. I saw it. She looked happy. And when I wanted to ask her last week, she ran away.”

“You know, first I thought you wanted to go to the ball with somebody else,” She said. “I thought maybe you wanted to ask Cho again and wanted to prepare this time. And maybe Y/N thought so, too.”

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

“She did ask me if I was going to ask Cho,” He said, remembering one of the dance lessons.

“And did you tell her that you actually want to ask her?”

“No,” He admitted, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked... and now it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. You should still go to the ball, and then you should tell her,” Luna said.

“How? I can’t do it when we’re alone, I certainly can’t do it when there’s a hundred people around,” Harry said miserably.

“Well, then don’t.” Luna shrugged. “If you want her to be with Theodore –”

“I don’t want that,” He interrupted her. “Of course, I don’t.”

“Then go to the ball and tell her. I know you can do that.”

Saturday evening came around faster than you liked it to. Over the last four days, you had noticed Theodore’s eyes on you more than once during the meals or potions class, but it did not cause the tingling feeling in your stomach you would like his looks to cause.

If anything, you felt a pressure to talk to him and to spend time with him because you would go to the ball together. But you did not give in to that pressure and avoided him as much as possible, which led to you often leaving the potions classroom as one of the first.

To be honest, you were much more concentrated on Harry.

Harry who did not sit beside you during meals anymore. Harry who did not look in your direction but rather stared at his plate. Harry who looked like he had just lived through a very miserable week.

And you knew that was because you had left him standing in the hallway last Friday night. Maybe he had figured that you had feelings for him and that was his way of dealing with it: Distancing himself from you.

You wished you had not run. You wished you could’ve stayed in that abandoned classroom forever, your favourite song playing and his arms around you.

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up from where you sat on the floor in your puffy, ankle-long purple-pink dress. Parvati held out her eyeshadow palette, eyebrows raised as she sceptically eyed you. Her black hair was still wrapped around a dozen curlers. Lavender had spent all morning on them.

“Yes, the darker one,” You said. “Brings out your eyes.”

Thankfully, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough to not ask how you were doing. She and Lavender had already asked that over a million times, but you had reassured them that you were totally okay.

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

“When did you want to meet with Nott?” Lavender asked. She kneeled in front of her trunk, pondering whether she should wear black or silver heels.

“Half past seven,” You mumbled, picking at the tulle of your dress.

Theodore had held you back yesterday after Defence against the Dark Arts to tell you that he would be at the Great Hall at 7:30 and that you were welcome to eat dinner with him and his friends – which included people like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson; people you usually avoided by all means, people that had laughed at you for tripping over the last step of a stair, for not knowing an answer to one of Snape’s stupid questions, or for simply being Muggleborn.

You had never been less interested in going to a social event. All you wanted to do was lay in bed under your blanket and erase the last week out of your mind.

“Oh, come on, darling, we talked about this.” Lavender came over and squished your cheeks, brushing away a tear. “Today is not the day to sulk about some guy who doesn’t return your feelings. Today is your day, and you’re gonna have fun with us. Don’t let some guy ruin that. Okay?”

You sniffed and nodded, not able to answer because she cupped your cheeks so solidly. Lavender smiled and kissed your forehead.

“That’s right,” She said. “We’re gonna have some dinner and dance a bit and if by then you still feel bad, we can go back to our dorm.”

“And if Harry dares to talk to you, he’s gonna know what’s it feels like to be kicked in the balls with a heel,” Parvati added dryly. You laughed.

The Great Hall was decorated with yellow, pink and purple banners, and the four long house tables had been exchanged with much smaller, round ones scattered where the staff table usually stood, on each of them a vase filled with rosa tulips and white daffodils.

The ceiling did not mirror the night sky outside but a beautiful, orange sunset lighting up the dance floor in the middle. Opposite from the many tables, on the other end of the hall, Slughorn had organised a stage with a cover band. Next to the stage hung a long parchment onto which everyone could write requests.

You spotted your Potions teacher, dressed in a bright green suit, next to Dumbledore, his robes a terrible pink, both of them writing down their song requests.

“A Galleon that Dumbledore is a Spice Girls fan,” Lavender said grinning as she had followed your eyes.

“Bet,” Parvati said, grabbing three drinks from a passing waiter. “Here. Cheers.”

The three of you clinked glasses and took a sip of the red punch – it tasted strongly of various fruits, coconut, and bitter alcohol.

You let your eyes glide further over the hall and the people that sat together in groups around the tables, some of them already eating. Secretly, you were looking for Harry, though you only discovered Ginny in between Luna and Hermione, all of them chatting happily, and a few tables behind them, Theodore.

He waved as he saw you, gesturing to come over. You forced yourself to smile and wave back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” You said, chugging down the rest of your drink.

“Tell us if he’s being an asshole,” Parvati said. “Or really any of them.”

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

You took one last look at your friends – Parvati in her silk, almond white, slim dress, and Lavender with flowers in her hair, their arms linked together – and swallowed thickly before turning and making your way through the crowd towards Theodore, though you made sure to give the table with Ginny a wide berth.

“Hi, Y/N,” Theodore greeted you, pecking a swift kiss on your left cheek. His eyes, however, were gliding over the room filling with more and more students. “We’ve already ordered some drinks, come on.”

You took a step back after the kiss, blinking quickly, then noticed how the other people around the table were staring at you:

Pansy and Daphne eyed you and your dress dismissively, and Blaise sipped on his wine, eyebrows raised. Only Draco was slumped in his chair and chewed on a gum, not wasting a single glance at you. He looked as uninterested in this Spring Ball as you felt.

An hour ago, you sure as hell wouldn’t have believed to relate to bloody Draco Malfoy.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N,” You said, forcing a smile on your face and holding out your hand towards Pansy, as she sat closest to you. “I like your dress. Matches your earrings.”

That compliment seemed to leave a mark. Her judging look softened and she shook your hand.

After introducing yourself to everyone (well, except Draco, who had only shortly nodded at you), you sat down in between Theodore and Blaise, and ordered something to eat.

Pansy and Daphne were huddled together the whole time, giggling and pointing at others, while Draco raised a complaint about every meal on the menu or really any other small inconvenience that had the unfortune to be spotted by him (“I can’t eat that, it has tomatoes in it. Nothing on here is gluten free. I’ll write father first thing in the morning. Pansy, will you shut the fuck up for a second? That’s not even a real band. God, I hate this place.”).

“He’s a whiny bitch most of the time, but his family has a great holiday chalet in France,” Blaise said to you after Draco had shot you an annoyed look for asking if you should ask the band to play a different song. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be friends with him.”

“I hope you choke on that disgusting wine,” Draco muttered, and you chuckled.

“Sure, darling,” Blaise replied, sharing a look with you. Until now, Blaise had surprisingly talked the most with you, and it turned out he wasn’t half as bad as you had always thought he would be.

Theodore on the other hand had only occasionally asked you how your meal was and how long you had planned to stay. His eyes had not held contact with yours for longer than a second and were still searching for something in the crowd, which was – by the way – having fun on the dance floor while you had not moved in almost an hour.

It wasn’t until a particularly beautiful girl from Ravenclaw strode past your table that Theodore hooked his foot around the leg of your chair to pull you closer and placed his hand on your upper thigh, giving you his full attention for the first time that night.

“Have I told you that you look very pretty tonight?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Er – no,” You said, darting a confused look towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“Well, you do,” Theodore went on and turned your head back to face him by stroking his thumb over your cheek before pressing his lips onto the skin beneath your ear. They felt chapped and not pleasant in any way. You cringed.

“Uh, sorry, but that’s maybe a bit early, don’t you think?” You said, drawing back and shoving his hand from your thigh.

“She’s gone anyway, Theo,” Blaise said. You did not understand.

“Who’s gone?” You asked, looking back and forth between Theodore and the others, who all seemed to know something you didn’t. Pansy giggled.

“Nothing,” Theodore said. His sweet voice had turned bitter, and you felt like that was your fault. He stood up. “I’ll get some more punch.”

The band segued from an upbeat song into a much slower one, and the light of the candles magically dimmed.

“Do you want to dance maybe?” You asked Theodore as a way to make up for your rejection, but he had already pushed past a group of chatting seventh years, not turning around.

You sank back into your chair, picking at the tulle of your dress again. Was it too early to tell Lavender and Parvati that you wanted to go back to your dorm?

“Girl, if I were you, I would get out of here as quickly as possible,” Blaise said. You looked up at him. “He’s not worth it. And he’s not here for you. So don’t waste your energy.”

“But he asked me to the ball,” You said weakly.

“Did he? Or did he just ask for some time with you to make his ex-girlfriend jealous?”

“He – well – he…”

But Blaise looked at you and you knew that he was right, that this was never about you but some other girl. It was always about some other girl.

“Excuse me, I’ll get some fresh air,” You said and made your way through the tables towards the doors.

