#so maybe they have it out Third Company style and she knocks him through a building or two before they settle into things as a team again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

songbirdstyles · 5 years ago

Text

lola.

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

pairing: professor!harry styles x reader

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

word count: 18.6k

song inspo.: lola - the kinks

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To make amends?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he lost the bet - then that means -

“It’s a girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Only saying that ‘cause you lost.”

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

—

“Are you honestly mad at me right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A real asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

You nod.

“What happens if you win?”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M’never cranky, baby.”

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

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

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

“In the bedroom, though -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Higher than mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Styles -

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

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

- Daniel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Do you like Madison?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oakley?”

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby, we need to go t’the hospital.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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delos-mio · 4 years ago

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Out of the Woods - College!AU - PART 1

A/N: Welp, here it is! Part 1 of my silly little AU for my favorite silly little king. I really hope I can do him justice and I greatly appreciate any comments and questions you may have! No major triggers- only implied drug use, drinking, allusion to sexy stuff. So, without further ado..

If you had to gaze into a crystal ball at the beginning of the year, this would not have been the future you expected to see. You didn’t plan on being unhoused, stuck in an idle relationship, and debating dropping out of school all together. But here you were, trying your very best to pick up the pieces, salvage what little motivation to carry on that you had left. It could have been worse. It could have been much worse, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself to keep from crumbling entirely. You were never one to back down though, and these few hurdles sure as hell weren’t going to be the thing to break you. At least one of your problems was solved.

You had just emptied the last of the boxes left from moving and were hanging up the rest of your clothes when there was a soft knock on your door. Genya popped her head in, smiling brightly.

“Hey. I was just making sure you were getting settled ok,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m just about done unpacking I think.” You sat down next to her on the edge of your bed. “Thanks again for letting me live here. You have no idea how much you saved his ass,” you laughed.

“Don’t mention it! I’m happy to have someone else here, honestly.” She seemed to mean it, so you decided not to keep groveling. “Anyways, I just had a friend text me about a party tonight if you wanted to go?”

Your party days were almost entirely behind you. Freshman and Sophomore year were a haze of booze and recreational drugs, leading to you almost flunking out of school on more than one occasion. You’d since cleaned up your act, for the most part, and found you way back on the Dean’s list. But...it was a Friday afterall. And you’d just spent all day moving and contemplating your entire life- did that not earn a beer or two?

“Yeah, ok. Ok. That sounds good,” you said with a nod.

“Awesome! I think we’re meeting there around 10ish, so I’ll come grab you to get ready in a little bit.”

“Get ready? Are we 18 and going to our first frat party?” you joked, making Genya laugh.

“I was thinking about it more so as a roomie bonding activity, but if you wanna be a brat…” she drawled, trying to keep the smile off her face.

“Come back in an hour,” you finally sighed. Genya looked simply delighted as she exited, very clearly planning out looks for you both in her head.

As you went to finish up organizing your closet, you felt the familiar buzz of your phone in your pocket.

Matt: u coming over tonight?

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back in your skull. That probably shouldn’t happen when you get a text from your boyfriend.

Y: can’t, sorry. Going out with Genya M: ok- have fun. Make good choices. Y: wtf does that mean M: just to make good choices? Jesus does everything have to be a fight? Y: i’m not trying to fight omg Y: i’ll just talk to you later M: k

K. He had some fucking nerve.

---

Across campus, Nikolai wasn’t having much better of an evening.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." Aleks's tone was final; Nikolai knew there was no point in trying to bargain with him at this point.

"Jesus, fine." Nikolai’s fate had been decided and it was now mandatory that he go to the Delta Chi party that night. And here he had been looking forward to a quiet evening alone with his guitar and journal...

"It'll be fun, you sad sack. And I really want you to meet Alina," Aleks chastised.

"I didn’t know you missed my irreplaceable company quite this much."

Aleks gently threw a pencil across the table at his head. "Maybe you'll even catch a new fish of your own, huh?" he said with an obnoxious smirk. Nikolai just chuckled, nodding noncommittally before heading off to his bedroom.

It's not that he didn’t want to go. Well, he didn’t, really. But normally, he would. It’d been about a month since he called it off with the girl he met in Statistics. And it's not like he even missed her all that much- he knew she wouldn’t be around long from the start. But he was still stuck in the “mope in his room, write songs about heartbreak” phase of his healing. Because of such, he hadn't felt like partying much lately, but he’d blown off Aleks the last 3 weekends...he wasn't going to let Nikolai say no again.

Nikolai figured the least he could do is try and look presentable. It was unlike him to spend as much time in sweats as he had; his sense of style had always been impeccable. He was a man who knew he was handsome and knew the best way to broadcast just that. He pulled out tight black jeans and paired them with a powder blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, maybe a couple of the top buttons left undone. He pushed his golden hair back out of his hazel eyes and scrutinized himself in the mirror. To his horror, he looked like he hadn't had a good night of sleep in a week, which was true. Overall, it could have been better, but it could be worse. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone and keys before going out to find Aleks.

They got to the Delta Chi house, and there were already a few guys passed out on the lawn. Nikolai wasn’t surprised, but it was only 10:30. They must have been freshmen. Aleks lead the way to the porch where a petite dark haired girl turned around and beamed at them.

"You're late!" she says with a clearly fake pout. Aleks leaned in to kiss it away and Nikolai looked everywhere but at them.

"Sorry, sorry, I know. Miss Princess here had to be dragged out of his cave," he laughed at his expense. "Alina, this is Nikolai. Nikolai, Alina."

"Nice to finally meet you," Alina smiled. She's cute, he can give Aleks that.

"I’ll have you know I was not in a cave. I was waxing poetic about love lost, heartbreak and what have you,” Nikolai smirked as Alina laughed.

"Genya and her new roommate are already inside," Alina said, grabbing Aleks's hand.

Thank god. Not that he didn't want to spend time with them or get to know Alina, but he didn't really want to watch them suck face and play third wheel all night. Genya had been a friend of theirs since Freshman year- she smoked them down at a random dorm party and she'd been part of the gang ever since. Nikolai pushed through the crowd and made it along with Aleks and Alina to the kitchen. There were fewer people back here and Nikolai felt like he could breathe again.

"Nik," Genya chirped and threw her hands up excitement. "He lives!"

"You saw me Wednesday," Nikolai laughed. “But, I understand. Aleks was desperate for his company too. It must have been unbearable without me.”

"I really didn't think Aleks would get you to come," she said with an easy grin. Genya handed him a cup of what he assumed was beer. "Doesn't matter. You're here now."

They all circled up and chatted for a minute. For once in his life, Nikolai felt like he was noticeably quiet, but he found he didn’t have much to add. They didn’t want to hear about how he managed to cook a meal TWICE last week. Or how he’d written probably a dozen songs, all of them dogshit. Genya was grinning at a story their friend William was telling when she looked over his shoulder and motioned for someone to join them.

"Guys! Guys! This is my new roommate," Genya said. Ah yes, the new roommate. How could Nikolai forget?

New Roommate had wedged themselves into the circle two people away from Nikolai. He looked up from his cup and immediately locked eyes with you. Honestly, the name should have tipped him off. He never, ever thought he’d see you again. There's no way you possibly remember him, right? God, you were still so beautiful.

"Nikolai?" you asked with a tight voice, eyes jumping all around his face. And it's right about then that Nikolai wished he got a little more beauty sleep. Here you were, practically glowing, while he looked like the walking dead.

"Hey," he breathed out. It sounded a lot more desperate than he meant it to, but you always have had that effect on him.

"You guys know each other?" Aleks interjected.

"It's uh, it's been a few years, but yeah," you said with a blush, looking down into your cup. Aleks and Genya both looked at Nikolai with a raised eyebrow. He could feel the sweat pricking along his brow. Fuck, now all eyes were on him...

"Maybe there's a spot open for beer pong. Let's go check it out." Thank you. Subtle, Genya. "You guys can catch up," Genya said walking past you and patting Nikolai on the shoulder. The rest of his friends followed suit and Nikolai was left alone with you, staring not so subtly.

You hadn’t grown an inch. You’d lost the bright red glasses too. But, god, you were still the most gorgeous creature Nikolai had ever laid his eyes on. Really, he couldn't have lost his virginity to a hotter person.

It's your typical boy-meets-girl story. Nikolai first saw you at the rink where he played hockey in high school. Your parents owned the building and seeing as such, you were employed as the kid behind the concession stand. Nikolai remembered the first time he saw you, he thought you looked like a dork. A very hot dork, but a dork all the same. Nikolai began to notice you watching him in particular during practice, which just further flustered his raging teen hormones.

One night, after everyone else had left practice, Nikolai stayed behind and introduced himself to you. He’d never seen such a beautiful mouth and he had to resist the urge to kiss you right then and there. It became habit that he stay after practice and lean against the counter to shamelessly flirt with you. You often had the rink to yourselves by that time, so Nikolai felt like he could really be himself during those hours. He was still figuring out his place in the world and had stuck-up parents who would never approve of him taking you home. But in the lowlights of the concourse, he was allowed to have a crush on you.

Flirting led to making out behind the counter. Making out behind the counter led to hand stuff in your beat up purple van once you locked up for the night. Hand stuff led to him fucking you in the locker room shower. It was both of your first time and it could have been much less hurried. But you were young and inexperienced and horny as fuck and still exploring sexuality. You kept that arrangement up for the next few months until the season ended and Nikolai left that fall for school. He felt like a dick for not saying goodbye to you. It's not in his nature to ghost. It just isn't. He thinks maybe he was still scared of what it all "meant" and how much he really liked you. Maybe this was the universe telling him to make things right with you and make things right for himself.

"Hey, stranger," you said with a lopsided grin. Fuck. Nikolai was so done for if you kept looking at him like that.

"Hey yourself." And Nikolai couldn't help himself when he reached out to you to pull you in a tight embrace. Lucky him, you didn’t push him away and call him a fucking asshole; he thought he would have deserved that. You buried your face into his neck and the hot little puffs of air were doing way more to him than they should. You parted just enough to get a good look at each other.

"You look good," you said with a dark edge to your voice, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He knew very well what he looked like that night, but you seemed to mean the compliment.

"You look better," he replied earnestly, because it was true. It shouldn't have been this easy to fall right back into things. But it was always different with you. Sometimes, he still thought you were the only one that really understood him without him having to say a word.

"Nikolai Lantsov, you always were a little flirt," you laughed. Your eyes crinkled at the corner and Nikolai thought to himself how beautiful you are when you’re playful. You’re always beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and have you alone. This time, he wouldn’t fuck it up. He wouldn’t let you go. You must have noticed his brain going into overdrive because you say "What's going on up there? What ya thinking?" You pushed a rogue lock of golden hair away from his face.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I'm thinking about how much I wish we weren't at a frat party right now. I'm thinking about how I want to be selfish and have you all to myself," Nikolai said low so only you could hear. You laughed a little to yourself and looked at him with sparkling eyes.

"I'm not stopping you," you drawled. Fuck. Fuck, ok. This was really happening.

"Let me tell the guys we're leaving and then do you maybe want to get some food?" Nikolai asked hopefully. You just nodded coyly with a small smirk.

"I'll meet you out front." You squeezed his hand once and started pushing your way through the sea of bodies.

Nikolai ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath before nearly running down to the basement, eager to say goodbye and make his way back to you. Genya, Aleks, Alina, and William were playing each other, a beer pong table stretching between their pairs.

"Where's your old friend?" Genya asked with a shit eating grin.

"We're um. We're actually gonna head out. So, I guess I'll—" but he was immediately cut off by Aleks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nik, are you leaving with a girl?" he teased.

"Yes. I am." Nikolai looked at him defiantly.

"How do you guys know each other anyways?" Bill asked before launching a shot.

"Just from growing up. High school or whatever," Nikolai mumbled.

"Cmon..." Genya begged.

"Wouldn’t you love to know," he said, voice laced with snark. "I just came down here to say we're fucking leaving!"

"Well then you better not keep your girl waiting," Genya said with a silent kiss in his direction. Nikolai just flipped her off and took his leave.

When he got outside, you were waiting with your hands in your pockets at the bottom of the porch steps. He smiled wide at you and offered a hand, which you seemed happy to take.

"So, are they gonna give me a bunch of shit next time I see them?" you asked as you walked hand in hand to the little strip of 24 hour restaurants on the outskirts of campus.

"Probably. Nothing you can't handle," Nikolai winked. You laughed then a little giggle. It's such a familiar sound and just like that, Nikolai was transported back to the ice rink and you giggling between kisses behind the snack bar.

You made it to one of his favorite delis in town and he offers to buy you a sandwich, which of course you tried to refuse his offer. Nikolai simply won't hear it. He had 5 years of douche baggery to make up for and insisted. You finally conceded and thanked him with the sweetest smile Nikolai had ever seen. You found a table in the corner, away from the door and prying eyes.

"So, how'd you meet Genya?" Nikolai asked.

"We have a writing class together. And we got to talking and became friends. I needed to find a new place cause my old roommate had to drop out and move home. I couldn't afford the place on my own. And I mean, you know how Genya is," you laughed, "I told her all about it one day in class and she offered me a room at her place without batting an eye."

"That does sound like Genya," Nikolai nodded.

"I've only been there like, two hours. But it's been good so far. Genya's been super cool," you said with a smile.

"I can't believe that we've been at the same school this whole time and it's taken this long to find each other," Nikolai said, mostly to himself, but you heard him and reached across the table to grab one of his hands.

"But we did find each other eventually, yeah?" You ran your thumb over his knuckle.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly bashful. Nikolai was seldom flustered. He had nerves of steel and had confidence to spare on his worst days. But you. You cut through him, all the way down to the core, and that made him nervous.

"So," you started, "Tell me about everything Nikolai Lantsov. Surely you've been up to something the last few years."

"Not much interesting to tell," he shrugged. "Been studying history. Writing music here and there to keep myself occupied."

"Girlfriend?"

"Who wants to know?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Shut up," you mumbled into your soda. He doesn't miss the blush that's spreading over your cheeks.

"No. No girlfriend." he paused, considering how honest to be. But fuck it, he owed you candor. "I actually broke up with a girl a little over a month ago." You looked back up at him then, your eyes searching presumably for whether or not Nikolai was still torn up about it. "She wasn’t...she wasn’t right for mw and I guess I was just done. I feel like I should still be sad about it or whatever, but I'm not. I don't miss her. The wallowing and self reflection has been great writing fodder though," he said with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, Nik. You don't deserve that."

"Don't I?" Nikolai looked at you and suddenly felt torn open. "I...I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you." You bit down on your lip and looked out the window. "I regretted leaving you, god, and like a fucking asshole. I regretted leaving you so much. I know saying I'm sorry isn't even close to enough. But god, I'm so fucking sorry." He knew there were tears threatening to fall from his eyes, but he swallowed them down best he could.

"I'm not going to act like it didn't hurt me. Because it really, really did. But I accept your apology, Nik. You know I could never stay mad at you." You paused for a minute before looking at Nikolai with a tiny fire in your eyes. "You know, I'm pretty sure I was in love with you back then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I don’t think I ever stopped loving you," He said confidently. Your jaw dropped just for a moment before you're giving him that sexy grin that apparently still drives him absolutely crazy.

"Still?” Nikolai just smirked. "What if you don't know me anymore?" you asked and sucked at the straw in your soda.

"I'd like to." There's a shift in the air between you. Nikolai was sure you could both feel it. It was suddenly too warm in the restaurant and there's too much table separating you. He decided to take his chance. “How do you feel about going back to my place?”

You suddenly seemed very interested in your nail beds, picking anxiously at the skin. “You didn’t ask me if I was seeing anyone.”

Nikolai stalled. He didn’t. You asked about his relationship status and he was so absorbed with letting you know that he was, in fact, single, that he didn’t bother to ask if you were even available. Hadn't you been flirting all night? He'd certainly been flirting. But like you said, maybe he didn't know you anymore. Maybe this was just how you were these days. “Are you...are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. Maybe it was his own wishful thinking, him hearing the resignation in your voice. Not that he wanted you to be unhappy. No, you deserved the world and he wanted nothing more than for you to have the sun and the moon and the stars. But, maybe there was still a chance for him yet. “His name is Matt. We’ve been together for like, a year or so.”

“Matt.” He let the name burn his tongue. “You love him?”

“Nik…” you warned.

“Just a question.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Just my two cents here,” Nikolai started, leaning back into the booth, “But you deserve to be with someone you can gush about. Someone who when you get asked if you love them, you don’t think twice and say ‘they’re the love of my life!’”