The last time, everyone had watched him. Now it was Harry’s turn to watch everyone else try their best on the dance floor. He wasn’t sure what was worse; to be laughed at by the others while stepping on Parvati’s feet every other second or to watch not only Hermione and Ron but also Ginny and Luna, as well as Seamus and Dean dancing closely, arms around the other.

They all had no idea what they were doing, Harry could tell, but they were having fun anyway. He had never seen Hermione this happy.

“Oh, flashback.”

Harry looked up. Parvati sat down next to him on the chair that Ron had left over half an hour ago.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, taking another sip of butterbeer, and turned back to the dance floor right in time to see Dean kissing Seamus passionately in the middle of the room.

“And you are not dancing because…?” Parvati asked. Harry crossed his arms.

“If you’re here to make fun of me or to blow up my butterbeer, feel free to fuck off.”

Parvati chuckled. “Sorry about that. But seriously, why are you sitting here miserably after all those dance lessons?”

Harry tried to make out if she was actually serious or if this was her way to revenge herself for the Yule Ball.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked. Parvati narrowed her eyebrows, now visibly puzzled.

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

“Well, it’s not that fucking easy to slow dance if you have no date, is it,” He said crossly.

Parvati gaped at him, but he was certainly not in the mood for this. It had cost him all his strength to not look for you in the crowd all evening, he did not need reminding of you not liking him back by Parvati.

Before she could say anything else, he placed his butterbeer bottle on the table and darted outside, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his suit and eyes directed to the floor.

Harry’s feet guided him towards the courtyard. The music played by the band wasn’t as loud out here, and the cold night air was lively in contrary to the sticky, perfumed air inside the Great Hall.

He kicked some of the grass away and walked towards the bench underneath the willow, watching how its branches weighed in the wind and thought how you were probably having as much fun as his friends, or maybe even more, considering Nott was infamous for snogging in various broom closets.

Harry’s stomach turned at the thought of that. He wished he had a time turner to make it right.

The moon stood high on the deep blue night sky, illuminating the courtyard you had unconsciously walked to. Grey clouds had approached, and tiny raindrops were falling to the ground, steadily drumming onto the roofs of Hogwarts.

On your way out of the Great Hall, you had caught a glimpse of Theodore sticking his tongue down the throat of that Ravenclaw girl, but to be honest, it didn’t matter that he was making out with someone else. It would’ve just been nice if you could have had a forewarning.

You thought you were the only single soul wandering about, then spotted a figure sitting on a bench. You were about to turn and search for some other place to wallow in your feelings, when you recognised the messy hair.

Maybe this was the time to make up for running away. Maybe this was the time to be honest.

Harry looked up when he noticed someone coming closer, the tulle of your dress rustling over the wet grass. His heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Hello,” You said, voice echoing over the empty courtyard. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

Harry scooted to the side to make some space for you. You sat down next to him, leaving maybe a hand width between the two of you. The wide branches of the willow guided you from the cold rain.

“You weren’t dancing,” You said, staring at the grass instead of his face.

You would understand if he did not want to talk, if he just walked away. He didn’t owe you an explanation for why he had not asked you to the ball or why was sitting here instead of inside with Ginny or whoever he had asked.

“You weren’t either, were you?” Harry replied. “You and Nott.”

“No, he’s busy with someone else, so… no. Not dancing.”

“Oh.” Harry shuffled. His knee bumped against yours. “Well, he’s an idiot then.”

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

“You should,” Harry said, and he meant it. No one should be treated like that. “If anyone should be dancing, it’s you.”

You looked up at him. Harry was already watching you, and it filled you with warmth despite the freezing cold. There wasn’t a single sign of hurt on his face, just a soft curiosity lying in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “for running away last Friday. I had to sort out some things.”

“What things?” He asked quietly.

“Some…” Your heartbeat sped up. Be honest, you told yourself. “Some feelings.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to figure out what you meant by that, but the way you looked at him made his mind go blank. “You mean you…”

“I really like dancing with you,” You said. Harry felt his heart beating faster than ever against his ribcage. He wondered if you could hear it. “And I wouldn’t have done those lessons with anyone.”

The music from inside the Great Hall was growing louder, overshadowing the rain; someone must’ve opened the doors to let in some fresh air. The band was playing a slower, French song and it stung in your heart. It was one of your favourites.

When you turned back to Harry, he was standing up. For a second you thought he wanted to leave, to go back inside, then –

“May I have this dance?” Harry held out is right hand, and you did not have to think twice if you should take it or not.

He helped you up from the bench and led into the middle of the lawn, the rain still pattering onto the grass and the stone tiles. It smelled strongly of petrichor, and you thought that this was much closer to spring than the decorations in the Great Hall.

Harry’s hand found its place on your back, pulling you closer to him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, tapping his skin with your finger in time to the music out of habit, and met his eyes, reflecting the moon light in them.

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

The two of you moved, swaying back and forth. Harry realised that he did not even need to concentrate on the steps, he knew them by heart. The closeness of you took his breath away, the way your fingers held onto his, the way there was little to no room between your torso and his. You were smiling at him, despite the cold and the rain. Harry felt his stomach tingling.

“What’s it called?” Harry asked quietly, not wanting to drown out the music.

“‘Je Te Laisserai Des Mots’. I’ll leave you words,” You translated, having memorised the lyrics in your mind. “I’ll leave you words underneath your door, underneath the singing moon. Near the place where your feet pass by…hidden in the holes of wintertime and when you’re alone for a moment.”

You paused and Harry’s eyes fell to his feet, not able to take your gaze any longer. There were words on the tip of his tongue he did not dare to say – afraid, to ruin the moment. He wanted to stay here forever.

“Eyes up,” You said, placing your hand underneath his chin to lift his head up.

More French words reached your ears; Harry figured they were the same sentence repeated over and over, but even if he had been able to understand French, he wouldn’t have been able to translate them because of your hand still resting under his chin.

“Kiss me whenever you want,” You whispered. “Kiss me whenever you want. Kiss me –”

And then, Harry let go of his fears and kissed you.

After all it still took you by surprise how he loosened his fingers from yours to cup your face, pulling you as close to him as possible, until there was no space in between, noses bumping against each other. Both of your hands slung themselves around his neck, caressing his skin and driving up through messy hair.

His lips matched yours, gliding smoothly over one another, smearing your lip gloss everywhere until all you tasted was strawberries and sweet alcohol. With his chest against yours, Harry was glad to notice your heart beating as fast as his did, though that was also because he really needed to breathe – not that he wanted to, he would have been totally okay with never breaking away from the kiss if it was always going to feel this soft and freeing.

It was you in the end that had to carefully pull his face away from yours, heavily breathing in and out. You brushed his wet hair out of his forehead and let your fingers slide over his temples and cheeks down to his neck.

“That offer,” Harry began breathlessly, tucking a strand of hair he had accidentally drawn from your pinned-up hair behind your ear, “about continuing the dance lessons…that still stands, right?”

Your lips curved upwards into a smile. “Of course.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, mirroring your smile before leaning down again to close the gap between your lips.

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #fluff #oneshot #my writing #angst #slow burn

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starlessea · 3 years ago

Text

Permission

Drabble: Even though Daryl trusts you completely, you always make sure to ask his permission.

A/N Based on number #68 from this prompt list for anon.

Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee

The prison was in chaos.

A sickness had spread in a matter of hours — infecting half a cell block and leaving the other half as walkers — and the bodies were piling up quicker than they could be buried.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to catch your breath since it all happened, and your cell felt stifling. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your palms felt clammy as you paced the box room — trying to compose yourself before you went out there to face everyone. The day had become utterly chaotic.

And then Rick came stumbling in.

He had Daryl’s arm slung around his neck, as he dragged him into your cell. The archer looked much too flushed, and much too unsteady on his feet as he caught his shoulder on the doorway.

You stopped pacing, trying to decipher the expression on Rick’s face as he lowered Daryl down onto your mattress.

“What happened?” you demanded, immediately fluttering over to his side — hands running against his chest and along his face as you panicked. “Is he-”

Rick shook his head. “He ain’t sick,” he drawled, but gave the man a side-eye glance which was still faintly laced with worry. “He just keeled over from the sun,” he explained.

You laid Daryl back against the pillows, as he weakly tried to bat your arm away.

Stubborn as always, that man.

His brow was sweating, but his lips were dry. You quickly paced over to the basin to wet a rag, and fill up a glass.

“Been at it since dawn,” the officer commented, helping you sit him up and plump his pillows. “Just needs some water.”

Daryl brought the glass to his mouth with a shaky hand, as you dabbed his forehead with the cool cloth. He felt like fire beneath your touch — as he seemed to look through you with an empty, vacant stare.

You perched on the edge of the mattress, gently blotting his skin as he got his bearings. But as soon as a hint of realisation flashed over his face, he tried to get up from the bed, wobbling as he did so.

“You’ve got heat stroke! You need to rest!” you cried, pressing his chest back down. Rick came over to help, squeezing Daryl’s shoulder as he tried to fight against him. “You’ve been digging those graves all day,” you told him, your voice trailing off as you spoke the words.