“And you don’t think that’s him?” you said, huffing. “You think that’s you?”

“There’s a chance,” he smirked. “All that aside, I’m very glad fate has brought us together again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed. “I missed you too.” You looked at your phone quickly. “Shit, I should get going. I have a shift at 9 tomorrow.”

“Let me walk you home,” Nikolai insisted, standing from the booth and helping you into your jacket.

“Always such a gentleman,” you smiled, tapping him gently on the nose before walking ahead of him.

The walk to your and Genya’s place felt too short. Nikolai had made this trek, both intoxicated and sober, and it always seemed much longer. But now he was at your front door, hands shoved in his pockets as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you don’t want to hang out again, I understand, but I need you to tell me now if you think it’s a bad idea,” he rushed out.

“Of course I want to see you again,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So dramatic. We can still be friends, right?”

“We can be best friends,” he smiled.

“I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

“Likewise.”

You were both clearly just trying to prolong the evening at this point. Nikolai took it upon himself to put you both out of your misery and pulled you into his arms again. You gripped his torso tightly, melting your body against his. He held you close, both strong arms wrapped around your shoulder while he tucked your head under his chin. After a moment, he pulled back enough to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, his breathing a little hard.

“Ok,” you croaked, nodding. Nikolai stepped out of your space then, squeezing your hand one last time before walking back out to the sidewalk, waiting and watching to make sure you got inside safely.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #prince nikolai #shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov fanfic #shadow and bone fanfic #nikolai lantsov au #shadow and bone au #grishaverse au #ootw #masterlist

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edie-k · 3 years ago

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Greener Pastures (Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, PG-13)

Title: Greener Pastures

Pairing: Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, Past Lavender/Ron, Past Lavender/Seamus

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: At Harry and Ginny's engagement party, Lavender bemoans her single status to a mystery man.

Author's Note: Well, here's an obscure ship for you. Thanks to @adenei for her feedback and kind words!

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

“I think that proves that for all the complaining I’ve done, Harry, I mean it when I say you are the only one I thought was good enough for my sister,” Ron said from the front of the room, to a chorus of laughter. “So let’s raise a glass to the newly engaged couple!”

From her seat at the bar, Lavender made a face and threw back the remaining contents of her tumblr. Parvati, who was seated next to her, joined the crowd in applauding and cheering Harry and Ginny.

Click below to read more or read at AO3

“That was a nice speech,” commented Parvati.

“Oh, just the best,” muttered Lavender, trying to catch the bartender’s eye.

Parvati shook her head. “I just spotted Adam’s sister. I wanted to ask her about what the expectations are for dress code and stuff at his grandmother’s. All Adam said when I asked him was ‘Whatever’s fine.’ We’re going abroad to meet an entire side of your family I have never met in all the time we’ve been together and you’re telling me whatever is fine.”

“Mmm hmm,” Lavender said, still trying to signal for a drink.

“Are you going to be okay if I-”

“Yes, yes,” said Lavender, sighing. “I’m fine. Sorry if I’m being a drag. Just… that news earlier and then all this… happiness. Go get the dish from Mara so we can go shopping tomorrow.”

Parvati squeezed her friend’s arm before hopping off the stool and wading through the crowd to find Mara. The bartender finally made his way over to her and began to mix her another drink without a word.

At least Adam was out of town on business for the weekend so Lavender didn’t have to third wheel with her best friend and her boyfriend. Because that would have been the only thing more depressing than going to an engagement party with your platonic best friend.

The bartender nudged the glass back to her and she nodded her head in thanks as he made his way back down the bar.

“Is this seat taken?”

Lavender glanced up and met the gaze of a man she’d never seen before.

“Uh, no, be my guest,” she said. “Although be warned that I am shitty company.”

The man chuckled as he sat down on the stool. “I highly doubt that but I’m game to find out.”

Lavender looked at him again. She didn’t recognize him, which was shocking because even though the venue was full, Lavender had thought she would know everyone here. Harry and Ginny were obviously incredibly popular so they had kept tight controls on who was included on the guest list.

The man signaled for the bartender and Lavender took the opportunity to give him a once over. The guy was huge - not in an overweight or bodybuilder type way. He was just tall and solid. Other than her first boyfriend, her preference was tall guys. She was 5”8’ herself and preferred to wear heels when she could so aesthetically, it was nice for her companion to have some height. Nice eyes, cute face. He had dark blond hair and was dressed in a dark blue Muggle button down shirt and black trousers with no robes. Since the war had ended, Muggle style had become popular with the wizards in her age group. Harry, who was raised by Muggles, was always more comfortable in that style of clothing and Ron, who she knew was dressed primarily by Hermione and Hermione’s mum, followed suit. And whatever that little Trio did, everyone else did and for Merlin’s sake, Ron Weasley was now a fucking fashion icon. Lavender took a big swig of her drink.

“It’s a nice party,” said the man. Lavender nodded as the bartender approached. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

The bartender made another drink before placing it in front of the man. He went to reach for his pocket when Lavender noticed a look of panic cross his face. Before she could say anything, the bartender waved him away. “Mr. Potter has the tab covered tonight.”

“Well,” he said, his face relaxed again. He turned back to Lavender. “Should we follow Red’s instructions and toast the happy couple?” The two clinked glasses. “It was a nice speech.”

Lavender snorted.

“You disagree?”

“I’d have thought his wife wrote it for him but there was too much swearing for her to have had a hand,” Lavender said. Then she wiped the palms of her hands down her face. “Ugh, ignore me. It actually was a very touching and funny speech. I’m just in an ugly mood and I have a bit of a history with Ron so I’m being mean for no reason.”

“You dated him?” the man guessed. She nodded. “Huh, he said in the speech that he’d loved his wife since he was 13.”

“And I dated him when we were 16 so…”

“Hence the ugliness,” finished the man.

“Hence the ugliness,” Lavender repeated. “I’m over it, really. Hermione and I shared a room for six years and are better friends now than we ever were at school. As for Ron, that was just some stupid school kid bullshit on both our parts. It’s more that I didn’t realize that my only opportunity to find love was going to be at Hogwarts. If I had known that, I’d have made better choices or… maybe taken Arithmancy to secure a better paying job to support my lonely life.”

“What do you mean?” the man asked.

“Everyone I know, they’re married or engaged or about to be engaged to the person that they dated at Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny dated at school, Neville and Hannah somehow started to date during our last year during the war. My best friend Parvati and her boyfriend dated our sixth year at Hogwarts and then he fled with his Muggle family overseas but they started right back up again when he came back to England. See that girl over there, the pregnant one?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Parvati’s sister. That’s her second kid cooking. She’s married to her prefect partner, Anthony. I guess technically, Ron and Hermione didn’t date at Hogwarts but -”

“He’s loved her since he was 13,” the man said amused.

“Yeah. I’m the only one that couldn’t make it out with a relationship intact.” she moaned, taking another drink.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Lavender took another long drink and contemplated his statement. “You know what? You’re right. Ginny, she also had a relationship that didn’t work out. Do you see that tall bloke over in the corner that she’s talking to?”

The man glanced in the direction Lavender was referring to. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s Dean. He was the guy that Ginny dated before Harry. Now, do you see that cute little Irishman standing next to Dean?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Seamus. He was my ex-boyfriend before Ron. And now he’s Dean’s husband. Met in school, by the way.”

“Oh,” said the man, taken aback.

Lavender narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a problem with that? Because despite the fact that Seamus is just one more example of my inability to keep a boyfriend, I will defend those men and their amazing relationship to the death from any bigot that threatens it.”

“No, no!” the man sputtered. “I’m just… I went to an all-boys school and I knew gay guys but they all hid it and I’m just not used to people being open about it. It’s fine - more than fine. Good for them! I mean, hey, they found each other and are leaving more beautiful women for the rest of us, right?”

“Merlin, I wish I could find a beautiful woman,” Lavender moaned, burying her face in her hands. The bartender seemed to take this as a signal that she needed another drink and provided her with a refill.

“Oh, are you… interested in women?” she heard him ask.

“No,” she moaned. “You must think I’m insane.” Lavender put both her hands on the man’s arm that was closest to her. “I promise that I am not hung up on some school romance from five years ago. It’s just that, if you knew Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts… did you know Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts?”

The man shook his head.

“Okay, so if you knew them, you would know that they were both totally immature prats. After I broke up with Seamus, I thought he was the worst boyfriend ever. He was always running off to spend time with his mates, talking about Quidditch, no interest in spending time with me, dumb jokes. But then, then I dated Ron, who was even worse than him. The only thing he wanted to do with me was snog and I think that was some weird power move with Hermione or his sister… who knows. I have to be way more drunk to psychoanalyze Ron Weasley. Anyway, the last month we were together, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he wanted to ditch me for Hermione but was just too much of a coward. And yet somehow, both of those idiots ended up married before me! And it’s not like they got married to some random person that they knocked up after a one night stand. Ron eloped with his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was in love with all through school and the entire time we were dating and Seamus… oh for Godric’s sake.”

Lavender paused in her tirade for a moment. “Seamus also married his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was probably in love with all through school AND the entire time we were dating. How am I just realizing that?” Lavender groaned, banging her head on the bar.

“Can wizards knock up other wizards?” asked the man. Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter.

“Oh, thank you for that,” she giggled. “I was spiralling.”

“Uh, yeah, no worries,” said the man, shifting in his seat.

“It’s just that this dating stuff is really hard. The wizarding world is so small, you know? I think it’s why everyone locks in with their soulmate at school, ” Lavender commiserated.

“Have you ever considered dating like, outside the wizarding world?” the man asked.

Lavender shook her head. “How could I? It’s tough enough here. After all the Prophet spotlights on battle injuries and such, everyone knows how I got all these awful scars on my face but it still takes a certain type of man to look past them. And I’m sure there are Muggles that aren't shallow about them either but they would ask how I got them. How would I explain them to a Muggle? I can’t just say ‘Oh during a war at my school, a werewolf tried to rip me to shreds. But don’t worry, I’m not a werewolf although I have some side effects from it.’ They’d think I was insane.”

“Uh, yeah, that does sound a bit… daunting,” the man admitted, looking a bit pale.

“I mean, I’m still a catch. I’m funny, I have a great rack, I make excellent scones, and I’m amazing in bed.” At that comment, she heard the man next to her choke a little and she stifled a smile to continue on. “And even if I could get away with not explaining it to a man, once I meet his family, there’s no way. In my experience, mothers are always trying to find a reason to hate the woman that’s dating their special baby boy. I can’t imagine a Muggle mother taking very kindly to a literal witch with werewolf scars.”

“Yes,” sighed the man before giving a little chuckle. “I can certainly see that. And with all of the, you know, war stuff, I can see where you wish you had a school sweetheart.”

Lavender shook her head and drained the rest of her drink. “Seamus and Ron are just easy targets. I really am not hung up on them. This is about Don.”

“Who’s Don?”

“Don is my last boyfriend. We dated exclusively for eight months and he was so fun and thoughtful and generous. But he never said I love you. He kept telling me that he was too young to settle down and, I believed that he thought that. I really did. So we split in December because we wanted different things.”

“Ah,” said the man. “Seems sensible.”

“And then this morning, I see it in The Daily Prophet.”

“See what?”

“His engagement announcement,” she wailed, throwing herself on the bar again and almost upsetting her glass.

The man patted her on the shoulder. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how long they’ve been dating?” Lavender asked.

“Eight months?” ventured the man.

“FIVE!” Lavender cried.

“Maybe he knocked her up?” suggested the man.

Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter again. “Merlin, you’re funny. Why am I whinging about all these dolts I’ve surrounded myself with when I should get to know you better?”

“Yeah?” said the man with a grin.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, if you want-”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “A funny, beautiful woman wants to get to know me better - the answer is always yes. I do need a refill. Do you want one? You’re not driving home, are you?”

Lavender giggled.

The man shook his head and looked embarrassed. “Oh, right, you wouldn’t be driving. You would uh - ”

“You must be a Muggle born. Do- I mean, I’ve heard others say that before. Those habits die hard.”

“Actually,” the man took a deep breath. “I’m a Muggle.”

Lavender’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck does a Muggle get invited to the engagement party of the Chosen One and a pureblood Quidditch player?”

“Well, Harry’s my cousin,” the man said. “My name’s Dudley.”

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

“Do you see that over there?” asked Hermione, nudging Ron. He turned away from his conversation with Neville and Charlie to see what his wife was gesturing to across the room.

“Is that Dudley Dursley chatting up Lavender?” Ron asked, as his eyes landed on the sight before him.

“It appears to be,” said Hermione. “Merlin, they are really flirting. Should we go over there and say something? A warning or...?”

“Right,” said Ron. “Absolutely we should. Which one of them are we warning?”

#lavender brown #lavender deserved better #side hinny #romione fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #romione #deamus #hp fanfic

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 4 years ago

Text

That One Valentine’s Day Special (Captions)

Anon said: “Hello!! I saw that your wandavision requests are open and I had to request something! I’m so obsessed with Vis right now, it’s very bad. I can’t think of any specific plot ideas, all I know is that I would really love to see some fluffy Vision just head over heals in love with reader. Kisses, cuddles, all that jazz. Thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️”

Anon said: “maybe a request where it’s valentines and the reader and Wanda team up to get really dressed up and make an amazing dinner to surprise Vision, but when he comes home and sees them both he’s so flustered that either like has a shutdown or faints? And then obviously Wanda and the reader panic and spend the evening taking care of him and also teasing him for being so adorable/fainting? Thank you!!!”

A/N: Combined aspects from both of these requests to make an ooey gooey Valentine’s Day special (which got belated because I lost half of the writing when I transferred it from doc to Tumblr post :’D)!

Don’t think this is the type of dressed up you meant but I hope you like it, either way! The type of nightwear I was going for with Wanda was something like this.

Subtitles/Captions Masterlist

Tip Jar

Word count: 7,117

Warnings: Valentine’s Day sap. Lingerie, passionate kissing, and everyone being flirty (nothing graphic). Reader makes a really, really, just terrible pun in order to compliment Wanda. This was edited very late at night, so there might be a few errors.