Daryl stilled underneath your palms, watching your lip quiver.

The day had already been brutal. You didn’t want it to get any worse.

The man mumbled something incoherent under his breath, as he reached for the near-empty glass — finishing the remainder with one swig. His skin was so sticky, so clammy and flushed, and his breaths were far too shallow and far too hot as they landed on your cheek.

You hovered the back of your hand over his forehead — almost recoiling at the sheer heat radiating from it. “Hey, Daryl. Look at me, baby,” you coaxed, tilting his head until your eyes met. Rick was standing firmly beside you, but you debated dismissing him.

Daryl probably wouldn’t like your next suggestion.

“Can I take your shirt off?” you asked slowly, not breaking eye contact. “We need to cool you down.”

Rick shifted on the balls of his feet, glancing between you and the bars of the cell door — unsure whether to stay or leave.

But Daryl swallowed thickly, and nodded.

So the two of you peeled that sweat-soaked shirt from his body, whilst the other man pretended not to notice the scars splayed over the archer’s back. Neither of you said anything.

But Rick’s expression said it all.

Daryl drifted off not long after that, once you’d placed a cool cloth at the back of his neck, and ran another along his chest until he no longer felt like a burning blaze under your palms.

Soon, it was just the two of you — as you sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the hair back from his forehead as he dozed.

Daryl was never one to know his own limits, or even acknowledge they existed. It didn’t surprise you that he’d worked himself to the point of collapse.

You just wished he would rely on you more.

“Ya didn’t have to ask.”

His raspy voice startled you, and you flinched against him — as he let out a breathy chuckle in response.

You quickly started to fret over him now that he was awake, retrieving the drying cloths and dunking them back in the water basin beside you. But Daryl grabbed your hand, and you quickly realised that his eyes looked better — more normal.

He no longer had that blurred, glazed-over look about him, and his grip was firm over your wrist.

That man always did bounce back much too quickly.

“Din’t need my permission for the shirt,” he repeated — but this time his words sunk in.

He drew circles over the back of your hand with his thumb, which no longer felt too hot against your own skin.

“Ya were jus’ tryna help me,” he mumbled, offering one of his rare, warm smiles in your direction. “Wouldn’t a’ been mad at ya.”

You let the cloth float atop the water basin, abandoned, and instead brought your cool, damp palm to his cheek. He placed his other hand atop of it — leaning into your touch.

“But ‘m glad ya did.”

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saintlike78 · 3 years ago

Note

Hey Love! Since u want to know my requests here go more one; Marauders x Fem!Reader (I'm a just a little bit obsessed about them hihi:), the reader is pregnant from her first baby and she's so emotional and sensitive cuz pregnancy hormones and she's crying for everything, at the same time she gets mad about anything, and she's horny all time, so she's like a mess of feelings.

(I thought this idea after seeing a scene from Grey's Anatomy, so if you want to check it out to understand; season 9, episode 12, minutes 02:40 to 04:00)

By; Cora🌈 (and the fic that u made about my last request is more perfect than I ever imagined <3)

Those stupid hormones [Poly Marauders]

A/N: Another great request from Cora! This was so fun to write. We all know that out three boys would be the sexiest dilfs ever, you can’t prove me wrong.

Pairings: Poly! Marauders x Fem! Pregnant! Reader

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: NSFW 16+, very soft and fluffy, dry humping, polyamorous relationship, pregnancy pains, mention of morning sickness and nausea. As always lmk if I missed anything.

The cool water dripped down your face as you stared at your flushed reflection; pink from the blush that had crept its way up your neck and latched itself onto your cheeks. The nap you had woken from had done nothing to soothe the surge of emotions that ran through you like electricity, the cause being the life growing in your belly. The news of your pregnancy had brought you and your husbands nothing but immense joy, but actually being pregnant was another story and you weren’t even that far along, already dreading the next few months filled with pain and changes – you just wanted your baby to be here already and spare you the grittiness in between.

Having dried your face with your towel and concluding that the pink that had overtaken your face and neck wasn’t going away, you made your way to the living room where the hushed voices of your husbands were residing. Trudging down the hallway you could feel the warmth between your legs, arousal churning, making your face even pinker than it already was.

Having finally made it to the living room you looked upon your three beautiful men, enjoying seeing them relaxed just being with each other and waiting for you.

James and Sirius were seated on the long couch, cuddled up in one end and conversing gently with one another, a rare sight of calm between the two.

Remus was sitting in the armchair with a book in hand focused on the words in front of him not paying attention to James and Sirius’ conversation, but smiling fondly when his eyes sometimes left the page to observe two of his lovers.

As Remus’ eyes left the page for his momentary check on Pads and Prongs, he caught sight of your figure looming in the doorway, a gentle smile on your face as you also observed the two men on the couch.

“Hi bun, good nap?” Remus asked as soon as he noticed you, closing and putting his book down on the small table beside the armchair; the two others looking up as well and smiling at you.

You only hummed in acknowledgment as you made your way towards the scarred man who’d asked the question, crawling on the chair to straddle his legs and wrapping your arms around his neck not giving him any time to process before your lips were on his in a needy kiss. Even though he was surprised, he reciprocated in no time wrapping his arms around your body and holding you closer to him. You whined lowly into the kiss as he slipped his tongue past your lips, your hips instinctively grinding down gently, testing the waters.

Your kiss was interrupted by the sound of Sirius clearing his throat very loudly and dramatically, not enjoying not being a part of whatever was going on between yourself and Remus. You turned your head to look at the culprit of the sound, breathing heavily as you stared at him with wide eyes, both James and Sirius looking back at you with a questioning raised eyebrow.

Remus placed a hand on your cheek to turn your face back to face his, his own brow also raised to match the two others' look of questioning.

“What’s going on Bunny? Not that I’m complaining, just curious,” Remus asked, but a cheeky smile and tone replacing his normal calm and serious voice.

Sirius adding to Remus’ question, “I’m also taking it you’re not cross with us anymore.” Sirius referring to the reason for you taking your nap; you practically being sent to bed after snapping at James for making your tea too hot, then being told off by Remus and Sirius only for you to cry and snap at them as well and Remus ‘suggesting’ a nap for you to cool down.

“No, I’m sorry for being mean… especially to you, Jamie,” you turned to look at James, giving him an apologetic smile.

“That’s okay, baby… I know you didn’t mean it,” he smiled back, his usual big goofy smile, letting you know that he wasn’t upset any longer, probably never was.

You turned back to Remus, looking into his eyes and letting yourself momentarily be lost in them, “I just really need you right now,” you said distractedly, earning yourself a smile from the lycanthrope you were seated on.

Remus leaned forward to kiss your nose, your face scrunching up in the process. His hands snaked around to grip under the back of your thigs before standing with you in his strong grasp, making the short journey to the couch and waiting for James and Sirius to break from each other so that he could seat himself between them.

When Remus was seated with you comfortably, James reached forward to tug a piece of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek in the process.

“You feeling better, darling? You still feeling poorly?” James asked, your days lately having been filled with nausea, morning sickness, and discomfort.

“I’m feeling better… just a little achy,” you sighed.

“Where are you achy?” Sirius reached forward to rub up and down the expanse of your back, whilst his other hand rubbed gentle circles on your growing stomach.

“A little in my back… my boob… and my…” you paused, taking Sirius’ hand moving it lower on your stomach, right above your ache, “… here.”

“Ahh, I see,” Sirius nodded calmly, though Remus and James didn’t miss the small sparkle in Sirius’ eyes at the excitement.

You slowly started grinding your hips onto Remus’, frustrated tears gathering in your eyes at your desperation, “please,” you breathed out.

“Aww, bunny, don’t cry… we’ll help you out,” Remus laughed, grabbing your sides to stabilize you.

“Don’t laugh at me! I can’t help it… I’m so achy,” your frustration was clear, and the tears that had gathered threatened to spill.

“We’re not laughing, darling, you’re just so adorable,” James grinned, taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m sorry, please just help me… please,” the first tears fell and slowly ran down your cheeks as you continued your grinding, not actually sure why you were crying.

Sirius removed the hand from your back and wiped your tears with the pad of his thumb while cooing, “Don’t worry, puppy, we got you.”

With that he reached a hand into the loose shorts you were wearing, reaching under the waistband of your panties as well, not wanting to put any more stress on you by teasing, his fingers instantly found your clit.

You did miss the rougher sex you would have before you found out you were pregnant, but the boys refused to put you in any sort of stressful situation when you were already going through so many changes and experiencing so many things at once; they decided that it would be best to be soft and gentle with you unless you specifically requested something else.

“Go ahead, grind that pretty pussy on my hand until you cum, pretty pup,” Sirius said as his fingers slowly started rubbing circles on your clit as your hips picked up speed at his words.

A breathy moan left your lips followed by a whimper of pleasure as your eyes fluttered close at the sensation.

Remus’ hands had moved to hold your hips, aiding your movements and choosing the speed at which you moved.