Tag list: @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend (These were the only two on the tag list who confirmed that they wanted to be tagged in everything WandaVision-related; if anyone else on the Subtitles list does, just let me know!)

~~~

“Hey, Wanda?” You hollered to the woman in the other room. You were standing in front of the mirror in the Maximoff bathroom, adjusting the collar of the somewhat too-big shirt you wore.

“Yes, dear?” Your girlfriend hollered back from a couple of rooms away.

“While I definitely get the why we’re doing this,” you continued, tugging the shirt’s shoulders farther to one side, then back to the other, before giving up and moving onto your hair, “with Valentine’s Day and all, you know--”

Wanda piped up, probably to assure you that she was listening more than anything, “Yes, I do.”

You snorted. “--but is there a reason we’re doing so… much?”

As you spoke, you ran your hands through your hair, ruffling it to give it a bedhead type of look. You faltered a bit when your eyes settled on the ugly scar on your forehead that your hair couldn’t cover without being in a bizarre style. You frowned and dug a finger into the scar tissue, feeling very little other than mild pressure when you did so.

There was a pause on Wanda’s end. “You don’t think he deserves it, working so hard this past week?”

You reeled back, insecurity forgotten, and quickly left the bathroom. You walked down the hall to where Wanda was working on her own outfit in the bedroom she shared with Vision, rambling away, “No, no, no! I mean no as in no, you’re wrong, not as in he doesn’t deserve what we’re doing. Of course, he does! To be completely honest, he probably deserves it more than anyone in town--aside from yourself, of course--but… For example, we did a lot revolving around food and… Vis doesn’t eat.”

There was another pause and you halted by the closed bedroom door, mainly to pick a rose petal from where it stuck itself to the bottom of your stockinged foot but also because you didn’t want to walk in on your partner.

“But Valentine’s Day revolves around food quite a bit, doesn’t it?” Wanda said from the other side of the door. At this point in your relationship, you could pick up pretty easily how Wanda was feeling by her tone of voice. She spoke thoughtfully, which wasn’t all that concerning, but there was a certain edge to her voice that made you worried; she was going to start overthinking and scrapping the entire idea if you didn’t interfere soon.

You tilted your head from one side to the other while considering her statement before giving a nod she couldn’t see and responding, “I suppose you’re right there. Lots of holidays do, now that I think about it. Thanksgiving? Turkey. Easter? Candy. Christmas? Just… food in general.”

You glanced around as you spoke. You couldn’t see much of the house from where you stood in the hallway but you knew what to expect when you walked to the main part of the house. All of the house’s lights were off, save for a few lamps that washed the house with what would have been a low, cozy, get-comfortable-before-bed sort of light if Wanda hadn’t used her powers to turn the lightbulbs in said lamps from yellow to a red; because of this change, the dim light gave off a much more romantic energy that fit with the rest of your and Wanda’s decorating. Red, pink, and white rose petals were scattered all across the floor, starting from the front were, where Vision would be when he walked in after work and making a trail to different rooms of the house. One path led to the kitchen and dining area, where you and Wanda had spent a good part of the day preparing various sweet, Valentine’s Day- and romance-themed treats plus dinner and setting up the table with candles and flowers and a pink tablecloth that matched the pink rose petals. Another led to the living room, which was decorated in a similar nature. Thanks to Wanda’s ability to conjure, she was able to quickly clean up the area that was usually hidden under a mess of baby equipment, change the color of the throw pillows and blankets to the correct red and pink theme, and even had “floating” heart decorations that danced across the ceiling on transparent strings; the babies themselves were gone for the night, safe under Agnes’s care once she and you had been able to convince Wanda. Finally, a rose path, accompanied by ceiling hearts, led down the hallway until it made a fading stop at where were you currently stood, leaning next to the bedroom door. The bedroom itself wasn’t decorated and neither of you had really talked about the assumptions that could be made from looking at the trail, but what you had discussed was how many romantic movies Wanda was going to project onto one of the walls after dinner while cuddling would most certainly take place on the couch.

The third path was mainly to guide you down the hallway while Wanda greeted Vision from the kitchen. It was also to lead Vision to go change into his own set of comfy pajamas when you and Wanda would ultimately have to push him to do so after him grumbling about too tired to do so.

Poor thing, you thought while pushing yourself away from the wall.

Being the company’s fastest and best worker, Vision had become victim to Mr. Hart doubling his workload and as a result, the gentleman had been working like a dog for the entire past week. His days had consisted of getting up way too early only to go into work and be worked to the bone, then come home and relieve Wanda of the babies--regardless of her assuring him that she’d be fine while he rested--until he passed out on the couch sometime later into the night. You’d been surprised, after learning of his synthezoid identity, that he’d need to sleep at all but you supposed anyone would need to recharge after a day like that.

You, on the other hand, had racked up some vacation days and, after a chat with Wanda about the upcoming romantic holiday, decided to add an extra day to your weekend so the two of you could do something nice for her husband. You’d probably regret this on Monday but for now, you were just happy to have spent the day working with Wanda and were hoping the rest of the night went well.

Speaking of the woman, Wanda had been quiet for some time now, other than the sounds of rustling fabric. You decided now was a good time as any to get involved before she decided that she should do something completely different and cause all the previous work to go to waste, so you knocked. After getting a verbal invitation, you strolled in, only for a sharp inhale to almost propel you back to slam into the doorframe.

Wanda was standing in front of a full-length mirror against the far wall of the bedroom, anxiously fiddling with what little clothing she had on. She wore what looked like a bathing suit but was made out of a sheer, body-hugging, baby pink fabric and embellished with a subtle pattern of roses. Her back was turned to you but you could see from the mirror’s reflection that the piece still left plenty to the imagination with a more opaque version of the same fabric keeping her chest, the bit of fabric held snugly between her thighs, and even an upsidedown V-shaped panel that was framed by silky white bands and reached from the middle of her torso to the lower part of her hips covered. This lovely piece, clothing an even lovelier woman, was paired with similarly colored stockings of the same fabric, minus the rose pattern, and you were both surprised and amused by the addition of a string of pink pearls around her neck and one wrist with matching earrings and a pair of white low heels with a bow on the toe strap. Wanda’s hair was styled in loosely curled waves, making it look shorter than it actually was, and pushed back with a headband that could be mistaken for a minimal tiara, which was also embellished with pink-tinted pearls.

You knew that you were staring, flushed, and with eyes almost bulging out of their sockets--you knew only because you could catch part of your own reflection in the mirror, not because you could feel anything other than goosebumps-inducing tingles travel across your body--but it took Wanda laughing softly and catching your eye in the mirror to pull your slacked jaw off the floor and close your suddenly dry mouth. You eventually also tried to speak but not much other than a stammering “Uhhh…” came out and you gave up, instead choosing to scrub your hands over your face so you would at least look away.

Then Wanda dared to ask, “So, do I look okay?”

You stared at her again but this time it was one of disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wanda rolled her eyes and chuckled again at your utter belief before nervously running her hands down along a perfect set of curves. You fully believed she had no intention of torturing you by doing so but here she was, doing just that. If it hadn’t been for the awkward look on her face, makeup-free except for light lipstick and a little mascara, your gaze probably would have stayed with the path her hands made over her stomach and down to rest on her hips. You watched her gaze jump worriedly from one part of her body to the other instead.

“Look,” she continued, “I know I look okay, I know I look fine--”

Fine? Only fine? If Wanda asked you to strip naked and run through Westview while screaming her praises, you would do so without a second thought. Well, you probably would have done it regardless of what she was wearing but you wouldn’t be complaining about the extra bit of help.

“--but ever since the twins were born, I feel a little… hmph… wearing something like this.”

While you couldn’t possibly fathom how she could see herself as anything but one of the most beautiful living creatures ever, but you’d also figured out quite a while ago that she didn’t exactly see herself the same way you did. You chewed the inside of your cheek a bit before walking over and wrapping your arms around her; her own hands settled to rest on top of yours. You rested your chin on her shoulder and met her gaze in the mirror one last time.

“I suppose even goddesses have their insecure days, huh?”

Wanda laughed and rolled her eyes so hard you were vaguely worried about them rolling back into her skull. She lightly slapped your arms but still leaned back into your embrace as she scoffed, “Be quiet.”

“Wanda,” you said, “you had kids. You still look great. You look so good. So, so, so good. Insanely good. Earth-shakingly good. So pretty. Very gorgeous. Amazingly foxy. Incredibly stellar. Your mom body? Could demolish Aphrodite in a beauty pageant.”

You rambled on a bit longer before Wanda was smacking your arms again. She looked more at ease now, though, completely relaxed in your arms with her head leaning into the crook of your shoulder and one ankle loosely crossed over the other.

“Mom body.” She snorted. “Please, enlighten me further about this mom body I have.”

You quickly shook your head and gave her reflection a warning look. “Can’t. If I say much more, it’ll upset the gods. Every single one of them. I’ll be thrown into the pits for all the sinful things I’d have said.”

Wanda’s head fell back as she laughed again; you felt the tickle of her hair against your exposed neck as you grinned against her shoulder. When she settled again, you gave her a serious look, moved your lips to kiss the shell of her ear, then muttered, “But let’s just say you’re a foxy mama in absolutely every sense of the word.”

The woman in your arms erupted with laughter once more, though this time it was short and accompanied by a gentle slap to the cheek. Then her hand rested there, holding your head close as she leaned her forehead partially against yours.

“You and my husband,” she said with a little shake of her head, “and those ridiculous puns of yours.”

You nodded slightly in agreement, then tilted your head to peck her cheek. “That one really was just…”

“Awful?”

“Yeah, no, not good.” You chuckled and reached a hand up to poke her cheek. “Made ya smile though.”

Wanda hummed, squinting at herself in the mirror, then huffed. “I suppose.”

There were a few moments of the two of you just holding each other and soaking up each other’s presence.

Then Wanda just had to ask again, “Do you really think I look okay?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Wanda! You’re so pretty! You’re so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so--”

“You tell me I’m pretty all the time,” she pointed out.

“I have yet to be wrong,” you countered.

She looked herself over again. Tilting her head and glancing up at you from under her lashes, she said, “You could call me sexy.”

“I could,” you agreed, “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable though.”

Wanda raised a brow. “Did I not just say you could?”

You snorted. “Was my foxy mama joke not enough? Do you know what havoc me doing so would release onto the world? Would you want the gods to reject me because of my filthy language?” You leaned your head into her neck while keeping your eyes on hers. You waggled your eyebrows and lowered your voice. “‘Cause I’ll do it.”

Wanda made a face at you, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips in the special, incredibly cute way that only she could. Then she smiled and ruffled your hair slightly. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you calling me sexy once.”

��Oh, nay,” you insisted, “if it happens once, it shall happen a million types! An unholy, unhinged, affectionate monster shall be released from its mortal prison!”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully and made a show of tapping her chin and tilting her head. “Okay, deal.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Giving her cheek another quick smooch, you said simply back, “‘Kay, you’re sexy.”

She smiled back at you and did a single clap. “Yay.”

“And, hey,” you said, tapping the scar on your forehead, “even if you weren’t a level of beauty that matched an immortal otherworldly being--impossible--at least you don’t have a scar on your face.”

You saw Wanda’s gaze soften in the mirror before she twisted around in your arms to face you. She gently took your face in her hands and your eyes fluttered shut as she leaned up to kiss you directly on said scar.

“I like the scars,” she said softly, “It means you survived something, even if you don’t know what it was, and I’m happy that you did.”

Your eyes blinked back open. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t be here for me otherwise.”

You huffed out a little breath, somewhat involuntarily, and were suddenly very aware of the fact that you two were practically tangled around each other now. You squished your nose against hers in a nuzzle and said in a lower tone, “Lucky you then.”

She dropped her hands from your face to wrap her arms around your neck. She matched your tone and bumped her nose back against yours, tilting her head a bit. “Very lucky.”

It was almost like a mutual decision when your lips crashed against each other.

Having been prone to the feeling of floaty dizziness as a result of your migraines, the feeling itself wasn’t particularly jarring. What replaced the usual undercurrent of pulsing pain, however, was what made this dizziness feel heavenly instead of hellish. When you kissed Wanda, it was like immediate intoxication but instead of booze, it was the taste of the gloss on her lips and the strawberry flavor that still lingered on her tongue from your cooking session earlier that day and the mix of citrusy sweetness from her perfume and shampoo that made you think of candied orange slices whenever you inhaled. You’d always be too busy to mentally describe it while in the moment, far too concentrated on committing whatever part of Wanda’s body that you were touching to memory via your grazing fingertips and adding new scents, words, feelings, images, and whatever else to the catalog of things that reminded you of her in your head, but when you thought about the love-drunk dizziness that followed the initial intoxication after the fact, you equated it to being a little tipsy and stumbling into a warm home. Only this time, home was a woman whose arms and mouth kept drawing you back for one more kiss, and then five more, and the thing that made you tipsy was the way the air crackled with invisible electricity and magic, and the look in her eyes when your eyes fluttered open after parting.

While time seemed to slow to a stop during your and Wanda’s moment, it hadn’t actually done so at all. This was proven when you heard the front door begin to open, causing you and Wanda to practically leap away from each other. She stared at you with wide, startled eyes and you couldn’t help but note your handiwork; her entire face and neck were flushed a deep red, her hair was significantly messier than it had been previously, that the lip color she’d been wearing had been partially transferred to your mouth.

The admiration could only last a moment. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“I’m supposed to be in the kitchen,” Wanda repeated. “My lipstick is all over your face.”

You brushed a thumb over your bottom lip and it came away with a glossy pink. “Your lipstick is on my face.”

Wanda stood in front of you, suddenly frozen except for flitting eyes and hands grasping at the air while she tried to think of something. Then, with a couple of snaps of her fingers, she remembered her magic a moment later. “Oh, I can just-- You look amazing, the shirt’s a nice touch. See you out there!” She snapped once more and disappeared in a puff of red smoke just as you heard the front door swing open and Vision’s voice drifted down the hallway.

“Darling, I’m ho-- Oh.”

Then Wanda’s voice also bounced back your way from where she was probably now perched in the kitchen. Her tone was one part frazzled, two parts cheery, and five parts flirty teasing as she spoke. “Hiya, honey! Whaddya think?”

You drew your attention from their voices to the mirror that you now stood in directly in front of. The outfit you wore wasn’t nearly as polished as Wanda’s, but it had its intimate charm. While the two of you both wore stockings, that was where the similarities stopped. Your stockings were a sheer brownish-black and you wore no form of shoes with them nor any other accessories aside from your lightly ruffled mess of hair. In contrast to Wanda’s overall body-shaping attire, the pair of high-waisted silky shorts that you wore were flowy and loose, and instead of the shorts’ matching tank top with uncomfortable lace straps, you wore one of Vision’s pajama shirts that was a similar shade of red with vertical yellow and dark brown stripes. Posing a couple of different ways for yourself in the mirror, you were pleased to find the red and yellow were an almost match to Vision’s skin and the glowing gem in his forehead; with a little more pondering, you were a tad upset that the shirt you were wearing had yellow stripes instead of yellow spots.

If it had spots, you thought, I could look like a strawberry with a thigh-high chocolate dip.

Pleased with your look otherwise, you aimlessly moved about the bedroom before hovering around the doorway where you could almost make out the rest of Vision and Wanda’s conversation. The plan in place was that Wanda was going to give Vision the itinerary for the night--gifts and cards, dinner, because there was food to be eaten whether Vision ate any or not, an indoor movie theater that Wanda would magically whip up, and the rest of the night spent in romantic snuggling bliss--and then would give you a cue. When the actual process of getting the gifts came about, you were to bring said items to the living room, being somewhat of a surprise gift for Vision in your own right. You glanced towards the bed, where a white clothing box wrapped in a red ribbon sat with a trio of cards, one each from you and Wanda and one Wanda had made on behalf of the twins, who were still too young to do much on their own.

You couldn’t be sure whether it was because Wanda had slipped up and mentioned you--it was much harder to hear them from the other part of the house after their loud introductions finished--or if Vision, clever and curious man that he was, had caught on to your and Wanda’s plan already and decided to uncover it ahead of time. Either way, you suddenly caught a glimpse of Vision turning down the hallway, hovering a few inches off the ground to probably preserve the rose petal trail underneath his feet, and jumped away from the doorway before he could see you. While you couldn’t quite make out what Wanda was saying, you could hear a slight strain in her voice as she tried to get Vision to back down from his cause, to no avail. You only had a few moments to think of something and you decided to hop onto the bed and get comfortable in a casual sitting position, moving the small stack of Valentine’s Day goodies and looking coolly off to the side just before Vision floated into the room.

The soft thud of Vision landing on his feet your attention back over to the doorway and you saw him standing there rigid in his work suit, his gaze roaming over you before respectfully glancing away--only to be slowly dragged back less than a minute later. After watching this process continue a couple more times, you decided to tease him.

“Oh, hey there, crimson toaster oven,” you quipped nonchalantly, reaching up to toy with a stray piece of hair as you did, “how was work?”

Vision’s eyes settled on yours as you watched him with a cocked head. You expected some sort of reply, and for a moment he seemed like he was about to speak. Instead, though, he settled into an almost completely frozen state, jaw clenching slightly.

At first, you were amused. Then you realized he was quite literally frozen, nothing moving aside from the whirling of gear-like shapes in his irises, and your facade broke down a bit.

“Vis?” you questioned, sitting up straighter and moving the Valentine’s Day gifts aside, “you okay?”

No response.

You frowned and got up to walk over to him. “Um, Wanda?”

The Sokovian woman appeared a moment later shimmying around Vision’s form to stand next to you.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“Oh, dear,” Wanda murmured. You watched as her gaze turned red and she looked him over, using her powers to check that his internal functions were still working properly. Eventually, her gaze stopped at his face and after squinting at him, Wanda said, “Ah. [Y/N], it appears we broke him.”

“I’m sorry?” you choked, “Broke him?”

Wanda seemed much less worried than you felt about the implications of Vision being some form of broken. She instead smiled and stepped up to him, giving you a simple “Yep” before pressing her fingers to his temples. Her eyes flashed red again and a second later Vision’s body sagged into a much more human position. “There we go.”

You blinked and watched as Vision shook himself out, flapping his hands and then rotating his arms and neck with a grumble.

“Ah,” he said, “much better.”

You eyed him. “Everything’s chill then? His gears got, ah, de-gummed, so to speak?”

Wanda snickered. She was now tucked against Vision’s side and helping him shimmy out of his jacket.

Vision seemed to remember where he was and what was going on because his eyes flitted from Wanda to you and back. When he settled a bit more, he looked at you both in turn, his gaze making a slow, deliberate path down both your and Wanda’s bodies as he took in what each of you wore. Finally, his eyes jolted back up to meet yours, and he responded in a low, gravelly voice, “Well, right now, I’m doing absolutely marvelously.”

You grasped that everything was back on track again and a smirk graced your face. “Well,” you said, clapping your hands together and turning back towards the bed, “as long as the short-circuit didn’t fry anything, the step of the night is gifts.”

Then you were being dragged back to Vision’s side by your wrist and he had an arm around both your and Wanda’s waists. “Now, just hold on there, [Y/N]. Shouldn’t I get to spend some time with my lovely partners, especially after seeing all the effort they’ve put in? Besides, I haven’t even gotten to compliment you about your looks.” He paused and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s temple, then nuzzled the side of your neck. When he moved his head away again, he eyed the way your shirt hung loosely off your shoulders. “Is that my shirt?”

You and Wanda shared an amused glance. She’d told you earlier that day about the anniversary-Hart family dinner mishap she and Vision had had when they’d first moved to Westview, the same day you’d met the couple, and how Vision and the Harts had come home to Wanda wearing an intimate nightdress that had made Vision more than a little flustered; the story is what sparked the idea for the evening’s current attire. She ignored his comment about you wearing his clothes and decided to nudge him back to the plan as hand, brushing a hand over the suit jacket now hanging from her arm. “I don’t know about that, honey, your eyes were certainly saying something.”

Vision pouted and hummed, probably trying to come up with another reason to keep hugging you and Wanda close to his body. After a moment, he chirped, “Ah, well! I brought you each something and something for the boys, and I left everything out in the living room. We can’t open gifts without all of them, what a pity. We might as well--”

“I have an idea.” Wanda interrupted. When you looked from Vision to her, she was still smiling but her eyes sparked with a playful warning. She freed herself from Vision’s hold, much to the tall man’s dismay, and walked over to the bed. She picked up the cards and tucked them under the arm that also held Vision’s jacket, then brought the clothing box over and held it out to you. “How about I go and make sure the food is warmed up and the table is set, then get all the cards and things into one place while, [Y/N], you give Vision the one gift he should still have.”

You raised a brow as you took the box from her and watched her saunter to the door, consciously moving out of Vision’s range. “You don’t want to see him open it?”

“I saw you open one I bought for you, you get to see the one you bought him,” Wanda said simply. “And I have a feeling that we’re better off if we’re not all in the same room until things get back on track, Vision might run the risk of shutting down again.”

You gasped dramatically and pressed your free hand to your cheek. Looking at Vision with wide eyes, you whispered, “How will I warm my bagels?”

Vision narrowed his eyes and made a grumbling sound from so deep in his chest you could feel the rumble where you were still held against him. Said sound and Vision’s overall reaction so far made you perfectly happy with the idea of the night derailing a bit off course, but you knew how much of a stickler Wanda could be when she made a plan and this was just as much a night for her as it was for Vision or you.

With no further objections, Wanda walked out of the room. The heels she wore gave her a sashaying step and neither you nor Vision were particularly upset as the two of you watched her go. Then the door was shut and you two were alone.

“So,” Vision said slowly as he turned his attention fully to you, “this is what you’ve been up to instead of going to work today.”

“It is indeed,” you confirmed, “and before you say anything else, I know full well what I’ll be getting into when I go in on Monday.”

“I hope so. You’ll be working harder than I have all week.”

You hummed and chewed on your lip as you thought. “Maybe… I could just… quit my job…”

“Hah!” Vision laughed and waggled a finger at you. “No, no, no, no, no. If I have to endure it, then so do you.”

You grinned and turned away from his finger as if to avoid his complaint. He chuckled and tried to catch your eye, rambling away about Oh, the work we shall both do, but you merely twisted away further, feigning beautiful, blissful ignorance. You even went so far as blocking Vision’s face from your sight with the box you held, which made Vision break off briefly to laugh again.

“--and then, maybe someday you will come home,” Vision continued, catching you in his arms again and tugging you close to him, “and see both of your partners, looking very fetching and being even more wonderful than usual because they’ve set up and entire romantic evening, not only because it’s a romantic holiday but because they specifically wanted to plan something to help you relax after a particularly busy week.” He paused, then added, “And it might even be a little better for you than it will be for me because you actually get to eat the food that’s taken up the entire kitchen.”

You tittered, tilted your head in mock thought even though Vision couldn’t see it, and then lowered your chipboard shield just far enough for your eyes to poke out from over it. “Mm, now that does appealing. Just one question though.”

“Of course, darling.”

You waggled your brows at him. “Which outfit will you be wearing, Wanda’s or mine?”

Vision smirked just slightly but it was enough to set off a volcanic eruption of heat throughout your entire body. You felt his fingers suddenly brushing against yours as he started to gently pry his gift out of your hands.

He said, “Depends on what’s in the box.”

He snagged the box from your hands, revealing your blushing face, but instead of opening it right away, his arm moved around your waist to be with the other once more. He pressed his forehead against yours and you felt a different sort of warmth as the golden gem in his forehead touched your skin. He tilted his head closer still to nuzzle his nose against yours then--

You quickly turned your head away again, flashing him a wicked grin when he stared at you, dumbfounded. You draped your now free arms loosely around his neck, fingered brushing lightly against his neck and fiddling with the collar of his button-up shirt. You shuffled closer to him to eliminate what little space left there was between your body and his, looked him in the eye, and teased, “Careful now, Mr. Maximoff. Wouldn’t want to knock another screw loose in that gorgeous, handsome head of yours.”

Vision’s low chuckle vibrated in his chest, feeling almost like a purr against your own body.

“Or,” you added, “knock one too many screws in?”

“[Y/N].”

“Wind the gears too tight?”

“[Y/N].”

You looked at him innocently; the irritated scowl on his face was contradicted by the mischievous twinkle in his pretty blue eyes. “I can keep going.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that,” said Vision in that grumbling voice that would probably make you implode every time if it were his regular speaking voice, “but we are never going to get out of this room.”

“Interesting hypothesis,” you said with a very serious nod. “You are welcome to test it or stop me at any time. Now, where was I?”

It took a smirk and a raised brow to kick Vision back into gear but then you were grabbing his face and laughing against his mouth as he all but threw himself at you.

Kissing Vision was quite different than kissing Wanda, although no less addictive. Wanda’s kisses always felt needy but not in the way that one would think. Her kisses always felt like she had been lost up until the very moment your lips would touch hers, and then she was finding refuge and trying to absorb every bit of warmth and comfort that came from the way her mouth melded against yours before the kiss ended and she was alone and lost again. She almost always felt soft and sweet against you but you could feel a wild, restrained power brewing just underneath, and her power seemed to draw out and entangle itself with a power of your own, whatever that power was; the kisses never seemed to last long enough for you to figure that piece out.

When you kissed Vision, you could never get the idea that you were kissing someone not totally human out of your head, but in the best way. One of your favorite things to do whenever you kissed him was to run your hands over his skin and explore every single uniquely intricate thing about him, like the way his skin somehow felt soft and dense at the same time and how it was just slightly textured with lines and grooves that felt inhuman or the way that he didn’t really have a heartbeat or a pulse but rather a gentle constant rumbling of whatever gave him life doing its job, and sometimes this rumbling would jolt or slow depending on where you focused your ministrations. No matter his current state of being--exhausted, flustered, distressed--he was always strong and steady under your hands like he was ready to catch you if you suddenly misstepped or fly you to safety at a moment’s notice should the need arise. You couldn’t help equating the way his mouth worked against yours with the phrase “built to please”; he was always curious and searching in the way his hands and mouth roamed, and he seemed to get the most pleasure when he figured out exactly what you needed and did that--and he was much more often than not oh so very right.

While Wanda felt wild, Vision felt grounding. When you were kissing Wanda, you were so focused on her body and yours and the energy that wrapped the two of you up in a magical cocoon that you felt like you could start bursting at the seams at any moment. Kissing Vision got you much more out of your head, to the point where you were merely exploring him as much as he was you, which led to the occasional knocking of teeth or finding a ticklish spot that caused the kiss to break into giggles and teasing; maybe you would go back to kissing or maybe the two of you would slip into a conversation so seamlessly that you wouldn’t even notice until a couple of hours had already passed.

You often wondered if, when you weren’t around and your partners kissed each other, if either of them felt the same thing that you did. You wondered even more often how Wanda and Vision felt kissing you.

This time, though, it was Wanda’s voice from a couple of rooms away, muffled but noticeable, that finally broke the two of you apart.

“Any day now,” she hollered, although there was no trace of irritation in her tone. “It’s not like we only have a few hours left to celebrate Valentine’s Day or anything.”

Vision’s face scrunched up and he eyed the wall that separated the kitchen and bedroom via another room in between. “Mm, she’s got a point.”

You pursed your lips and squinted at the wall as if you would see red magic permeating it if you did so for long enough. “Do you think she X-rayed us?”

Your partner let out a short little chortle as he disentangled himself from you and looked over the box he’d managed to hang onto during your kissing session. “Even if she did, not like it’s going to be any different once we’re all in the same room together.”

“Good point,” you said. “Mm, more kisses.” You were still curious, though, so you hollered back to Wanda, “Hey, magical girl, did ya see me kiss your husband?”

All you got was a laugh back, which had you smiling.

Then you turned back to Vision, who was toying with the box’s bow, and said, “Alright, Vis, happy Valentine’s Day. Now give me your tie and your pants.”

You and Vision joined Wanda in the dining area shortly, Vision now dressed in a dark blue set of silky pajamas that matched your own shorts of the same shimmery fabric. Wanda had lit the candles not only at the dinner table but also around the rest of the house and she’d set proper places for three at the dinner table, although only two of the places had been served with simple dinner and various sweet, gaudy treats. After the three of you sat, Wanda gave Vision his cards: a beautifully designed one with a poem on the front and a lengthy handwritten letter on the inside from Wanda, a handmade one with bad Valentine’s Day puns and flustered ramblings all over it from you, and a “hand-drawn” one from Tommy and Billy that had really been drawn childishly by Wanda again as the babies were still too young to do so themselves. As he’d mentioned earlier, Vision had gifts of his own, which included a Valentine’s Day cupcake of your favorite flavor that he had snuck from work for you, cards and flowers for each of you, and a pair of inversely colored, Valentine’s Day themed stuffed puppies for the twins. With Tommy and Billy mentioned, Vision questioned their whereabouts and was surprised that Wanda had even let them out of her sight, though somewhat appreciative.

Dinner was next and went fairly quickly. You and Wanda ate a late dinner while the three of you conversed, mainly about Vision’s day and overall week but also you and Wanda explaining how you’d planned and prepared for the date without Vision being any the wiser. Vision made a comment that he, as an incredibly smart individual with a very expansive range of knowledge, should have noticed something sooner, which led to another bout of teasing from primarily you about how he’d fried his batteries when he saw his partners dressed up in pretty clothing and one of his shirts. Then topic conversations bounced around aimlessly for the rest of the time until both you and Wanda had cleaned your plates and even helped yourselves to some of the other goodies. Vision absolutely refused to let either of you do cleanup work, so you convinced Wanda to go change into something a little comfier--“At least take off those pearls and heels. Don’t really mind the rest of the outfit, though.”--and then went over to prepare the living room for movies by bringing over a few more treats to snack on, cleaning off an area for Wanda to magically project movies on the wall without clutter, and turning the couch into less of a decorative scene and more of a nest of red, white, and pink pillows and blankets.

Finally, the three of you settled onto the couch with Vision in the middle. That wouldn’t last for long, though, as you each grabbed a blanket or pillow and shifted yourselves into a big, fluffy, snuggle pile. You and Wanda managed to end up squished between Vision’s arms, where both of you could comfortably rest your heads on his chest. You could also slip an arm around Wanda and absentmindedly run your fingertips underneath the hem of the pajama shirt she now wore--another of Vision’s; it was a light blue and white striped button-down--and over the rose patterns of the sheer fabric hugging her hips. Instead of starting the movies right away, the three of you laid in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

Vision briefly had to unwrap his arms to stretch and yawn, the yawn something that wasn’t entirely necessary for him. After placing them back, he murmured, “We don’t normally celebrate these types of things, do we, Wanda?”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open; you had been watching her lay in quiet, cozy peace and she smiled sweetly at you when she caught you. “Goodness, no. We’ve proven time and time again we’re not exactly the remembering type when it comes to holidays. Holidays, events--”

“Anniversaries,” you offered with a little grin. “Especially those that coincide with meetings with bosses.”

Vision groaned softly. “A minor disaster.”

“Ended well though,” Wanda pointed out.

“And provided the idea for this whole thing,” you added.

Vision hummed thoughtfully and you felt his hand run down your back. “That so?”

“You getting flustered over sexy nightwear?” you said. “What potential.”

Wanda snickered. “What potential indeed. We broke the man.”

“Well,” Vision grumbled, his arms tightening slightly around both of you, “I assure you I’m doing fine now.”

You whispered into his chest, “Only because Wanda put on a shirt.”

Your trio broke into tired chuckles, which then faded into warm silence. It continued for a few moments before Vision pointed out that the movie-watching part of the night didn’t necessarily need to happen.”

That you sitting up and reaching for a movie list you’d compiled much earlier in the day.

“We must watch at least one movie,” you demanded, “and that movie is Grease.”

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

sweeter than honey (redux)

Pepper Potts did not exactly mean to become a criminal. Really, she still doesn’t think she is.

But here are the facts:

1.) She has broken several laws in pursuit of funds that do not belong to her.

2.) The FBI would like to talk to her about several things and potentially put her under arrest.

3.) She can no longer go to her regular coffee shop because the barista snitched and told them her name, as well as her occupation.

Pepper broke several laws because the company she was working for (Stane International) was technically breaking laws, but laws that do not apply to corporations because corporations do this thing called “funding campaigns” and also sometimes “doing favors.”

She decided to do the same and suddenly she is a criminal. Not her fault she redistributed money back into the community, and now they can’t get any of it back.

It’s just how that worked out.

She’s been staying at a hotel that serves many questionable individuals each month, and it has an indoor pool and a three-star rating on the latest travel website.

It’s nondescript, not her style, and she’s currently in the bathroom having a crisis because she most likely needs to dye her hair.

She’s vain. Pepper knows she is, has known it since high school when she trimmed her hair and cried. Her hair, by all accounts, is gorgeous. It’s a shiny strawberry-blonde that makes her look like an ice queen in winter and a mysterious fairy queen in summer.

She does not want to dye it. But here she is with an eight dollar box of dye and thoughts in her head.

And then her hotel door opens.

Not supposed to do that, but that’s what happens when you’re in a three-star hotel.

She is also in old athletic shorts that have most definitely seen better days and a tank top that was a last-minute buy from the nearest store, and it does not suit her at all.

Facing her is a man with an odd beard, tinted sunglasses, and a graphic t-shirt over a blazer.

“So. You pissed off Stane Industries,” he drawls. “I’m impressed. Usually they just sweep their little problems under the rug.”

“I’ll sweep you under one if you’d like,” Pepper offers, wondering how quickly a blowdryer can knock someone out. She’s not sure how well-made the hotel one is. Probably not very.