James took your face in his hands, “eyes on me, darling,” he spoke to which you complied, opening your eyes to look at his face. James leaned in for a kiss, enjoying the noises you would choke on when you ran out of breath, the small whines and whimpers being enough for him to cum in his trousers, but he controlled himself – this was for you.

Sirius’ fingers picked up speed as saw the pleasurable shiver run through your body and the small twitch it was accompanied by.

Your breathing increased and the moans became less controlled as the familiar feeling of pleasure grew in the pit of your stomach. Remus picked up the speed of your hips, occasionally bucking his hips to create more friction and pressure for you, but also creating friction on his cock trapped in the restraints of his slacks. Remus’ breathing increased as well, a few grunts and small low moans could also be heard leaving his mouth.

“Gonna cum,” you moaned out as your hips lost their rhythm, stuttering slightly as the pressure in your abdomen gave away, your orgasm ripping through your body, hands gripping Remus’ shoulders to stabilize yourself as your body shook from the orgasm.

Sirius’ fingers were still working on your clit, working you through the feeling, the moans you were releasing like music to his ears.

Remus’ hips bucked once more before he shook as well, releasing a strangled and stuttering moan, his cum making a mess in his smart slacks. “Fuuuck… baby,” he breathed out as he came, his fingers gripping your hips, but not hard enough to hurt you.

Sirius’s grin was so large you were sure it would break his face. He removed his hand from your shorts, kissing your cheek before cheekily looking at Remus. James was trying to keep his smile at bay, but failed miserably, a small giggle escaping his lips.

“Damn, puppy, look what you did,” Sirius grinned.

You looked at Remus’ face, who sported a lopsided smile; you were always surprised at the effect you would have on them at times, this had happened before, but it wasn’t often.

You giggled slightly with James, “Sorry, Remmy.”

“No need to apologize… this is just what happens when an unbelievably sexy, soon-to-be milf sits on top of me,” he laughed, winking at the last statement, causing all of you to burst out laughing.

“You’re going to be the sexiest milf ever and we’ll be the sexiest dilfs, all the other parents are going to run away screaming,” Sirius joked, standing proudly to do a couple of poses, showing off his muscles, James standing as well to pose with him, another fit of laughter rolling through all of you.

You shook your head, “I love you, my most sexy, soon to be, dilfs.”

“We love you too, pretty baby.”

Tags: @dracosafety, @justadreamyhufflepuff, @teenwolfbitches28, @emma67, @trouble-in-space, @sciapod, @kermiemoon, @autumnandwinteraesthetics, @roonilwazlibswhore, @whitecastles, @sprucewoodlover, @lexi_shoto,

If crossed out it means I couldn’t tag you!

#Cora 🌈#poly marauders #marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders smut #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black

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lavishedinjimin · 3 years ago

Note

Yoongi teaching y/n piano but she's distracted by his hands and it ends up with rough fingering against the piano 🤤

^ throwing this request in here as well!

"Are you listening to me, Y/n?" Yoongi's baritone voice removes you from the utter turmoil of your dirty thoughts.

"Hmm?"

Yoongi laughs, facepalming, "How am I gonna teach you 'I Need U' on his grand piano when your mind is somewhere else? Tsk, babe—" he tips your head up using his fingers to face him, "focus, alright?"

You feel breathless when he did that.

As you sit on the stool beside him, Yoongi plays the basics of the song with him on the lower keys, and you repeat what he does. It was hard to focus, though, as you look at his fingers. His rings that compliment his slender, calloused fingers were eye-catching.

"Your hands are pretty."

"What?"

Oh shit. Did you just say that out loud?!

"U-Ummm," you panic, laughing in embarrassment. "I said you're pretty! Yeah!"

He furrows his eyebrows, "but you were looking at my hands?"

"Yeah, I thought of... of your face though. I suddenly remembered what you looked like and I just wanted to say how much I think you look h-handsome... you know? Just like what girlfriends usually say, yeah!"

Yoongi somberly stares at you. He wasn't buying your bullshit at all, and he can clearly see that you're lying.

He sighs, closing the fallboard of the piano. He keeps a strict gaze on you while placing his left elbow on top of the lid, showing off his hand. "You can't fool me that easily, Y/n. You said my hands were pretty, hm?"

"Fine," you back down, feeling a bit sheepish, "yes, I did."

"Yeah? Turn around."

"Huh?"

"Straddle the bench and turn the other way with your back facing me."

You follow his instructions unknowingly. Without a warning, he holds your body across your abdomen with his left arm, pulling you into his chest.

Surprised, you try to speak but he interrupts. The hair on your arms rises when he whispers against your ear, "I've never had someone ogle my fingers as much as you do, Y/n. I better cherish this moment as much as I can."

His hand plays with the waistband of your cotton shorts, hearing him chuckle when he feels you breathe a bit heavier. "Calm down," he murmurs, "I'm just gonna finger you. That's it."

You shift around your seat when his hand slowly travels down your shorts until he reaches your panties. He hums in content when he presses his fingers against your core, gradually inching closer to your clit.

"Yoongi," you moan pathetically when he teases your clit, barely brushing against it, "please touch me there."

Yoongi presses a soft, gentle kiss on the back of your neck, "I love it when you say please. You sound so fucking adorable and needy, my love. Are you a good girl? Do you think you deserve my fingers touching that cunt?"

"Mmm, yes, Yoongi. Please... I've been good."

"You are? Oh, but," he stops to let his hand sneak inside your underwear, fingers finally grazing against your skin, "You lied to me earlier, Y/n. Good girls don't lie."

"Mmmphh, pleaaaase," you beg, thrusting your hips up to attempt to feel his fingers against your clit. He doesn't let that happen. "I'm sorry, Yoongi. I'm sorry, please finger me, please."

After he was satisfied, Yoongi finally gives in and uses two fingers to stroke your sensitive bud. Yoongi groans softly, his grip on you getting tighter.

He loves how you react so quickly. Yoongi takes his time to pleasure you, using his skillful fingers to massage your damp pussy. He acknowledges that you want more, and so he gives you more.

He removes his hand down your pants and licks his fingers clean, wetting them so that he can easily insert two fingers inside your hole. The immediate stretch made you arch your back, your head falling into his shoulder.

Yoongi smirks the whole time he was fingering you. Squelching sounds fill the air as he finger-fucks you beneath all those layers of clothes.

"H-Harder," you pant, "more please, baby. Fuck me harder."

Your words started a flame inside him, making him pull his hand out and manhandles you into a new position. He makes you lean against the grand piano, pulling your shorts and panties down until they pool around your ankles.00

"Fuck, hold onto the edge of the— yeaahh there we go," Yoongi inserts his fingers back in, this time adding a third finger in your cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your sweet, delicious moan music to his ears.

Yoongi kisses you until you were out of breath. He watches his hand thrust back and forth, stroking the sponge-like spot deep into your walls. He knows your body like it's his own, knowing how and where to make you feel good.

"See where admitting that you like my hands can take you?" he says a bit cockily, "it can take you to absolute heaven, babe."

drabble masterlist

#bts kinky hours open #yoongi smut #suga

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host-club-hq · 3 years ago

Text

Indeed: ~A Challenge From Lobelia Girls' Academy!~

➼ pairing: kyoya ootori x reader

➼ summary: the club learns where you went to school before ouran academy, and those very same students are determined to save you from the group of idiots that you call friends.

➼ word count: 5.3k

➼ what to expect: "I better go home; I've got a lot of thinking to do."

➼ warnings: fluff (slight homophobia from TAMAKI, not me 😭)

➼ i figured out a perfect way to work in the lobelia girls with reader's past (not me trying to follow the plot of my own damn wip)

➼ I DID NOT MEAN TO FINISH THIS EARLY, i was on a writing roll and i couldn't stop

➼ chapter navigation

"Really? All the afternoon classes have been canceled?" Haruhi questions curiously after learning her schedule.

"You mean, no one told you? It's going to be crazy around here for the next two days. Ouran is hosting an exposition for all the cultural clubs. Drama and choir clubs from a bunch of other schools have been invited. it's a big event the school hosts annually." You stand before Haruhi as she packs up her school bag after her last class of the day.

Your last morning class gets out a bit earlier than hers due to your teacher's laid-back attitude toward a schedule. You always manage to meander on down to Haruhi's class when it ends.

"Is that so?" Haruhi tilts her head.

"Mm-hm. It's usually great, especially since all of my core classes are in the afternoon." You tease with a giggle.

"That must be nice; you don't have to go to any of them for the next few days." Haruhi smiles.

"What do we do during the exposition?" Haruhi slings her bag over her shoulder.

"Well, it's like watching a bunch of concerts or plays all put on by students from other schools." You stroke your chin between your thumb and forefinger.

Just at that moment, two hands place themselves on your shoulders, and you immediately know who they belong to. So, naturally, you groan before they even have a chance to ask anything of you.