“I’m not here to kill you,” the man says. He takes off his sunglasses. His eyes are a nice shade of brown, not that you’re supposed to notice that about a potential enemy. Pepper is just that skilled.

“Then what are you here to do? Make me move to Florida?”

“No, the opposite. We’re staying here. I’m offering you a job position of helping me take down Obadiah Stane and the company itself.”

“Who would I be working with?”

“Anthony Stark.”

Pepper stills.

She read the news when she was in college, same time as Tony Stark. Went missing in the car crash, no one found his body. Temperatures were freezing, he was wearing a tuxedo. The chances were that he froze to death somewhere that they didn’t find yet.

Chances were. What an odd little phrase.

“So, you made it out.”

“Not as hard as people say it seems to be, Virginia.”

“Call me Pepper, my first name disgusts me.”

“Gotcha, Pepper. Call me Tony. You in?”

“Obviously. What do I need to do?”

“Meet the team.”

There is Rhodey, who was Tony’s best friend and sobbed on national television for two weeks until they forgot all about him.

“He’ll cry at anything,” Tony says with a laugh as Rhodey sends him a dirty look. “Just made him think about neon shoes and he bawled like a baby.”

“I did not,” Rhodey hisses. “I was a good crier.”

“You looked like a seal,” Pepper intervenes. “But you played the part quite well. Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at you, Pepper.”

She meets Happy, a man who is all serious and grumpy and “did not want to break the law before forty” but he also gets to watch Downton Abbey whenever he wants, so he’s not doing too bad.

He runs security and also tells Rhodey and Tony when they’re banned from ordering pizza all the time, and Pepper is inducted into the Healthy Eating Committee.

There’s Bruce Banner, who enjoys taking over corporations for fun, and this is his second one. His first was some sort of health insurance scam, and apparently that was just to finish up his thesis for his third doctorate.

“He has seven degrees, he’s weird,” Tony says.

“Oh like you’re any better,” Bruce says with a snort. “You learned twelve languages for fun. Including French, which is useless.”

“French is not useless,” Tony says. “It got us free food in Canada.”

“We would’ve gotten it anyway if we’d done it my way.”

“Stealing?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes!”

Pepper laughs.

Their job is a bit easier than anticipated. They found out from Pepper that getting into the building is stupid easy because no one likes their job and will do anything when bribed.

Tony struts in with a badly-made-employee-ID and talks about a copying machine and coffee and seeing someone next month for dinner. Pepper just keeps her head down and pretends like she’s meeting someone for something. Like usual.

Obadiah Stane is out of the country on a meeting, and his secretary is scared to death of him, so they’re allowed to poke around the office and find some interesting information.

The problem comes when someone recognizes Bruce outside (government watchlists: the most pesky things on earth) and suddenly there’s this huge fuss.

Tony pushes Pepper into an office closet and then promptly asks her if anyone opens the door, if she’s alright with him kissing her.

“Why would you do that?”

“People don’t like watching kissing, too intimate. Also, you have a lovely face and you’re quite funny, and I think it’d be fun and delightful to kiss you.”

“How long have you thought about that?”

“Not going to talk about that, just want an answer. If you say no--and feel free to, there’s no obligation in physical contact right now--it does complicate plans A to D. I suppose we could play the divorced couple route, but I’m not a gigantic fan about that.”

“I mean, I guess? It wouldn’t be bad, and I’m not exactly opposed to it, Would it mean anything later?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Let’s figure that out after we do it.”

“If we need to do it.”

Door swings open.

Oh, there’s a need.

Tony is a particularly nice kisser, Pepper thinks. The thought runs through her head that she’s only kissed two people before Tony, and one was in high school so that doesn’t count, but the other was a secretary at an old company she used to work for.

But Tony is nice. Soft and warm and he grabs her waist and that’s nice.

“Oh my god, sorry,” the employee mutters. “I just, I thought--”

“Occupied!” Tony says, not even stopping as he kicks out his leg and practically stomps the poor other guy in the stomach.

They get out, run, and Pepper laughs as she sees a bit of pink lipstick on the side of Tony’s mouth.

“So, how’d I do?”

“Send me a survey,” Pepper remarks. “Or a ranking.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven.”

“I was that bad?”

“How do you rank things? Do you put one as the best?”

“Obviously.”

“No, you’re an idiot. One is always the worst. You’re a nine. It would’ve been higher but we were in a corporate office and in a supply closet.”

“So what you’re saying is, I’ll have to try again?”

“Preferably over a couple glasses of wine and pizza. The good kind, though. Not the garbage Rhodey orders.”

They approach the car that Happy has, with Rhodey and Bruce already leading others on a goose chase.

“You two have too much fun,” Happy mutters. “Boss, you got lipstick on your side. Did you get the drives?”

“Transferred and set to release to every major news outlet tomorrow morning at six a.m.,” Tony says. “Interns are going to curse my name as they’re forced to rewrite articles.”

Pepper smiles.

That night, they have a couple of glasses of wine and Tony orders the good pizza, the kind that costs a little bit too much for what it is, but it’s all worth it in the end.

When Tony takes over the company after about six months of legal battles that would probably have drawn on for well over a decade if not for the fact that Tony is one of the most in-your-face-let’s-talk men she’s ever met, Pepper was kind of expecting things to slow down.

Of course not. That’s not her style nor is it Tony’s, although arguably a vacation or a nice spa day would have been nice beforehand.

“We have shit to do,” Tony says. “Rhodey, you need to help me revamp R&D. Pepper, I need to talk to you in the office.”

They’ve already hired a company to completely redesign the entire building and refocus the company’s outlook, starting with getting rid of the disgusting 1970s carpet and chairs. God, it’s ugly. Pepper cried when she saw the office chairs.

But she’s in Tony’s office, and she’s wondering if this is going to be directly related to workplace relationships or not. She’s already prepared an argument as to why she still wants a relationship and just how much professionalism she can exhibit in the face of hardship.

(That hardship being the fact that Tony looks quite good in suits but also has arms that are made for tank tops.)

“I have a problem with you,” Tony says. “And it’s that I want to make you CEO, but I don’t want people to think that you got it just because we’re dating. So we have an issue to cross.”

Pepper was not expecting this. She was expecting maybe head accountant, or head of the PR team. But CEO? That was something that was...wow. Pepper had had a fifteen year plan for working up from wherever it was that she would be at.

She also didn’t know they were dating.

“We’re dating?”

“Did I read the kiss wrong? Oh shit, was the seven secretly the bad seven?”

“No!” Pepper says. “You just never told me that we were dating, we didn’t have a communicative conversation about it.”

“Oh. Well, would you like to go on dates and things?”

“What’s ‘and things’?”

“You know. Sexy times. But I wanted to be a professional about it. But I am not that professional.”

“No, no you’re not. Which is why you offered me the CEO position and why I am accepting it. But I will also date you...and things.”

“Excellent. Have a dinner tonight while we discuss how to do Microsoft Excel?”

“I already know how to use it.”

“Pepper, you are the only woman for me in this lifetime and the next.”

“And the one after that?”

“I’m assuming you’ll get bored of me and marry someone who’s seven feet tall.”

“Seven feet tall? What, am I going to attend every NBA game for the next husband?”

“Maybe, I don’t know what you’ll do. I’ll probably be halfway into a grave over despair.”

Pepper chuckles, dropping a short kiss onto his temple.

“Well, I hope I don’t have to witness that. You want me to make some salad for tonight then?”

“Yes please! We also need to review the decor and see what chairs to order.”

Pepper nods.

“We need to ask Rhodey, he has opinions about design of those.”

“Of course he does, he hates standing too long. We’ll send him some of our options.”

She waves as she leaves the office.

What Tony misses:

Pepper pumps her fist as she leaves the office, nearly stumbles, and is quite glad that no security cameras were installed that day.

What Pepper misses:

Tony spins so hard in his office chair as a celebration that it topples over.

Yeah, they’re made for each other.

#pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #love this one #i love writing pepper and i don't do enough of it #i really like it when it's clear that they both love each other #bc with a lot of fics it's like pepper being like 'well i guess :/' or she's cool about it #BUT I WANT PEPPER TO BE A NERD!#rhodey #lovelyirony writes

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i-donot-forget · 4 years ago

Text

4 Days

My Candy Love - Love Life

Eric - Candy/Sucrette - Nathaniel

Words 2373

Spoilers Ep 12 - 13

So I was thinking about the days between the kiss with Eric and our date four days later, but from his perspective.

I don't speak english very well, so this is like 90% google translate

DAY 0

I ran away like a coward after what I had done, what was I thinking? How did I let it happen? But they weren't my imaginations, she reciprocated, right? The more I tried to remember the details of that slip, my mind could only think of one thing, her and the softness of her lips, steal her breath, her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks despite my misdeed, I couldn't help but smile because the reality was more delicious than anything I had imagined.

The loneliness of my apartment took me out of my reverie, now I had to deal with the consequences of my actions, the only question was when? surely as soon as she got home she would tell him how I took advantage of the situation, maybe Nathaniel was on his way here right now to beat me up, which I deserve anyway ...

I still felt the light touch of her perfume on me and it was driving me crazy, I went to take a cold shower with the horrible sensation of hearing a knock on the door, a product of my tormented imagination. I could not think and I had no one to talk to, I was going around the place like a caged lion, I looked at the clock again helpless when I saw that even time was making fun of me, I changed with the idea that there was only one thing that could distract me now, go for a run. I was going fast, lost in my thoughts with the uncomfortable feeling that I was being followed, stopped at a traffic light I was left blank when I saw a blond guy in a white jacket on the other side of the sidewalk, I knew it was not him and even so I could not take my eyes off him until I was 100% sure, I trotted past him receiving the smoke from his cigar fully on my face, By the time I got to the other side of the street, I needed a cigarette more than I needed oxygen. 7 years in the trash, I thought as I ripped off the plastic and opened the box, that first puff was the only thing that managed to calm me down a bit and before I knew it I was on the second.

I walked home calmer or the fact that my head was spinning absorbed some of my attention but when I closed the door the adrenaline and excitement had passed, now I was on the floor, I saw the time and resigned that tonight I could not sleep I dropped into the chair in front of the table that was overflowing with reports, I opened the laptop and gave myself to the escape who had rescued me from Melissa for the last year and there I could see an e-mail from Ben that I should have checked that afternoon if I wouldn't have been in such a rush to get to a certain cafe at 8pm.

DAY 1

By the time the sun rose I could no longer bear the thought of not knowing what to expect, so I called Nathaniel against my logic and common sense, put the phone on speakerphone, and put it on the table as I clung to the wood tightly. Each ringtone fed my paranoia. I expected the worst, screams, insults, threats, at the very least, and then he answered, I stammered incoherencies until I realized that he didn't know, she hadn't told him… yet. I told him about the information Ben had sent me feeling slightly relieved, I hung up the phone calmer but not better, this secret was a time bomb and I felt like garbage.

I froze as I tightened the doorknob, because by inertia my feet would take me straight to the Cozy Bear, like every morning before work and every afternoon at closing time, but I couldn't go back there like nothing else, I was a criminal returning to the scene of the crime simply couldn't break into her space after what had happened, not without her authorization. I walked towards the station in the company of a cigarette and for some reason I could not remember when was the last time I had done this, I was tense, distracted, I could not concentrate even on the simplest idea my mind was restless and I simply could not ignore the why, I would have to look at his face and act like every day, I had to be convincing and it felt horrible. I hesitated before entering and after crossing the entrance I stopped for a few seconds to look inside, searching quickly, I took a deep breath out of inertia thinking I still had a few minutes left.

- I am glad I am not the only one who is affected by the investigation . -

A friendly slap on my shoulder caused me an exaggerated start but Nathaniel passed by directly to the Chief's office, I saw how he stopped at the threshold, looked at me and gestured for me to enter. I explained the progress in the investigation with few details until our superior resumed the meeting, luckily without a field operation on the agenda I could keep my distance without raising suspicions. The day was eternal and tortuous but it was already after 10 o'clock at night when I went to vent to the gym, 3 hours later I was at home, another night awake.

DAY 2

- It is the second day you arrive smelling of cigarettes instead of coffee. I believed that with age your habits would improve, not worsen. Is the wisdom of old age a myth? -

Nathaniel joked as the sound of his fists on the punching bag filled the air, I set the dumbbell I was lifting on the ground before giving him a look.

- Yes, yes, I want to see in what condition you will be when you are my age, young man. -

- But seriously, two days without coffee? That's a record, the Cozy Bear will go broke without you. -

- Yes, well I'm changing the coffee for the gym. With the whole move in I realized that I am not in such good shape. -

- Have you already adapted to your new apartment? -

- I finally have a bedside lamp so even though I don't have a TV, or real china, I was able to finish the last book you recommended. -

- Great. Did you start something new? -

- Yes, in fact I'm already halfway there... it's something different, more suspense with some science fiction. -

- Boring… -

- Whatever you say... to tell the truth... I had discussed it with... Candy. -

- Oh yeah? -

- Yes, now that I think about it... she asked me for the reference, I saved an article from the internet with several titles of the same style. -

- Would you send it to her? will you do me a favor. -

- Sure, mmmh I don't have her number. -

- My phone is in my jacket, the pass is 4444. -

- Don't you know her number by heart? -

- Mmmm no. -

Upon unlocking the screen, the background photo was like a kick in the stomach, it was her with a beaming smile, which I did not remember ever seeing, I imagine that smile is only for him. I looked for the contact, "Honey" of course ... I sent it and put the phone quickly as if it burned in my hands.

I avoided the excused lunch with an imaginary date with a divorce lawyer, I drove through the city with no clear destination, away from those streets where by any chance of life I could come across her, I parked at a gas station when it became apparent that no matter how long I was behind the wheel I would not find the right words and finally I called her, dial tone and after a few minutes, mailbox. Come on again, she must be tending the cafe after all. Second try, back to the mailbox, this is more difficult than I thought. What if she doesn't want to answer me? No, how could she know it's me, maybe she has my number. But what nonsense are you saying? Of course she doesn't have your number, let's go once again the third time's the charm. And I was defeated, after the third attempt I did not have the courage to call again and the uncertainty began to fill my head, I drove back to the station with a thousand ideas going through my head and in all of them I am the villain.

I was collapsed on the desk in my office after the afternoon meeting when the phone rang, seeing her name on the screen made my heart race, I closed the blind on the door window and I hesitated for a moment before locking with key.

- Hello, Candy? Thanks for calling me back. I think we should talk ... -

- Eric? I don’t remember giving you my number. -

Yes ... I simply continue to deceive Nath to calm this uncertainty that is killing me, I continued to accumulate crimes and although I believed that I was prepared to face the consequences, I was surprised at myself, at what I was willing to do to find out.

- Ahem... I asked Nath for it. I told him I wanted to share the name of the book we had talked about with you but… we both know that’s not the reason. I wanted for us to talk... about what happened between us, the other night. -

- And ... You couldn't have just stopped by? On the phone, it's a bit ... -

- I agree! But I wasn't sure that you wanted to see me. Well, anyway… -

- Okay, well, you know where to find me, right? I don't close before 8, if you haven’t forgotten… -

- Well ... I'm busy today... And tomorrow. I thought…… Maybe we can get a drink together in two days? I promise, it won't take long. -

- Uh… Okey, see you after tomorrow, then! -

When she hung up I felt that the world was turning again, that everything had stopped just with her voice, in the middle of all this a part of me was glad to hear her again. Little by little the plea that had almost stuttered became clearer,she could still hate me, disown me and want me as far as possible from her life. Maybe that was what I deserved, maybe that was for the best.

That night I slept fitfully waking up with a start until dawn, a single nightmare repeated itself in a loop, she laughing in my face for having been so stupid as to believe that there was something between us, that I was mistaken her sympathy for interest and I don't know how I could even dream of her leaving him for… for someone like me.

DAY 3

Jogging accompanied by the morning dew helped me wake up after not resting, somehow a choppy night's sleep was more harmful than a sleepless night, this lack was beginning to take its toll and it was already more than evident in my face that I was not having a good day. Today I would have a little field operation, nothing more to watch in case I saw anything suspicious, although I definitely couldn't see anything if I could barely keep my eyes open.

I hadn't been able to escape lunch today and Nath had already been staring at me for a couple of minutes.

- Everything is fine? -

Hearing that question aloud I hesitated, as if I was no longer physically capable of following this lie, I thought of confessing everything to him, not just the kiss, but this forbidden feeling that I had allowed myself to cultivate, how traitorous and scoundrel I was, but then I thought about her, and how I couldn't take away from her what belonged to her by right, if someone had to be the great antagonist it was me, the only one who would have to pay for deception and lies.

- Yes ... Although I think my attempt to give up coffee for something healthier is ironically killing me, I think I'll go back to my old habits. -

- Take care Eric, I still need you around for a while, someone has to stick up for this department. -

Who would say that words could cause physical pain felt like his words were digging into my back and blocking my throat. I could only smile. Sitting alone in an incognito vehicle my mind was blank, no, not blank really an idea had been fixed in my head as a clue that appears after rereading for the tenth time ... I could not, I simply could not do that to Nath, this had all been a huge mistake, a confusing and totally out of place situation, and it had to end as soon as possible.