"Go buy is some more instant coffee, y/n." They demand in ironically friendly voices. You whine, "Why do I have to do it? Can't you buy your own?"

"Because you're our errand girl! No one else knows where to buy it." Hikaru ruffles your hair as Kaoru massages your shoulder.

"You know, I could just tell you-"

"We've even been serving it to our guests lately. Besides, it's part of your job."

They dust you off with happy-go-lucky open-mouthed grins, "The cultural club exposition starts soon." you grumble, miffed.

"Yeah, but it's not mandatory, so if you're not interested, you don't have to go." Hikaru practically carries you to the doorway of the classroom, and they wave you off.

"And with that being said- Be careful out there! Hah!"

"Ugh, I really wanted to go." you pout, stumbling dramatically from the classroom and into the hallway as two of Haruhi's first-year female classmates wander out with you.

"Thanks for helping them out, y/n." the first student thanks as they pass you.

"Not a problem... I just wish they'd buy it themselves." you toss your head back to acknowledge them.

"Well, I don't know if that'll ever happen, but I'm glad they seem to be having a good time." Much to your surprise, the students stop in front of you rather than pass you along like you expected them to. You weren't convinced this conversation would last or have any meaning.

"And it's all thanks to you." The second student smiles earnestly.

You lift your weary head and acknowledge them a bit better, "Me? What could I have done?" you point to yourself, befuddled.

"We've been in the same class as the twins ever since middle school. They didn't use to be this cheerful and friendly. They were always quiet and withdrawn- they didn't have many friends."

You hum in thought. Being in a different class with Kyoya and Tamaki, you never really realized how shut off the twins were before Tamaki enlisted your help in gaining their attention to recruit them to the club. You had always assumed they just weren't very fond of Tamaki at first, which was understandable, given how persistent he was.

"It's like they didn't want anyone to get too close. I don't think they liked school very much; they seemed so bored by it. I guess things started to change when the host club was created."

You turn back over your shoulder to see both twins in a conversation with two other first-year students, genuinely enjoying themselves.

"Since then, they've come out of their shells little by little."

As if on cue, Hikaru and Kaoru laugh in unison at an inaudible comment. The pieces fit together in your mind, and you realize how oblivious you've been to how much the host club has really drawn out their personalities.

"Really?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Passing through the gates of the school, your arms are filled with the bag carrying the newly purchased instant coffee. You're still in deep thought over the conversation between you and the first-year students not too long ago.

"But they've really opened up since you and Tamaki talked to them, y/n. Now they talk and joke with everyone in class."

"That's why we wanted to make sure you knew how grateful we are to you. Because of you, the twins are having fun and enjoying each day to the fullest."

Amid your rampant thoughts, you fail to notice a banana peel in your path.

Your foot slips out from under you, and you cry out in surprise.

You don't remember Ouran having any banana trees on campus...

A silhouette materializes out of nowhere with elegant twirls and gingerly seizes you to prevent you from hitting the ground in bridal style.

Before you know it, you're on your knees on the ground with your paper bag, disoriented and confused.

"It'd be a shame for any harm to come to that cute face of yours... y/n."

At your name, you gasp and finally glance up at your rescuer's face. Your cheeks flush a pretty pink.

"B-Benibara?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A Challenge from Lobelia Girl's Academy!

Benibara escorts you through the school and up to your club's room. You're surprised you haven't needed to guide her at all-it's like she knows her way.

When you arrive, the doors are already wide open, and two other Lobelia students are inside, giving Tamaki two of the most disapproving looks you've ever seen.

"Fine then, what do women like you want to hear?" you can already hear the irritation in Tamaki's voice with his knight's sword thrown over his shoulder.

"Maybe something like, 'I would never leave my lover alone.'"

Benibara's arm is thrown over your shoulder as the pair of you stand before the host club, who glances back at you with thoroughly confused expressions. They seem surprised to see you with her of all people.

"If we fight, it'll be together." Benibara spins you around and holds you by your wrist. With next to no dancing experience, you let her do with you as she pleases in fear of hurting yourself.

"If we fail, we fail together." she kneels to the floor and takes you by the hand.

"Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side, my love." the declaration has your cheeks a bright red, along with your ears. She places a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

The host nearly chokes at the sight. You turn to them sheepishly.

"Benibara, we thought you'd never show." a familiar voice rings in your ears, and you direct your attention to the two remaining Lobelia students.

"What are we going to do with you? So, tell us where you found our lovely y/n." Chizuru crosses her arms and inquires curiously.

"I just found her outside of the school. Although it has been several years, she still has such pretty maidenly eyes." Benibara strokes your face delicately.

You really aren't sure how you're supposed to respond at this point in time, thoroughly flustered by each and every one of her comments.

"Um, thank you...?" you try pathetically.

Hinako and Chizuru each take you by a separate limb, Chizuru at your shin and Hinako at your forearm.

"Wow, her skin is incredibly soft." Hinako gushes.

"Isn't it, though? I think she's going to be a little diamond in the rough." Chizuru slides her cheek along the smooth skin of your leg, and you shutter uncomfortably.

"How do you all know each other already?! Don't touch y/n without her consent!" Benibara is quick to slug Tamaki in the face and send him flying.

"Leave her alone!"

"Oh, geez." you sweat drop nervously.

"She punched me! She's so violent!"

"Get a hold of yourself!"

The Lobelia students stand intimidatingly before the Host Club with their hands on their hips with you in tow.

"Guess the rumors we heard are true. You guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you."

Kyoya's brow twitches as he watches you cower behind them nervously. Finally, he pushes up his glasses, "Those uniforms. I assume you ladies are from the Lobelia Girls' Academy?" He questions with a monotone voice and non-existent amusement.

"That's correct." Benibara eyes them determinedly.

They strip off their uniform to present the costumes beneath them.

"Here we go," you whine.

"Lobelia!" The first to appear in costume is Benibara.

"Lobelia!" the second is Chizuru.

"Lobelia!" Hinako is the third and last.

"St. Lobelia Academy, high school second year, Benio Amakusa."

"Lobelia!"

"Second year student, Chizuru Maihara."

"Lobelia!"

"First year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki."

"Lobelia!"

"We are the members of the St. Lobelia Academy's white lily league; also known as-"

"The Zuka Club!" To everyone's surprise, the girls had on even more extravagant outfits under their first costumes.

"Uh..." the entire Host club is rendered speechless by their little performance. The Lobelia girls remain in position at their silence.

It isn't long before Hikaru and Kaoru burst into fits of laughter at their ridiculous presentation.

"Oh, man, what a stupid name! The Zuka Club?! My stomach hurts!" Hikaru cackles, out of breath.

"The Zuka Club?! That's priceless! They had those get-ups on under their uniforms!" Kaoru howls heartily before the twins fall on the floor with laughter.

"You shouldn't underestimate the Zuka Club!"

You nearly jump out of your skin at the introduction of a new voice to the group and the powerful motor that shakes the ground as well as your eardrums. Renge's shrill laughter soon greets your poor ears as she rises on her contraption that happens to be positioned everywhere you go.

"I may not know much about instant coffee, but I'm fascinated with girls' schools." She takes a sip of said coffee and soon regrets it, displaying a grimace and wide eyes.

She tosses away her cup and saucer carelessly, "St. Lobelia Academy! It is truly a woman's world there. The Zuka Club is a group of strong young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way. The club prides itself on its 30-year history. It's a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens! Zuka Club activities include: 'Maiden Tea Parties', 'The Maiden Debate Forum', and most importantly musical reviews performed by the society's top members!"

Kyoya sheds his bulky knight costume, "You sure have a vast wealth of knowledge, Renge." you can't tell if it's said sarcastically, but you'll take it and run.

"Well, I've always admired St. Lobelia's. I just couldn't go to school there, though- what would I do without any boys?" She sighs wistfully.

"What indeed?" You grumble. Her platform lowers into the ground without a trace.

"A maiden's beauty. It means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or to lust." Chizuru pipes in after Renge's thorough explanation.

"'As a girl you, 'for a girl, you'. We've had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for woman-kind." Hinako informs angrily.

"And our pride... Comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality because we're the same sex. And yes, that includes relationships of love."

"Yeah, you tell them, Benio."

"You're awesome, Benibara!"

Already bored, the host club has retired to a sofa on the opposite side of the room. The twins are even playing menial little games on their handheld console to distract themselves.

"Whatever. We're so over it." It's not an act; they really are.

"Why don't you gals just scram?" Hikaru suggests as he inspects the new income of instant coffee. You sort of wonder when he'd taken it from you.

"I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love." Hinako chuckles in an arrogant, stuck-up sort of way that makes you grimace.

"What the hell is she talking about?" Hikaru scoffs.

Kaoru inspects a container of the new instant coffee, "Hey, I haven't seen this one before. I guess it's a new one." he sighs.

"You should feel sorry for them, Hinagiku. Their patented host skills don't work on us- now they're all flustered, and they don't know what to do with themselves." Chizuru strips Benibara of her false mustache.