That night I couldn't sleep either, I spent the hours thinking about her, saying goodbye in some way to the moments that I had collected in my memory, I had kept this absurd fantasy for too long and I couldn't continue lying to myself.

DAY 4

This morning I was calm, despite being the day of our meeting, but perhaps it was not tranquility but resignation, today the suspense ended, this story that should never have existed ended.

The hours passed quickly because I had already made a decision, if I wanted to end this forever there should be no doubt, I had to tell her absolutely everything, so when she rejects me and denies each and every one of my hopes, I could turn off that light that still wants to see her, that not even the fact that she is with someone else has been able to extinguish, it must be her and it must be brutal.

I was surprised at how quickly the orange glow of the evening began to creep in through my office window, it seemed that after all I did not really want to go to my “date”. My discouragement was turning into nervousness with each step I took, by the time I realized I was outside the cafe.

And then I saw you through the window and I smiled without being able to contain myself because only when I saw you did I realize that I missed you and that I had not liked spending so many days without seeing you and that everything even seemed a little brighter...

Oh… Shit, I'm really screwed...

#MCL #mclll #mcl fanfic #mcl eric #my english is shit

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years ago

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꧁Midnight Masquerade꧂

Description; A masquerade becomes the perfect time for a monster to stalk its prey. But what if the heroine knows the villan?

Pairing: Pietro x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Oneshot

Word count; 3.230

Warnings; Kinda entering the thriller genre, a bit of fluff (?)

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: So this is my little piece in @sdavid09 halloween's challenge and I had the prompts "Scooby Doo" and M.J's "Thriller". Though this isn't only an entry in the challenge, but also my way of introducing a new character I'm going to start writing for. I took a new and kinda differente approach with this fic, so this isn’t how I characteristically write and honestly I don't really now how it turned out. Maybe I'll do a part two or just leave it as this is, we'll see. Nevertheless, hope you enjoy this little work xx

MASTERLIST

Autumn. From where you came the season didn't bring much more than chilled temperatures that nipped at every part of your body, no matter how much or little clothes you wore for the time of year. The only thing differing it from the snowy winter though was the colours. Leaves painted in every colour between green and red, making the forest look as if it was on fire. The otherwise dull coloured buildings, speaking of an ill-favoured state, blended together with the third season of the year, as the smell of earth and heaviness of rain was present.

Those scents reminded you of your home more than ever as you now walked through the mist coating the streets outside. Goosebumps spread across your body as the wind ruffled the leaves enough for them to fly. A curse left you as you hugged the coat closer around your body, damning the wind for penetrating your scant pieces of clothes for the season. As well as your friends, for the night stroll that you now needed to take.

"Miss, your costume is pretty", the tiny voice surprised you to a stop. As the masquerade mask covering your face also entered your outermost vision, you need to tilt your head downwards to find the owner of it. As soon as you did, you saw a little girl standing there, with illuminated wings and brightly coloured clothes. Her face was painted as well, but unlike yours which aimed to look somewhat regal, it accentuated the costume she was clad in.

"Oh, uhh thank you", you mumbled, unsure if the little girl heard you as another gust of wind fittingly blew by, although seemingly she did. With nothing but a giggle in return and a bright smile, she skipped away to catch up with her mother, who had stopped not far behind you as she noticed her daughter wasn't with her.

You followed the pair for a few seconds, unable to not notice a few dozen other people roaming the streets as well. It seemed that everyone below the age of fifteen was out and about in silly costumes, knocking on each door of the houses in the scary decorated neighbourhood.

The ghosts, mummies, fairies and other creatures and costumes were what reminded you that the outfit you felt was bothersome walking around in, looked unusually modest. Aside from the black lace mask covering your face, there wasn't much more which differed your outfit from any other party clothes.

You sighed, continuing forward to reach the new place your friends said they meet you at, while in the background hearing voices gleefully exclaiming trick or treat. Everything reminded you that here, autumn didn't only bring a change of season, but Halloween as well. You were not used to it, in fact, you had never experienced it until now.

"Hey Y/N!" Along with the call of your name, came the honking of a car and if you hadn't recognised the voice, the rapid sound would have helped you figure out that it was your friends.

"Oh stop it you pest!" You shouted back, laughter lacing your tone, at the man behind the wheel.

"Won't stop until you're in this car missy!" You openly laughed at the way Jake, from his position in the driver seat, leaned closer to the open window on the passenger side to holler at you.

"Can't you see I'm on my way", you answered, almost entering a jog to reach the car to stop his irritation of the whole neighbourhood.

Thanks to your hurried steps, you soon jumped in the backseat, though the person already sitting there didn't give you much time to close the door behind you before throwing themselves at you. Automatically you encircled them, naturally knowing who it was by their display.

"I see you went for the devil after all", you said, regarding the brunette opposite you as you parted. Noticing she matched her deep red glitter dress with devil horns, while a red mask covered her upper face.

"Seeing as we aren't going to the ordinary college party, I thought I could try a classic in a different style".

"Stop lying to yourself Lily, we all know you picked that dress because it made your butt look good", turning to meet you from the passenger seat was Emma, a short-haired blonde.

"And perhaps that's the second reason", Lily stated, though before any further comments could be made, you felt the jolt of the car as it jumped forward.

"Anyways, welcome to the Mystery Machine", Jake said excitedly, though you couldn't miss the blonde rolling her eyes at her boyfriend's comment.

"He's waited to say that since we began heading here", you chuckled at the way she said it, an act that only grew when she swatted his shoulder after a smart comment he made.

"Hey, hey! Don't hit the driver, right Y/N?" You glanced up to meet Jake's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I want to arrive at our destination and survive, so perhaps don't hit the driver, which for further information, also is your boyfriend Em".

"If anything that gives me the right to", she said sarcastically, which made him make a pouty face and lean in to kiss her. With a giggle, one that made you smile at their exchange, she pushed his head away while saying eyes on the road.

Although the ride was anything but short, your company and their storytelling of previous Halloween's, made the journey pass quickly. Soon enough, you pulled up to the estate-like property, already filled with cars and people flowing through the entrance.

"Geez, they really went all out this year", Jake's eyes strayed from searching for a parking spot for a few seconds to eye the bustle outside. You heard Emma mutter a there, showcasing an empty lot for you to take which her partner immediately headed for.

"When don't they go all out", Lily shrugged before continuing " Though this year you made a valid effort to match the theme, compared to earlier", Lily gestured to the hair Jake had coloured green for the night and the black tailcoat he wore. The man addressed was momentarily busy parking the car, so he only hummed as recognition to her words, but if he gave any further affirmation once it rocked to a stop, you didn't know as you hurriedly opened the car door.

Once stepping out, your mouth dropped open, before a gleeful smile took over. You heard the chatter of people passing by and watched their choice of clothes, the cocktail-dress code for the masquerade impossible to miss.

"You look like an eager puppy", you hadn't noticed the rest stepping out of the vehicle, but Emma's word you heard. Turning around you saw how she had matched the Joker her boyfriend dressed as. Patch-work jumpsuit in black and red followed her body, mask a bit more excessive then both your own and Lily's, as her face was covered in a joker masquerade mask.

"Don't tease her Harley, I'm the Joker for the night", Jake had come up to draw her close to his side, half of his face hidden behind a grinning mask.

"With jokes like that, I'm going to dump you".

"I know you won't", he said, the banter between them continuing as they took the lead towards the house, you and Lily following behind them. You felt exhilaration starting to pump through your veins and your mask gliding up as you couldn't contain a smile. Your undivided attention made the man following you with his gaze, go unnoticed.

You felt how the dress stuck to your skin as you made your way out from the dancing crowd. Since you arrived, you and your friends had busied yourselves with drinking and dancing. Up until this moment you hadn't parted from each other, though the suffocating atmosphere now prompted you too. You excused yourself to get through the crowd, knowing the exit to the garden was on the other side of the mass.

It didn't take long until you got to the door and opened it, doing so you were met by a cold autumn gust. Although it was probably barely noticed by those inside, you felt it envelop you like a counterproductive blanket. The sensation made a shaky sigh escape you, a sound which was swallowed by the noise of the door closing. Hugging your form your eyes closed momentarily, taking in how your bodily temperature steadily lowered. Something about it was comforting, feeling how the hotness disappeared though never fading to freezing. Even though you could hear the music from inside, it was nice fleeing it and the crowds for a few moments.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes while tipping your head backwards, following the fog the exhale then created. Not until it dissipated fully, did you refocus to watch the night sky. It seemed to be close to midnight if the full moon shining brightly from above was any sign to tell from. It cast a cold glow over the garden you stood by yourself in, that was what you had thought at least.

It caught you off guard, heart jumping as you hastily switched to look towards the source of movement in your peripheral. Far to your right, at the end of the patio, a man stood, almost hidden in the shadows. It was his dark grey suit, with few other lighter details, that made him blend so well against the wall of the house, yet the thing deceiving him was his hair. Light, almost verging silver, became a beacon of his presence, nearly as much as the shining mask hiding the majority of his face. His gaze had been heavily set on you the whole time since you noticed his presence and only thanks to this, could you see what the piece shielding his face resembled, a wolf.

As your eyes flickered up to meet his eyes, a pair you couldn't see but feel, you started to feel how the cold grew palpable. It was if the temperature dropped several degrees and a creeping feeling begun to spread in your body. It was then, instead of just having his head turned to you, his whole body did. However, the swift motion didn't stop there, as he didn't waste a second before walking towards you.

You couldn't read it as threatening, yet the way he closed the space between you without saying anything made you unsure. The door you had exited through was still nothing but a step away, as you hadn't ventured further from it, but you were paralysed. Even though you wanted, you couldn't move, merely stare at the man who already had crossed the halfway point to reach you.

It was when he started passing the windows, the flickering lights from inside illuminated his features enough for you to see him clearer. He was tall and well built as he moved with grace, although at the same time it seemed to be a restrained speed. You noticed a stubble on the visible part of his jaw, yet before you reached his eyes, you blinked and when looking towards him again, your jaw dropped.

He was gone.

There was no trace of him even being there in the first place. You started to doubt your sanity while stepping forward. That was when you felt it, a hand on your shoulder. Frightened you jerked away from it, scream dying in your throat as it closed from the sheer panic wrecking throughout your body. However, instead of being met by a silver wolf, you saw a shocked devil.

"It looks like you've seen a ghost", your hand was still placed over your heart and you felt it race from the jump-scare you just got. A relived, albeit airy, chuckle left you seeing Lily stand there, eyebrows scrunched at your reaction.

"From how you appeared from nowhere, I might as well have done it", you tried joking. Earning a laugh told you that you succeeded.

"Well you disappeared, so I came looking for you", you smiled, ever the caretaking friend she was.

"I needed to cool down, too sweaty with the crowd inside".

"Understandable, but you better come inside again", she reached for your hand, about to make you follow her, but not before exclaiming "God women, your freezing!" You wanted to laugh at her outburst, although the uneasy feeling in your stomach of being watched irked you to look behind you instead. As expected, no one was there.

From that moment and onwards, you couldn't let go of what happened. The man had disappeared into thin air, something you couldn't find any explanation to. Though that was not everything, ever since then, you felt observed. The feeling of having a glare in the back of your neck never ceased, yet every time you turned, you couldn't find anyone looking your way. It made an uneasy feeling settle in your body, but you tried pushing it away, knowing your easily spooked mind most possibly played a part in the trick your brain now played on you.

You had since then also joined the dancing crowd, at the moment throwing your head backwards, singing along the lyrics. You moved along the bodies, eyes closed to delve into the sensation of letting go. Even though you hadn't touched a drink since returning inside, you had had a few glasses earlier. Not enough to lose your reason, but plenty for renewed energy to develop.

Suddenly you felt how someone bumped you, harsher than acceptable even for the setting you were in, to which your eyes shot open. You were to turn around and tell the person off, yet something else caught your eye. Through the crowd, you could see him again. Silver mask reflecting the neon lights, yet none reached his eyes. You blinked, but in the second people had moved in the way and he was gone.

"This can't be real", you shook your head, though it was then you felt the burning feeling of eyes on you once more. This time you didn't hesitate to start turning in a circle to find the onlooker and when you did your eyes widened.

You had turned the opposite way of how you originally stood, something which would've taken minutes to walk. No matter if you walked through the dancing crowd, or around it. Yet there he was. The quickening of your pulse wasn't noticeable, not until the music started to fade to give room for the pounding in your ears that was. As heads began clouding the vision of him again, you tried to peer around them, as well as standing on your toes. Still, you lost him a second time.

It felt like someone played with you by now or you were going insane. At that instance, as it was triggered by your thought, you felt your body stiffen and straighten. Your body was hot, but you felt a coldness spread from your core. You recognised where the feeling came from, horrified you slowly turned to look the way it came. His mask shone in the dark, yet you could see nothing besides from it, the rest of him drenched in darkness.

"This can't be real, this can't be real", you uttered to yourself while turning and exiting the crowd and continuing down one of the corridors.

You knew Halloween was the night of terror, but never had you thought you would end up in a thriller. There must be a reason for everything, you thought, yet you had no explanations of the events you had witnessed.

Continuing to move forward, you heard the music fade behind you and your steps echo filling the silencing space instead. The empty space resonated each of your heavy steps loudly, the thought almost stopped you. There was no way your heels would give away that deep and loud of a noise. Intensely you listened, noticing how the sound followed yours perfectly, hitting the ground with the pace of your soles, making it sound like a further echo of yours. But it wasn't, someone else walked behind you.

The growing panic quickly crossed the threshold of fear, making you bolt. You zoned out, only focusing on putting as much distance between you and whatever was behind you that was humanly possible. You didn't dare look back, only held your gaze fastened on the door of the toilet, which had been your original goal.

It felt like the distance never ceased then all of a sudden, your shoulder connected to de door, while hand turned the handle, making you crash trough it. You stagger into the polished room, still not forgetting the door was wide open behind you. With all your weight you threw yourself at it, fingers finding the lock as soon as it closed with an echoing bang.

Your breath had turned shallow, shaking att both in and exhale. In a futile attempt, you tried holding your breath to silence the sound of your breathing. You stared at the door, attempting to hear if whatever chased you still was outside or worse, trying to break in. You realised that if it succeeded, there was nowhere left to run. However, besides your ragged breaths, it was silent, almost to silent.

It was then the impossible happened, you felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist. A choked sound was the only possible noise able to leave you. Biting your lip, you tried to quite the cry that wanted to escape, as well as your tears which were threateningly close.

You prayed this was your imagination, but you knew it wasn't as you felt the one being behind you step closer. You didn't need to turn to feel the looming feeling, which made you insignificantly curl into yourself.

"Y/N", unprepared for the sound of a voice, a whimpered left you, while you covered into yourself further. Your fear clouded your thoughts and not until his voice had echoed in your head multiple times did you realise, you knew that voice.

Though fear still gripped you, you slowly turned, eyes wide as you saw the mass of a man now standing before you. It was impossible to see anything more than his form in the dark, so you reached behind you, fumbling to find the light switch. Flickering to life the sudden source of light blinded you momentarily, though as soon as your eyes had adjusted, you looked at him once more.

Though his mask still covered most of his features, the light revealed many traits you hadn't seen before. His hair, which you had thought was silver, was dark brown at the roots, matching the stubble covering his jaw. The blue of his eyes shone from the cuts in his mask, seemingly crinkled in the corners. That was when you recognised him.

You recognised those blue eyes which you had gazed into so many times before. Those blues that could shift from shining brightly, to dangerously opaque. The ones you had left when moving from Sokovia, from him.

It was like he was bound, thus as you reached towards him, he stood perfectly still. You found the laces to his mask easily and with a few tugs, the tie loosened and the disguise fell from his face, hitting the floor with an unbothered cling.

"Pietro"

Taglist; @flowerchild1216 @haven-in-writing @krystallynx @sdavid09

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storytellingfandom · 4 years ago

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Calculators and Key Changes

Summary: Kazami blew into Republic City High like a hurricane. The students loved her, she changed how the arts program was run and rose it out of the ashes. She got along with most all of the staff, that is, except for one.

Lin would give her props for saving the arts program, but that’s as far as it went. The failed opera singer was obviously looking for what she’d see as an “easy” gig to get her back in the papers and then abandon her students. And she wasn’t going to offer praise for a one trick pony.