"True, I must say I'm glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious Ouran Host Club."

"Hey guys, are we really notorious?"

"Yeah."

As you stand by the door, Benibara slams her hand on the surface near your face and traps you against the wall. Your breath hitches.

"And to think they're dragging our sweet, young y/n down with them." Benibara repositions her hand on your shoulder and bends to meet your height.

"Say what?" You tilt your head. Benibara spins around determinedly.

"The Host Club's president may be a pretty little halfer, but he shouldn't be using his looks to create a fictitious romance! Attempting to fool the heart of a pure, young maiden is demeaning! Your so-called 'club activities' are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies. I promise you. We will bring you guys down. The Ouran Host Club will be abolished!"

They each raise their hands in solutes, "All hail Zuka Club!"

You panic, "Oh- Oh, no. Let's- Let's not do that." you excuse yourself and snatch a container of instant coffee and ready three servings to hopefully distract them or at least calm them.

Kyoya adjusts his glasses with the undertone of annoyance, "I see. I understand your concern, but do you think maybe we can finish this later?" his customer service voice never fails to prevail.

"Are you saying that you're not going to face us?" Benibara smirks.

"Not at all. It's just that our president is still bed-ridden from the initial culture shock."

Translation:

"You see, Tama-chan is having his nappy time right now."

Benibara growls, "Wake him up!" she demands.

You shove the tray of coffee in the girls' direction with haste.

"Excuse me, but I've made you girls some coffee. Would you care for some?"

"Why, yes! Aren't you the sweetest thing?" They each take a cup gratefully.

"You're a real pearl among swine!" Chizuru gushes.

"You know, coffee made by a maiden always has a more fragrant aroma," Benibara informs cockily.

"Oh, this coffee's just instant, I technically added hot water, and it made itself." You chuckle nervously.

"How about the four of us have a little tea party?"

Tamaki awakens from his slumber and throws off his sheets.

"You girls have it all wrong! Don't you see there's nothing to be gained in a romantic relationship between two women?! If that were the case, then why did God create Adam and Eve?!"

Tamaki slips on a banana peel that appeared from nowhere and knocks Hinako's coffee from her hand and onto your uniform.

You cry out painfully as the coffee is still boiling hot. You nearly drop your empty tray and fume at your president.

"Tamaki! You have to be more careful!" You attempt to dust yourself the best you can.

Benibara grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into her body with a slight sound of protest from you.

"Now that we know what's going on, we can't allow y/n to stay here. We'll prepare her paperwork and have her transferred back to Lobelia at once! And we'll welcome her into the Zuka Club!"

The entire club, including you, seems shocked by the declaration is rendered speechless.

Haruhi appears behind you and tugs you by your blazer, successfully separating you from Benibara, "Hey, just wait a second, will ya?" she pleads.

"There seems to have been some misunderstandings here. I mean, first of all, you called Senpai a 'halfer'." Haruhi holds up her hands in defense.

You peek over her shoulder, "Cause he is a halfer. He's half French and half Japanese." You hiss awkwardly through your teeth. She deflates a little.

"Well, uh, anyway, I don't think it's fair for you to pick on the host club just because you don't think they have the same history as you do." Haruhi tries once more.

"We barely have any history- we were just founded two years ago." Hikaru has the audacity to speak up in this moment.

"Yeah, the boss created it whenever he started high school here." Kaoru finishes. Haruhi deflates further and goes for one last attempt.

"Be that as it may, saying their club activities are only held to satisfy their appetites is just wrong. I mean, it's not like the host club is charging their guests or anything." She twirls her finger uselessly.

Kyoya throws open a laptop and clicks to their website, "While I wouldn't call it a charge, we do have a point system. We offer priority services based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website."

Haruhi finally deflates completely, no longer trying to defend the club.

"Check this out, Haruhi. Your used pen just sold with a winning bid of 30,000 yen. Good for you."

Haruhi turns to observe the pen in question, "Huh?"

You crane your neck to peer at the screen, "Wait- hold on, that's my pen." You take the laptop.

"Oh. My mistake." Kyoya peeks over your shoulder.

"Kyoya! I loved that pen. Why did you tell me about this before? I had no idea you were collecting money from auctions!" You whine.

"It's not like we're all working here as volunteers. While it's not much because of the expense of organizing events, we happen to make a small profit from the online auctions."

"You can't sell people's things on the internet without asking first; that's literally stealing!" You cry, your brow twitching in anger.

"It wasn't stealing; you dropped your pen on the floor." The twins shrug indifferently.

You turn and growl deeply at them, shaking your fist in a threatening way.

"I'm sorry, y/n! It's not like we were hiding it from you! Here, you can have mine! It's got a cute teddy bear on it!" Tamaki pleads, presenting you with his teal teddy bear pencil.

"Tamaki, I don't want your pencil." you fume.

"Then, to make it up to you, how about I do this: I'll tell you the secrets to my success and my fondest memories."

You sigh exasperatedly, "Not to be rude, Tamaki, but I'm not at all interested in any piece of that information." you grumble.

Tamaki gasps dramatically, "Not interested?" He teleports over to a corner and draws invisible figures on the floor with his fingers.

The Lobelia girls surround you sympathetically, but you're still seething with anger.

"Oh, you poor dear. I can't believe they've been deceiving you." Chizuru coos.

"Hey, why don't you dump these losers and come with us?" Hinako suggests.

"Hold on, Hinagiku. This young maiden has had quite a day. We'll give you some time to think about it. We'll come back for your answer tomorrow." Benibara claps a hand on your shoulder.

"Well, then. Adieu~" And suddenly they're gone.

You turn to the club with a stone-cold glare, and they flinch under your gaze, gulping.

"I better go home; I've got a lot of thinking to do," you growl angrily.

You open the door to the club room and slip out easily, slamming it behind you noisily.

Tamaki cries out, "Why did you have to tell her the truth?! You just added fuel to the fire! What are we gonna do now?!"

"The facts are the facts." Kyoya shrugs, although a bit fazed by your outburst. After all, it was only a pen.

"Maybe we should've asked before we sold her pen on the internet..." Honey sighs.

"Yeah, for all we know, it was a keepsake from her mother," Kaoru suggests.

"Her mother died far too early to have given her a fountain pen," Kyoya informs.

"How is it you know that?" both twins question in unison.

"Just like I know that y/n was a student of Lobelia Academy before she transferred to Ouran in her third year of middle school." Kyoya shrugs.

"Huh?" The entire host club shouts indignantly.

"It's not like the information is surprising. Her father wanted the best for a girl, and Lobelia is the best for women."

"Then why did she transfer here?" Hikaru inquires.

Kyoya hums, "Now that I think about it, I don't think I know the answer to that." his brows furrow.

Tamaki places his hand pensively on an adjacent window, "Gentlemen, just think about it. y/n may be basically indifferent, but if she had to choose, we know she hates the Ouran girl's regulation uniform. And besides, she wants to be a host; who's to stop her from charming girls at Lobelia since she has no debt there?"

His hand slides down the window, and he exhales shakily, "Why didn't I realize this before? Perhaps they would be a better match for y/n. Maybe she'd be better off with the Zuka Club."

Kyoya swallows hard when he realizes that Tamaki has a pretty good point.

"Yeah... she's perfect for a girl's school." Kyoya adjusts his glasses with an icy gaze.

"y/n-chan is going to transfer away?!" Honey cries loudly.

"What are we going to do?"

"y/n's so smart; passing the Lobelia scholarship test will be a piece of cake!"

Kyoya sighs, "And Lobelia has impressive debate forums that could negate the debt she has..." Kyoya scribbles anxiously on his clipboard.

"Calm down, gentlemen. It'll be alright. Listen to what I have to say. I have a secret plan." Tamaki smirks, an idea forming.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Whilst in the library, you tap your foot in thought as you progress in your assignments.

Although Lobelia Academy is a very prestigious school and you enjoyed your early years there, Ouran is ideal in your current years.

You groan and shut the cover to your book, sweep up your papers, and shove them in your bag as you depart.

On your way to the club room, you run into the Lobelia girls, but they aren't facing you. One by one, they turn to meet you as if sensing your presence.

"Hi, y/n." Benibara is the first to speak. You resist the urge to sigh.

"We've come for your decision; are you prepared to leave?" Hinako boldly questions.

"We're ready to confront those Ouran Host Club idiots and set things straight once and for all."

The fact that your old friends are insulting your new, better friends almost makes your blood boil. Then, you take a deep breath and push it all down.

"Set... what straight?" you groan, preparing for whatever the next few moments might bring.

Benibara places an arm on your shoulder and tilts your chin up to meet her eyes, "That you should come with us. And go to school with your own kind!" They drag you down the hall in the direction of the club room.

She throws open the club room doors, and while you're expecting some extravagant presentation with ridiculous costumes and garish pick-up lines, the entire room is shrouded in darkness.

Instead of the six boys greeting you, you're greeted with a... sort of lump in the middle of the room. You tilt your head in question.