But when things shift, when there’s an understanding, can their students push the two titans of the school together to find their own happiness?

A/N: This is a completely self indulgent high school AU. I tried to write it in second person POV, but it didn’t flow well so it is third person with it being Lin x OC. Many props go to @kuvirasbrat for helping me get this shaped though <3

Wordcount: 21,685

Homecoming season at Republic City High meant many things. Mostly, it meant spirit days where both students and teachers made fools of themselves attempting to meet the day’s theme. Today was easy enough, it was a “Going to the Beach!” motif. Kazami dug around in her closet until she finally found the floppy hat that she’d been gifted one year. Putting it on her head, she checked her outfit in the mirror. She’d chosen a bright blue tank top that highlighted her eyes, the straps of swimsuit could be seen just enough. Over it, she wore her black, floral, kimono style cardigan over it to cover herself. Itw as one of her favorites that fell a bit long on her form. Her dark skinny jeans were on point for those trips and she finally slipped into her old sandals to finish it off. Making sure she had her large sunglasses as well, her high ponytail made the hat uncomfortable but it could be fixed at school. She was already running late.

Running out to her car, she’d have to skip the coffee this morning, but Lin had been surprising her with a coffee on her desk lately. She really needed to remember to thank her properly for that, maybe with some homemade scones.

Thanks to a dicey streetlight call, really it was yellow and why would you have them there if not to get people through, she made it on time. Opening the choir room door, she moved to throw her purse in the desk drawer again and smiled when she saw not only the coffee but a croissant sitting on her desk as well.

“Lin Beifong you are a mind reader.” Kazami murmured as she sat back with both the coffee and the pastry. Tossing the hat on the desk for now, she enjoyed the quiet that had enveloped her.

Finishing the croissant, she got up and opened her classroom doors to let in her students. Parking her sunglasses on the top of her head, she smiled and complimented her students as they filed in with their own beach gear. Bolin of course outdid them all with his old time full body swimsuit and inflatable rubber duck.

Sipping the coffee a little bit more, hoping for the caffeine to kick in, she walked over to the piano. “Alright, shall we--”

“Ms. Ikeda, isn’t that Ms. Beifong’s handwriting on your cup?” Asami asked, taking her normal spot next to the piano.

“I don’t know Miss Sato, perhaps you’d like to take it down to her and see for yourself?” Kazami raised a brow, fingers pressing into the keys. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you can pass along Korra’s sweatshirt to her.”

Asami blushed but immediately backed down from the teasing question. Smirking at the student, the older woman threw a hand up and started into their warm ups.

******

Lin wasn’t the most fond of homecoming, or spirit week. The themes were ridiculous and she was not one to enjoy making a fool of herself. Today’s wasn’t so bad though, she supposed. Slipping into the school, she wore a pair of jeans she had cuffed to her ankles and belted to better fit her waist. Tucked into those pants was a dark green tank top covered by an open, white cotton button down shirt that she had rolled to her elbows. Donning a pair of sneakers, she made quick strides to her classroom to see if the surprise coffee would be there again.

Flicking the lights on, she smiled when indeed, it was. Grabbing the cup, she smiled when she saw the little message on the cup.

See you for lunch duty! Enjoy!

Grabbing the cup, she sipped it and hummed at the taste of her coffee. Grabbing the graded tests from her bag, she sat in her chair and took some time with her coffee. She ought to find out what Kazami’s coffee order is and surprise her with some. She was sure Kya knew it, the two had gone for coffee with Izumi. Or maybe one of the kids would know. Asami would tell her without too much guff.

Reaching for her pen, other things that needed to be graded sat on her desk calling to her. Starting in on those she contemplated the choir director. The woman seemed to be genuine in all of her interactions, she ought to look up a video of her performing one of these days. The more she talked to her, the more curious she had become.

At first, interactions stuck to the lunch room. Cordial comments slowly became banter. Banter became conversations and observations of students. From there it began to move out of the lunch room. It began with little moments of poking their heads in during each other’s office hours, walking each other out at the end of the day, and coordinating to stand around at things together. They bonded over a shared love of enjoyment of obscure books that made them think, and trashy romance novels that made them laugh, old time movies, the fact that neither could stand Raiko as principal but weren’t about to leave their students to him, and the fact that coffee was the superior drink only next to a good aged red wine.

Humming to herself, she looked up when a knock sounded through her office and she saw Mako standing there. “Hey kid, come on in.”

“Hi chief, I was wondering if I could get you to explain this again. I’m not getting it.” Mako said, stepping into the room and set his bag down.

“Sure, You have your book?” Lin asked, reaching for her glasses. The homework could wait a little longer. “Alright, show me where you’re getting lost.”

********

When Lin strode into the cafeteria, she smirked when she saw Kazami, this time wearing her hat, and her large sunglasses on her face.

“Now that’s a look.” Lin commented, chuckling slightly at the indignant look Kazami threw back at her.

“I will have you know I am a peak fashion icon amongst the other teachers. Besides, you need one of these hats worse than I do.” Kazami pointed out, reaching up to pull the sunglasses off for now.

There they were, there were those damn eyes that seemed to lure her in. “If you say so. At least we don’t have kids coming in just their swimsuits.”

“You must not have had Bolin in your class yet.”

“...please don’t tell me…”

“Oh yes, complete with an inflated rubber duck. The good news is that it’s an older suit so he’s covered.”

“Spirits give me strength.”

Kazami lost it then, laughing at the horrified look on Lin’s face. A hand reached out to rest on Lin’s toned armed and the grey haired woman smiled at the other.

“Glad you find it so hilarious.” Lin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

“The look on your face is priceless! Oh, I wish I’d had my camera.” Kazami wiped the corner of her eyes from the tears that had formed. “Your outfit is great though, I meant to tell you. The green does great things for your eyes.”

Lin felt a blush cross her cheeks, and murmured a quiet thanks to the other as they kept one eye on their students. “Speaking of this homecoming crap, are you going to the big game tonight?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Kazami asked, looking over at her. “They’re not really my thing normally but if you’re going and want some company I’d show up.”

“You don’t have to, a couple of the kids in my class asked me to go tonight. I can go on my own though.” Lin shrugged, she’d done it often enough. But a part of her really hoped that she’d go.

“No, I’d like to go. I can support the band students, a couple of them are in my choir classes as well, and besides, someone has to make sure you don’t get too grumpy.” Kazami teased, nudging her. Digging her granola bar out of her pocket, she handed half to Lin with a small smile.

Returning the gesture, Lin took the granola bar offered to her and bit into it. It’d become their tradition. One would bring a bar to eat and they’d split it. Hers tended to be nut and fruit based with either chocolate or peanut butter drizzled on it. Lin’s tended to be more protein based, but found herself leaning towards ones that were a little sweeter as they started to share more lunch duties together.

“Do you want to meet at the school tonight?” Lin asked, finishing a bite of the granola bar.

“Actually, do you want to meet somewhere? We could grab pizza then head over.” Kazami offered, moving to toss the wrapper for the bar in the trash. “Besides, trying to find anyone at those games is impossible.”

Lin blinked and felt her heart rate pick up. It wasn’t a date. Was it? No, surely she wouldn’t just drop it that simply if it was. Would she? Shit, now she was taking too long to reply.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“Great! I’ll shoot you an email this afternoon with my number. I definitely want to go home and change into something a bit warmer to sit out in the evening air in.” Kazami beamed at Lin.

“Here, I have my phone with me.” Lin answered, digging into her pocket for it. Handing it over, she let Kazami put her number in and watched as she called herself.

“There, that’s perfect.” Hearing the bell sound, Kazami smiled at Lin. Reaching up, she took her hat and put it on Lin’s head and chuckled at the look. “I’ll text you the place. Enjoy the hat.”

*********

“Did you see that?!” Bolin asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

“Ikeda definitely gave her number to Beifong!” Korra grinned as the group stood to head to class.

“I wonder if they’re going on a date tonight.”

“I doubt it, Beifong promised to be at the game tonight.”

“It’s the weekend, idiot. They could still go out.”

“Oh my-- she gave her the hat!”

“Everything is going according to plan.”

“We’ll have to plan our next moves carefully though.”

“This ship will sail before the end of the year.”

*********

Spirits, what had she been thinking? Kazami sighed and rubbed her face. They were just going to pizza as colleagues, newly found friends. Right? Sure, Lin was attractive, there was no denying that. You’d be stupid not to acknowledge it. She also had a wicked sense of humor when you dug around for it. And apparently a sweet side. But it wasn’t a date. Was it?

Well, fuck.

“Just keep it casual.” Kazami muttered to herself.

Keeping the same dark wash skinny jeans, she pulled on one of the black t-shirts she had in her closet with the gold “Republic City High Choir” printed on it in a not completely terrible cursive font. On the back of it she had “Director” printed. Most of the other kids with this one had their section. It was a whole thing last year. Throwing a dark cardigan over it, she slipped into ankle boots before finally releasing her hair from it’s high ponytail. Running fingers through it, she enjoyed the soft waves that she managed to tease out of it and shook it out. Grabbing a blanket from one of the hall closets, the weather had said it was going to be one of the colder nights tonight, she headed out to her car.

Lin waited outside of the pizza shot, leaning against the old brick easily. She’d kept the jeans and sneakers on, and she also kept the green tank top, but had pulled on a warmer sweater over it. Seeing Kazami’s car pull up behind hers, she smiled and pushed away from the building before walking to her car to open the door for her.

“Why thank you, my good lady.” Kazami smiled and stepped out of the car.

“I haven’t seen that one.” Lin said, pointing at her shirt.

“They were for a trip we took last year.” Kazami answered, leading the way over to the building.

********

Eating pizza, Kazami learned that Lin preferred her pizza spicy if possible and was a meat eater. She also would pair it with a lighter beer, that was unexpected, but fascinated Kazami. She preferred a pizza slice covered in vegetables, and if that wasn’t available, just a simple cheesy slice would always do the trick as well. Following Lin’s example with the beer, the two grabbed a table and dug into their food. Kazami insisted on buying dinner since it was her idea in the first place.

The topics remained light, after all, they’d be heading out soon for the game. Questions about lessons, when the next concert was and if Kazami needed some help with setting up the choir shell, how the math team was going and were they thinking about cooperating with the new engineering team that met up after school.

Finishing their dinner, they stood from the table and walked back to their cars.

“Why don’t you ride with me over? We can come back for your car once the game is over.” Lin offered when Kazami had headed for her own vehicle.

“That’s not a bad idea, let me just grab the blanket I threw in here for tonight.” Kazami agreed, pulling the door of her car open to grab it.

Hurrying over to Lin again, she climbed into the car and settled in it. She wasn’t surprised at all with how clean the inside of Lin’s car was. Everything was pristine. Enjoying the subtle eucalyptus and lavender smell she’d picked for it, Kazami settled and held the blanket close to herself.

“So do you go to this game every year?” Kazami asked, looking over at her.

“Almost. Usually have a student or two that asks me to go and support them.” Lin shrugged, easily easing them into traffic.

The radio played something quietly, a soft jazz if Kazami was picking it up right. Enjoying the easy quiet between them, she hummed along with the different instruments until they pulled into the parking lot.

********

Kazami had no idea what was going on while watching the game. All she knew was that she was cheering when Lin did, leaning over when she tried to explain things. She ended up with the band around half time, chuckling and speaking with the band director, hugging her kids that were also in choir.

The green eyed woman watched Kazami and felt herself smiling. The woman had no idea what was going on with the game but supported the students all the same. She made sure to see her students who played in the band, in her element and talking about the music that would be played for the halftime production. But she also made sure to get back to Lin before being gone too long.

“How’re they holding up?” Lin asked looking over at her.

“They’re great! The show is going to be great, I’ve seen them rehearse a couple of times.” Kazami answered, plopping down in her spot.

“I was going to go down to see my students, they’ve got the longer half time with the whole court thing. You mind if I go down there?” Lin asked, pulling her jacket closer to herself.

“Not at all, I think I’ll get us some tea actually. I’ve got a stash back in my classroom, and some honey. You want some?” Kazami asked, offering Lin a smile.

“That would be great, if you have jasmine I’d take some of that.” Lin answered, moving to stand.

“I do, and I’ll meet you back here.” Kazami answered , leaving her blanket to save their spots.

Tucked away in her classroom, she hummed to herself, filling her kettle and turned it on. Digging around in her cupboards, she managed to come up with two mugs. Dropping tea bags into them, she waited until the water boiled before pouring it in. Squeezing some honey in, she grabbed both of them before making her way back to the stadium.

Kazami made it back to their spot first and huddled on the bench. Smiling, she watched Lin talk with a couple of the kids before wrapping the blanket around herself. Setting Lin’s tea down, she brought hers up, holding it between both hands and took in the warm chai smells before taking her first sip.

When Lin returned to the bleachers, she took the tea herself and held it with a relieved sound. “Spirits it’s getting cold out.”

“There’s a reason I brought this along.” Kazami pointed out, watching Lin a moment before offering her one end of the blanket. “Come on, it’s warmer under here.”

Lin hesitated a moment before scooting closer and took the other side of the blanket. Their sides pressed together, it really was warmer. Her heart thudded gently as Azami’s light floral perfume hit her nose.

“You trust me?” Lin asked suddenly, looking over at Azami.

“Well that question worries me, but yes.” Azami answered, a confused look crossing her features.

“Come on.” Lin said, standing and reached to help her up.

********

Leading her through old staircases and up the older side of the building, Lin finally pushed a door open and led Kazami out onto the roof. The sun was going down, deep reds and pinks streaked across the golden sky as dark purples began to poke through as well.

“Lin...this spot is incredible.” Kazami said, turning to look at her.

“I used to come out here with Aang, back when I was their age.” Lin answered, coming to join her. Sitting down, Lin let her legs dangle off the edge, a hand reaching up to help Kazami down to sit next to her.

“I always forget you knew and grew up with that family.” Kazami said, settling next to Lin and offered her the blanket again.

They sat in companionable silence for some time, drinking their team and watching as the sky began to transition from the warm day into what appeared to be a cool night. Watching the kids, Kazami fell into the trap that sitting on a roof seemed to hold for people. She began to confess.

“I never wanted any of this you know.” Kazami murmured, staring out at the sky.

Lin frowned and turned to the other woman. “What?”

“I never wanted to be an opera singer. I enjoyed music, and singing, but I never wanted to spend my life doing that.” Kazami murmured, setting her mug aside, she pulled the blanket closer and sighed softly. “My mother wanted to go into it, but she didn’t have the voice for it. My grandmother sang and it was just...expected. When she found out I could sing...I was forced into lessons when I was five. I wasn’t allowed to go out often because I had lessons.”

“You were just a kid though.”

“And my mother didn’t care.” Kazami answered, a shrug coming from her. “I didn’t have siblings, and my father locked himself in his study. When I wanted to go outside and play, or attend things like prom instead of a recital, I was guilt tripped. How could I not accept this, after all the effort she put into this. By the time I was old enough to realize it, I was trapped. I was signed up with a company. Hiding who I was because opera singers have doting husbands. They let their male counterparts woo them and their managers walk on them.”

A hand reached over for Kazami’s slender one. Lin squeezed her fingers between her own. “What did you want?”

Smiling, she leaned into Lin and sighed gently. “I wanted to own a bookshop. I would fill it with trinkets and maps from all over after I traveled. A safe space for all, with a little bakery.”

“I can see you in that, exactly like that.” Lin murmured, moving to lean her head against Kazami’s. “Why’d you go into teaching? Why not open your shop?”

“Being in the professional world...I saw so many kids like me. Trapped in a world of music that they didn’t want. That didn’t want them as they were. I wanted to give them that safe space. To be themselves, to love music, to give them the option to go into it long term, or just have a place where they could sing and have a break from other classes. As much as I wanted that shop I wanted to also help those kids.” Kazami answered, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the warmth and the comfort the other woman offered. “I didn’t want kids to break down like I did. To fall so deep into their own darkness to the point that they hated their craft.”

Lin had heard about the breakdown. About how Kazami had simply stopped in the middle of a production, walked off the stage, and closed the door on the auditorium. Her mother had publicly announced Kazami was dead to her. Disowned and written out when Kazami confirmed she was gay. She’d heard her talking to kids about the depression she’d suffered where she hadn’t been able to get out of bed. How confused she’d been about her own identity away from music. Who was she if she wasn’t an opera singer? And yet, here Lin sat with a woman who bent over backwards for her students and her friends. Who tried to do so much for everyone and be there for anyone that needed her.

And Lin understood so much of that story.

“You know who my mother is. Everyone does. She was a single mom raising us and I get that she was busy. My sister and I both understood it. The only difference is that nothing I did was ever enough. I was valedictorian, I was captain of our sports team, I went straight into college.” Lin murmured and sighed, shaking her head. “Suyin was the one that skipped school. Did anything that she could to get attention.”

“Well, good to know some things haven’t changed.” Azami said, before she could realize it. Suyin had started at the school around the same time she had. Needless to say, while she tried to be polite, she really wasn’t too fond of Suyin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, you’re definitely right.” Lin said, a bitter chuckle escaped from her. “I was dropping something off at school and caught Suyin trying to skip class and smoke spirits knows what. Tried to go after her and catch her but she threw a branch or some piece of metal she’d been holding, I didn’t pay too much attention to it, but it happened so fast and it sliced into my face. Mom took me to the hospital, nothing was written into Su’s file, she was sent to the grandparents who spoiled her. Mom quit at the end of the year. Neither one ever mentioned the event. I haven’t spoken properly to them since.”