The first two figures rise, seemingly identical with feminine voices, "Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

A deeper, clearly male baritone, "Ouran!"

"Ouran!" A shakier male voice. You choke on your own saliva when you realize who it is.

"Ouran!!"

The chandeliers flash with light and illuminate the room.

"Ouran!"

"Host Club~ Welcomes you!"

You're speechless. Not a single word comes to mind when your vision focuses in the change of light to find the entire host club dressed in what you can only describe as drag. The silence after their welcome is absolutely deafening. You and the Lobelia girls are dumbstruck.

"Oh, y/n, welcome back." Tamaki greets in a red ballgown with pink accents, his blonde locks now sporting extensions and a headband with blatant makeup.

Honey twirls to the front in a magenta gown, his blonde hair also done up with extensions and beyond garish makeup, "Look, y/n-chan! I'm a princess now! Aren't I cute?!"

Benibara gasps in offense, "What is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to make fun of womankind?!" she demands. All the while, you're still beyond confused.

"Make fun? No, that's not it at all."

"This is kind of offensive..." You draw in an awkward breath through your teeth.

"Everything's going according to plan. Our strategy is guaranteed to make even a crying child smile; y/n, you may be distracted by the Zuka Club, but choose us. And you gain not only a host club full of brothers but sisters as well!"

As your eyes flit to and fro between all of their outfits, you can feel your anger and confusion dissolve, and amusement starts to bubble up within you.

"See? This way, you can experience feminine bonding while staying in the host club!"

Tamaki twirls, reassuming his feminine voice and batting his heavily caked-on with mascara eyelashes, "Isn't that a great idea?! Aren't I pretty?"

The twins are next, "We're the Hitachiin Sisters! Which one of us is prettier?" They appear closer to you, fans covering their mouths.

"I'm just teasing you," Hikaru whispers as Kaoru laughs haughtily.

Your expression remains emotionless and blank. To some, you might still seem upset, but you're only trying to decipher which kind of reaction this is going to draw from you.

"Listen, y/n-chan! You can call me Big Sis from now on." Honey seems to be the least uncomfortable in his attire. Even Usa-chan is decorated with a red bow and bold lipstick.

Mori and Kyoya don't say anything due to the fact that the host club probably had to physically force them to do this sort of display. You catch Kyoya's gaze and almost break your facade of anger, choking on a laugh as his fan delicately shields his face.

"Why you! Do you idiots really think you can win her over like this? I've had enough of your fooling around!"

Finally, your exterior crumbles, and you burst into a fit of laughter. Not amused chuckles or snickers, but whole-hearted laughter at their show of... whatever this might be.

"This is too much! What the hell are you even trying to do! Oh man, look at those outfits!" You hold onto your stomach with both arms and fall to your knees, collapsing to the floor, cackling.

Benibara and the Lobelia girls watch on with confusion. They were expecting your reaction to be less amused and more angry with their display.

But after knowing your boys for all these years, you know they only have good intentions in mind.

Just as you're beginning to wipe your stray tears and calm down, the twins and Honey appear at your side.

"Are we really that funny?" You shout in surprise, resuming laughter at the pitch of their voices.

They chase you around the club room, "Call me Big Sister! C'mon do it! Just say it! Big Sister! Say it please!!!"

At this point, you beg them to stop, "Stop! I can't take it anymore!" You're practically shrieking with laughter.

You cough on one last laugh and sit before them, "What are you doing? What's with the getup and the act?" You wipe another tear with a cheek-splitting smile.

Hikaru drops his feminine acts and rests his hands behind his head, facing away from you, "We did this because we don't want you to leave the host club, y/n." He shrugs nonchalantly.

At his revelation, your smile softens from amused to sympathetic, and you sigh. You smile fondly with a softer giggle.

Benibara stands dumbfounded at your side as you're still on the floor.

"Well, y/n, have you made a choice?" she has less hope now that you seem to be so happy in your current situation.

You rise from the floor with a confident decision, "Yeah, I have. I'm sorry, but your club's not for me. I enjoyed my time at Lobelia when I was there, but it's time for me to move on and make different choices with my future in mind. So while I appreciate your offer to return, I knew deep down that Ouran was always going to be the place for me. And here I'll stay." you face the club with a confident grin.

That isn't the answer they wanted nor expected from you. They fail to see the dynamic between you and the club; that's what's hindering their understanding.

Mori taps his tambourine in accomplishment, and Tamaki cries you all a river, "y/n!" he exclaims affectionately.

Kyoya's brows furrow, "Hold on, if you weren't going to leave, then why were you so upset about the auction earlier?"

Just the very mention of the auction almost has your blood boiling again.

"Because, Kyoya, I really liked that pen, and I was really attached to it! You can't just go selling my things for profit; it's shallow!" You cross your arms defiantly.

"Well, way to give us a scare." Kyoya rolls his eyes and flourishes his delicate fan.

"Aw, I think you liked dressing up, Kyoya." You tug his fan away from his face to make eye contact.

"And you look so pretty in your makeup! Oh, and look at that long, black hair! It really suits you, don't you agree?"

"Leave it alone, y/n," Kyoya grumbles as you fuss with his dress and his hair.

"Sister Kyoya? Hm, I like Mother Kyoya much more."

"Enough." Although Kyoya gives off the impression of being upset, he's finding it hard to suppress a smile at your antics. He always has.

"Hey, do you think this could become a regular thing-"

"Um... Benio?" Chizuru begins as she watches your interaction with Kyoya. Benibara lets her eyelids slip closed as she sighs.

"Yes... I know. We're not going to give up on you, y/n." She draws both your and Kyoya's attention away from each other and to her and the girls.

"I swear this to you. Someday we'll come and rescue you from this place! And when we do, we'll abolish the Ouran Host Club!" Benibara affirms with vigor and a smug smirk.

"Well, adieu~."

Just as they twirl through the door, the three of them simultaneously slip on banana peels just as the doors to the club room close.

"Until we meet again." you cross your arms and sigh in exasperation.

The lights flicker out, and Renge's platform rises from the ground for the second time this episode, except this time with a monkey at her side.

"And so, a new rival, the Zuka Club, has appeared. From this point on, the story's gonna get even more exciting! What's gonna happen to our beloved host club boys and y/n next? Hang in there, Host Club! Don't give up, guys!" Renge munches on a banana.

"Hey! It's not your job to cook things up!"

Ever so conveniently, Tamaki slips on a banana peel and collapses.

You turn to Kyoya, and neither of you can suppress your giggles.

"Oh man, what a disaster today turned out to be." You sigh. You still can't take him very seriously in his costume.

"Hey, think you have that dress in my size?" You snort.

Kyoya groans, "When will the teasing ever end?"

"Probably never. You'll never get rid of me." You smile cockily.

"We wouldn't want that."

🎵I run and run a thousand miles, and I am barely breathing. Only the fuel of a passionate heart keeps this body strong and moving forward.

Could it be I found a place to rest? How far until I’m OK?

Trees of the town reveal the time has come once again to shift our shade and colors. 🎵

🎵The world always changes around us but weakness will always remain;

Through all the pain, believe in who we are right here and now! 🎵

🎵Raise one hand to the sky; raise them both lift them high!!

And you’ll cut through the darkness make it go!

The time to start is now! And I can show you how.

Start with me, and the world will be even bigger than ever before. 🎵

♡Next time, on Indeed...♡

You never thought the host club would take any interest in seeing your home... You should have known better.

♡We'll see you then!! ♡

want to read more? here's my ouran masterlist 🌹

and here's my bts blog 💜

want me to write something you want to see? request something 💌

have any questions? talk to my characters! 🙏🏻

Adieu~ 🌹🌹🌹

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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 4 years ago

Text

Our little love - mafia/soft Yandere au OT7 Drabble

So I might’ve started this with a little angst and really soft hints of yandere behaviour however I think I might do a part two for this with a little bit more yandere and jealousy vibes (I got ideas okay, just needed a starting point)

“Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your head little love?” Even with the gun pressed firmly against your head, the cold of the barrel threatening to do as he said, you know Yoongi won’t do it, even if you deserved it.

All seven of them stand around you, no matter which way you face you’re met with the disappointment and the consequence of your betrayal in their eyes, but you refuse to look down in shame, you deserved to feel the guilt that pumped in your veins.

“He asked you a question Y/n,” Jin doesn’t have the smile he reserves for you on his face, all their demenor’s are cold, and you are the reason why.

“You love me,” you whisper, looking Yoongi dead in the face with no fear.

“I thought you loved us too,” Namjoon steps forward, breaking the circle around you, coming close to stand next to Yoongi. He has his hands in the pockets of his black blazer, silver hair pushed back.

“Was it all a lie?” if a voice could break you it would always be Jungkook’s, he was the one it took the longest to become close to, and when you had you could see the softness in his eyes despite his career. Of course he would sound the most hurt, he trusted you the most.

Yoongi, with his unfaltering gun, was the other member of their team that took you almost as long as Jungkook to get close to. While Jungkook was just shy, Yoongi didn’t trust anyone, he pushed people away, hurt them to keep them far, you learnt that the hard way. While his eyes looked like they held no emotion in this moment, you knew better, he had shown you his soul, you could see behind the barrier of his expression.

You took his wrist into your hand and pressed the gun harder against you.

“You should shoot me,” it would be better to be dead than live without them, they would never forgive you for what you’d done. The betrayal cut too deep, these wounds wouldn’t heal.

Yoongi scoffs, but you don’t let his wrist go.

“I told you all she shouldn’t be trusted,” he says to the others. “Why would a girl like her fall for men like us?”

You can feel the pain in his words, because above all else, no matter what he says, Yoongi just wants to be loved. They all do, that’s why it was almost too easy.

“Well now we know, don’t we babe?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” you swallow the sob that threatens to rise in your throat, you hate seeing him like this, you hate that you’re the reason why they’re hurt. Every time they came home with a bullet, or a cut or wound, it would kill you inside and you realised then you were compromised.

“No your intention was to infiltrate our defenses and rat us out,” Jimin’s the one to chime in, standing next to Tae who looks at you like you’re dead to him.

“Detective L/n, did you really think we’d never find out?”

You look to your side to make sure Jimin could see the honesty in your eyes.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall for you,” you sound like you’re choking with the way you’re holding back tears, but you don’t want to cry in front of them, it would feel like giving up.

You were assigned to go undercover to infiltrate the uprising gang called BTS, they climbed the heirarchy of organised crime too quickly, too dangerously, something had to be done. You went in with every intention set to take them down until you got to know them, love them, and you knew then you couldn’t do your job. The internal battle to do what was right but felt wrong and what was wrong but felt so right was causing all your morals to be questioned.

Tae scoffs at you now, not believing a word from your mouth.

“I don’t think we should kill her Hyung,” he says to Yoongi, “she needs to feel her betrayal, it would be too easy to escape us with death.”

Namjoon hums in agreement. The cold of the gun leaves your skin and you almost feel unsteady without it. Yoongi doesn’t look at you anymore now that it’s not there, instead he takes your wrist as you previously had, and they walk you to the car. You don’t fight, or talk, or argue, or ask what they wanted to do to you.

The boys had trusted you infinitely, while others had agendas and seeked their downfall they knew you were the only one that wouldn’t betray them, how wrong they were. For your safety they kept an eye on you, when you went out one of them would follow to ensure their little love didnt get into trouble or worse, get hurt. Imagine their surprise when you walked into the police station.

You didn’t tell them you went in to hand in your notice, unable to continue with this lie, it didn’t matter, the damage was done, anything you said would be meaningless.

Your sat inbetween Jungkook and Hoseok, who still hadn’t uttered a word to you, but you could see him restraining his hurt and anger. Jin was in the drivers seat with Yoongi beside him. The others must’ve taken the other car, you don’t really acknowledge it you’re too deep in your own thoughts.

You don’t come up for air until you feel a hand soft on yours in your lap, Jungkook doesn’t look at you, just at how he’s stroking the back of your hand with his thumb comfortingly. You don’t mean for your heart to swell in your chest, pushing the tears up and out.

Jin and Yoongi don’t miss the way your bottom lip trembles in the rear view mirror, the small sniffles or the tears glistening down your face that you wipe away quickly with your other hand. Hobi puts his arm around you, still looking out the window as if you’re not there, but his actions show what they all know in their hearts; they still loved you.

“Why are you crying baby girl you’re not the one with the knife in your back,” Hobi mumbles. They think you’re scared of what they’re going to do with you now they know, but that couldn’t be further from your mind. They want to reassure you, but the words are stuck in their throats.

“You need to be punished darling, otherwise you won’t learn,” Jin can see you nodding to his words in the mirror in acceptance.

“I know.”

——————————————————————————

You expected them to put you in the cellar where they tortured their enemies, you don’t even realise you’re in the living room until you’re placed on the couch. You don’t look up until Namjoon is standing in front of you.

He traces his finger from the edge of your jaw to your chin, your eyes big on him from his soft touch. The calm should scare you, but the only anxiety you have is over whether you should hope for another chance or whether they’ll throw you onto the street when they’re done.

When a tear hits Namjoon’s hands he frowns, they didn’t expect this from you when they confronted you with what they uncovered. They expected you to reveal another face, the true colours beneath the girl they all fell hard for, kick and scream and throw insults their way over the life they had, how awful they were, how they didn’t deserve to be loved. But you kept quiet, eerily quiet, and they didn’t know what to think anymore.

Letting you leave was out of the question, whether you wanted to stay or not. Not because they were concerned that you had seen too much, they didn’t care, they couldn’t imagine their lives without you anymore. The trust might’ve faded, but their love for you was real. Yoongi might’ve created a farce with the gun to your head but it was done to see your reaction, the truth behind the last 6 months of your relationship.

They expected you to beg for your life like every other person at their mercy, but you always defied their expectations.

“You’re so quiet my love,” Namjoon says to you. “Nothing you want to say to defend yourself?”

You shake your head, no there was nothing you want to say or explain.

“Then you take your punishment without complaint?”

You nod without hesitation.

Namjoon releases a deep breath, building the nerve to do what they knew would reveal whether your feelings for then were real or a lie you fabricated for your job. But he wasn’t one to easily be vulnerable, especially not after the blow that they faced today.

Jimin can sense it, the words on their leader’s lip, and he decides to take over. Namjoon steps aside as Jimin kneels on the floor in front of you. He takes your hands that are fidgeting on your lap and place them by your side on the seat, resting the weight of his head there instead.

He hugs your lap with so much love you can’t mistake it for an illusion, he rubs his head into you as much as he can.

“Stay with us,” if his actions weren’t a shock to your system enough, his words pushed you over the edge. You look into each of their eyes and the vulnerability you had learned to recognise was there begging you to want to stay.

“But I...” you don’t know what you want to say, the beating of your own heart was overwhelming in your chest. “I- I hurt you all so much.”

Yoongi hums in agreement, stepping forward to stroke your hair back, the hurt was still there they couldn’t lie to you, but losing you would be worse.

“Do you love us?” Jungkook asks taking a seat beside you, Taehyung sits by your other side. Jimin rubs little circles into your thigh while they wait for your answer.

“So much,” you confess. “I couldn’t do it, I- I”

Your words break off in a sob, as Tae takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of it, a weight lifted off his chest. Jungkook pulls you into him, arms wraps around you as you let out your cries and the man in your lap places little kisses on the expanse of your thighs. You feel overwhelmed with the love theyre displaying when you were expecting their hate.

“But I dont understand,” you cry, “why aren’t you all angry, why aren’t you yelling at me?”

“We love you too,” Jin smiles the way he only reserves for you, and you feel thankful for it.

“It doesn’t matter how you got to us dove,” Hobi comes to kneel beside Jimin, wanting to be close to you too. “If it weren’t for your job you wouldn’t have met us.”

“I don’t know about that Hobi,” Namjoon chuckles. “You were meant for us my love, we would have found you one way or another.”

“We forgive you,” Jungkook kisses your hair. “Just don’t leave us.”

“We wouldn’t let you go even if you tried,” Tae voice rumbles in, leaning his face against your neck while the youngest holds you, still latched to your hand.

“You’re ours,” Jimin’s muffled voice comes from your lap, he’s pressed his face into you.

They would never let you go, and you don’t want them to. You thought all they wanted was love, but now you think you’ve reflected your own desire into them, they just wanted you.

2K notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years ago

Text

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming.

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education).

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way.

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms.

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries.

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable.

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows.

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.”

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum.

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close.

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed.

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin.

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone.

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress.

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt.

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite.

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up.

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks.

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.

It’s your turn to mope.

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand.

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses.

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh.

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels.

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad.

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down.

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome.

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities.

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about.

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest.

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover.

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.”

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee.

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite.

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now.

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.”

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold.

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes.

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon.

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her.

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown.

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead.

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear.

It’s the hardest thing about parenting.

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is.

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show.

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years.

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight.

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now.

A second later, “lemme join.”

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick.

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.”

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions.

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit.

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky.

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home.

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts.

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now.

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back.

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice.

Then, and apparently, now.

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck.

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together.

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper.

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt.

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time.

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips.

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you.

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long.

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body.

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him.

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line.

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could.

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you.

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist.

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore?

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?”

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it.

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you.

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat.

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt.

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time.

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully.

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole.

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything.

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure.

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time.

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone.

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped.

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas.

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever.

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling.

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence.

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out.

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach.

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys.

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever.

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.”

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer.

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off.

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again.

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific.

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position.

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds.

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him.

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt.

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip.

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh.

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you.

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace.

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out.

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you.

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones.

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year.

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace.

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car.

“What’s up?” you ask.

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—”

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well.

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway.

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy.

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news.

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you.

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

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