She waited for Kazami to turn to her, to tell her that she should make things right with her family. That she should just forgive them at this point. But she didn’t. Instead, Kazami squeezed her hands and interlaced their fingers together. Instead of a pitying look, she offered her one of understanding and acceptance.

“Well, you’re not on your own anymore.”

The statement hung in the air, whether she meant it as friends, or something more, neither of them knew, but in that moment, as the game ended and they stayed up on the roof to continue to bear their souls to one another. Laughing quietly, huddling together, as the thread of the universe began to tie their fates together in a neat bow.

#lin beifong #lin beifong x oc #lin beifong/oc #legend of korra fanfic #lok fanfiction #lin beifong fanfiction #calculators and key changes

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bibbykins · 5 years ago

Text

Heliophilic Rain and His Pluviophile (M)

Yikes, it’s been a hot minute. That’s my bad. I have been having it a little rough with my job and so I’m in the process of finding another one and that among a billion other things is slowing me down. Which makes me wonder if I were to open commissions if anyone would be interested? I also would like to add there is a scene that could be triggering so proceed with caution, please. Either way, thank you for your patience as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: possessiveness, yandere tendencies, anxiety, unspoken threat of sexual assault, slight violence, oral, penetrative sex, cock warming, toxic relationship (he's yandere ya kno)

Summary: He was the rain just as you were the sun, both too transfixed with watching each other to get any closer. Few things feel more refreshing than drops of fresh rain on heated skin or the warmth of the sun on a gloomy day. It would be a shame to not indulge in the natural wonders of the world before you.

“Her voice was like the wind. I could listen until it was all that filled me. I could listen until she swept me away into the vast ocean of her presence. I would drown if it meant I would drift back to her. Her voice was like the wind. No matter how much I tried to catch it, I would get carried away. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Suddenly, home was wherever she said it was, so long as she did so with that voice of hers.”

“His voice was like the tap of rain against a window. He was asking me to go out to see him, but there was something beautiful about the way I knew he wasn’t referring to me specifically. I was a mere onlooker to his presence. Even so, I would catch a cold if it meant I could reach him, even for a moment. I thought this, knowing I would never have the guts to go outside. I made peace with this until the taps on my window turned into knocks on my door.”

——-

The office had an industrial-chic style about it, filled with neutral tones and the clanging of chains for no other purpose except fashion donned upon its employees. The color palette was gloomy and soothing, just how Yoongi liked it, an aesthetic that his employees gleefully shared with him as well. Each morning, Yoongi would look out his office and admire his growing business, eyes never lingering on one place too long, he loved all of the office equally. This much rang true until he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Hoseok placed his hand on Yoongi’s soldier as he watched you through the glass doors of the conference room you were currently introducing yourself in, “Don’t be too hard on her, she’s competent and hardworking, okay?”

Yoongi could barely hear his friend as he lost himself in the way your eyes crinkled from a genuine smile adorning your face. You were his new host to one of the podcasts his company picked up. From the merger with Hoseok’s company full of his college friends, Yoongi went from popular podcast host and semi-popular producer to a CEO of Min Productions, famous music artists in production and performance, who oversaw the production of music and several podcasts on several topics, and you were what he had initially dreaded.

From the merger, came money, but what also came with it was Namjoon, the PR head of the company Hoseok was a part of, being able to choose one of every five talents for Yoongi to build up, hopefully into fame. Yoongi had just reached his fifth host, the podcasts he chose mostly consisting of music commentary or general life talks from people with aesthetics aligned with his own. However, from the sea of neutral colors and low voices partaking in casual conversation came you.

You were a perky college senior with some light in your eyes still. You were a rare find and had no set style ranging anywhere from pastels to the grunge he was used to seeing, but what never changed was your smile. Your teeth made an appearance at least 10 times a day, judging by the third smile you had just flashed the crew in a two-minute time frame.

Your podcast, however, oddly betrayed your attitude. You ran a sex and lifestyle podcast where you asked questions most people were too shy to throw out into the world pertaining to the unspoken social rules of casual dating and sex. It was interesting, yes, but it didn’t align with the brand Yoongi had been building judging by the synopsis.

The fuss he made to Namjoon ended as soon as he sat down and listened to a podcast of yours.

—–

“I have a formal complaint I would like to file!” You proclaimed as Yoongi found himself listening to your most recent podcast, “Why the fuck can’t I get a sugar daddy my age? It’s almost like… like my age demographic consists mostly of broke-ass college kids living with their parents, in a dorm, or like ya girl, an overpriced apartment and not rich as fuck for no reason. Fucking whack, I’ll say it.” He unwittingly cracked a smile at your charm and sarcasm, “I spent one day on sugarbaby.com and had to watch vanilla straight porn at the number of wrinkly dicks I saw instead of profile pictures. That’s like the most boring porn. So here comes a Patreon plug for the brainwashing I will conduct on myself in case I saw anyone’s grandfather’s penis.” You had an unabashed charm about you that urged him to listen more, maybe just one more episode.

Yoongi found himself listening to your entire discography, even the less promoted music you released once every blue moon, which wasn’t half-bad. However, he couldn’t find a picture of you, most likely because you posted under the alias Sugar Sun. The only pictures of yourself being from behind.

“On this episode of men are trash: men are fucking trash. Hello all, Sugar Sun here, and let’s talk about my day,” Yoongi could feel his intrigue grow, as you kept releasing, your delivery became less forced and more natural, “I don’t talk much in class, believe it or not. I’m a stuttering mess and like two people know my name at my big ass university, so when I do talk and my shit hole of a lab partner yells at me in the middle of a presentation to speak up, I cry, in front of the class. But do I stop the presentation? No, I’m fucking frozen with fear, so I just continue with my tears and the presentation. Bitch, what the fuck I looked like a middle school drama kid doing a monologue in front of her math class for no fucking reason.” You took a deep breath, “In conclusion, I’m sensitive and men are trash. Now, to the podcast.”

You had gained more traction with your commentary on romantic life and general comedy, catching Namjoon’s attention, “Hello again, double S here, with a special announcement. I got like, an actual company to sign me! Wild, I know! I’ll get paid and have meet-ups and stuff, which means you lovely listeners will get to soak in my face and talk to me in person and really experience why the only orgasms I’ve had are self-made!”

—–

“Yoongi!” Hoseok tapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance you put him in.

“Sorry, she’s just-”

“Be nice,” Hoseok warned.

“Like sunshine.” Yoongi could feel the air enter his lungs as you sat down with a smile, “Like, what the fuck, Hobi?”

His friend blinked, “Woah, shit, what?” He stifled a laugh, “You know, there isn’t a no-dating policy, right?”

“I’m well aware.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “But there will be if anyone tries anything.” He spoke nonchalantly and Hoseok choked on air at his friend’s obliviousness while the glass doors of the conference rooms were opened, you pouring out from it, waltzing to Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Hello, Mr. Min and Ho-Mr. Jung, I’m Y/n, or Sugar Sun, thank you for this amazing opportunity.” You bowed as Hoseok shook off his bewilderment for just a moment to give you a small bow with Yoongi.

“I look forward to spending more time with you.” Yoongi spoke in his regular gruff voice, the same one that proclaimed to have your hand in marriage just moments before, “I find you’ll be a breath of fresh air to the company.”

“I also look forward to seeing how your podcasts go, you have a photoshoot in a couple weeks, right?” Hoseok smiled warmly at you as you beamed back to him. Yoongi swore the whole exchange was blinding.

“I do! I’m a little nervous, since it’ll be my big face reveal, and I don’t know how well I model.” You giggled and Yoongi found his new favorite song the moment you did.

Yoongi had a tendency to do this, whether or not he wanted to. He was a passionate man. He craved love and could see it coming from a mile away. Despite being one of the seven main heartthrobs of his college campus, he almost exclusively stuck to serious relationships, and he meant it when he said serious. Yoongi was a little, to put it lightly, obsessive. He was a jealous boyfriend, but he did his best to try not to be too overbearing. He was also excessively protective, and the women he dated were grungy free spirits who enjoyed the chase when all Yoongi wanted was to catch them then hold them for the rest of his life. Despite being blinded by his own passion, he could still see when it wasn’t going to last, having accepted to never find a girl to accommodate and sedate him when needed. However, when you looked his way, or he heard your voice, it was something more than a need being filled.

You felt your heart leap out of his chest, trying not to fall into Yoongi’s hands when you first saw him, and here he was, nonchalantly giving you an inkling of a smile. Maybe it was the lack of a solid fuck or a relationship, but you were definitely breaking some HR rules in your mind.

Suddenly, you became aware of the content you dished out. You talked about your sex life often, and he knows you’re inexperienced and terribly horny. You internally punched yourself in the face. He probably thinks you’re so weird. Yet, here you were, a huge fan of Agust D and now Min Yoongi was staring at you.

Yoongi smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my experience with a face reveal or two.”

You returned his smile, remembering the day Agust D revealed his face. The whole world stopped, and you only fell deeper when you looked at his eyes, “I-I remember, I’m a fan.” You looked down shyly before facing him again.

“Funny, I am a fan of yours.” He spoke lowly as Hoseok had long walked away unnoticed.

You giggled stupidly, “A fan?” Your sunny smile beamed at him. He had always preferred rainy days, but if this was what the sun looked like, he could get used to being a little warm here and there, “I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m gone a lot and yet, your voice has a certain factor to it that draws people in. ” He mused as his eyes trapped you, “I wonder where you’ve been all my life.”

Just like that, the bubble popped. The chimes came to a screeching halt. The rose-tinted glasses were abruptly ripped off of your face. The magic cleared, and you were left with the realization that while you had damn near counted every interaction, no matter how minuscule, and he hadn’t cared to remember you until now.

“Here’s my personal cell,” He hands you a pristine card with silver numbers, “Call me if you need anything, and I mean it.” You take the card with a quaint smile that deflates

He’s never noticed you until now, of course. The answer to his thoughts was that you’ve been right here.

Before Yoongi could register the chill in the air without your smile, Hoseok came back, “Hey Yoongs, let’s go, we got a flight in a few hours.“

“Right.” Yoongi breaks eye contact with you.

“Have a good flight!” You smile, not as wide as before, and Yoongi sees it.

“See you Tuesday, y/n!” Hoseok waves.

“Don’t be late!” You giggle and as soon as they both are out of earshot, Yoongi grills him.

“You know her?!” Yoongi snaps as he enters the town car.

Hoseok blinks at him, confused, “Duh? I thought that was a given.” Upon seeing his friend’s puzzled face remain, Hoseok’s eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you don’t remember her?!”

The older male blinked in confusion, “I’ve never met her before?”

The younger businessman threw his head back as he placed his hands over his face in frustration, “She was in our forensics class and our history class last year’s fall semester and the year before!” He was exasperated, “Remember the super genius sophomore?”

Yoongi racked his brain. Last year? He had been dating some angsty theology major. How could he have let himself be blinded by a temporary fling when the love of his life was right there? He could kick himself at this moment. No wonder your smile faltered, you had remembered him, “Liar, you can’t be serious.”

“Dude, she tutors me to this day in history.” Hoseok deadpanned, “All she requires is I buy her meals that day.”

“How often do you guys have study dates?” Yoongi grits out as his friend snorts at the notion of it being a date.

“Your possessive is showing,” He snickered, “My girl is all I can see these days, no matter how cute y/n is.”

“I will end you if you touch her,” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate, “Especially with the way you treat girls,” His face scrunches in disgust before he grumbled, “But how often?”

“Every other Tuesday.” Hoseok smirked, “And you mean used to treat girls.”

Yoongi huffed in agreeance.

—-

“Hello, party people.” Your voice entered Yoongi’s headphones as he leaned back on his hotel bed, “Sugar Sun here, in my bedroom. We’re calm, we’re casual, it is a Friday night and this one goes out to my fellow homebodies.” You switched off to play a song. Part of the contract you signed was that you are allowed to go live whenever you liked to encourage and tend to fans. You explained it was almost a tradition for you to set aside a Friday night in once a month for your fans and Yoongi found in comforting as he lay alone.

Your taste in music was so unbelievably cute, he couldn’t help but smile at the lo-fi song, “And we’re back, hello all here and all who are joining as I speak. Today I took a tour of the studio my actual podcasts will be recorded in and holy shit, they seem to actually take me seriously as a personality and even artist, so expect some tunes soon.” Yoongi smiled at this, you don’t even know your potential, “I’m looking at the chat now to see if there are any questions, and- oh, yes, I did meet my boss. Yes, the iconic Min Yoongi. He is as dreamy as they say, but I have actually met him before.” Yoongi sunk a little further in shame, “Did he remember me?” You read from the chat, “No, of course not. I’m a voice, but no one will know me if I don’t use it.” You sighed out and he felt his heart clench. He was such a fucking idiot. “Which I don’t much beyond this mic. Am I scared to say this now that he’s my boss?” He held his breath a bit, “No, I doubt he’s listening. He said he was my fan, but he could just have said that to be a nice guy.” You laughed, a hint of sadness evident, “What a fucking disaster I must seem like if he were to, huh?” The sadness in your voice more prominent, “If he is, hi Mr. Min, please erase this from your memory, as well as my sophomore haircut.”

The live went on as normal and Yoongi drifted to sleep to the melodious sound of your voice for the remainder of the flight. However, even in his dreams, you were just out of reach, and he couldn’t begin to put into words how much it killed him.

—-

You don’t know how you got here. You looked around at the shabby setup. This "photography studio” looked a lot, and you mean a lot, like it was a half-assed school set not long ago. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously when you caught sight of a black couch. You really hated your manager.

The jackass was assigned to you and you were too scared to say how uncomfortable he made you. He treated you like a child, but the way he looked at you was too adult for your taste. He was constantly texting you and asking for photos of your face, which you were constantly rejecting. To top it all off, he wants you to call him Big Brother, not Oppa, Big Brother. You opted for Big Bro instead, since he won’t give you his name. No, to top it all off, he booked your photo shoot with a “friend” of his to “save the company money”. He asked you to show up in a dress no longer than your knees and you felt dumber and dumber as time went on for doing so.

You stood in the middle of this studio-warehouse apartment waiting for this great photographer to show up. As you stood here, your initial thought was “how fucking ridiculous is that” but the longer you were there and the more you studied the ropes that were no longer as well hid, something in your stomach began to turn.

You were in actual fucking danger. This situation could not be a funny story if you didn’t live to tell it. Your eyes darted from different red flags in the room. A spot of dried blood scratches on the cheap wallpaper, bare plaster marks against the beige wall, a poorly-concealed camera you hadn’t noticed until now. Your chest squeezed when your phone vibrated.

You could get out of here! All you had to do was send an SOS.

Hoseok: Good luck in the photoshoot from my other half and I!

You smiled lovingly at the snapchat from the male, the more permanent girl in his life with a smile on her face and an encouraging thumbs-up. They were evidently on a date, finally, so there was no way you could call them to come get you. You would hate to bother them.

Mr. Min: Let me know how the shoot goes.

You faltered over the message. He was professional as ever. Would he think less of you if you abandoned a shoot like this?

Yoongi agonized over the three dots that stared him down. He had to remind himself to blink as he watched the minutes tick by that felt like hours. What the hell were you typing?

It had been about a couple of weeks since you’ve been under Yoongi’s company and all had been normal. Your routine was the same, and so was his. Except for this time, you two would exchange polite texts on what the other would do.

Sugar Sun: Great song as always!

You would always send exclamation points or some sparkle emojis, even a sun here and there. Yoongi found himself unable to shield his cheesy grin at the texts you sent him. You were always the first person to praise his new work. He found himself craving your praise more and more, but he forced himself to remain professional.

Mr. Min: Loved your live.

He always used punctuation despite using fragments which somehow added an aura of professionalism that he effortlessly radiated in person. Nevertheless, you would always send back a sparkly thank you which made Yoongi melt. He prided himself on not overstepping boundaries by attempting to control your professional life. His self-restraint proved quite strong as he held himself back from taking you out to lunch or giving you special treatment. This restraint was put to the ultimate test when he found out you were assigned Hyungin as your manager. He was an unfortunate employee with constant reports that would ultimately be rescinded by the female employees.

He was a disgusting piece of shit, Yoongi deduced. Hyungin was the brother of the management agency contracted by his company, per Namjoon’s damn insistence, and he was itching for that contract to end, and soon. Yoongi had to physically hold himself back when he found this information out, trying to respect you by not meddling or keeping tabs on you.

His resolve was a very thin string that was tugged and tugged as the days went on with Hyungin having total control over your schedule and an excuse to contact you 24/7. You were a strong girl and had not made a report. He had to respect that.

Your lip began to twitch, a movement you quickly halted as you shook the fear off. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were being stuck up. You weren’t like Yoongi, maybe you had to photoshoot in shabby places.

You: I’m kind of scared…

You shook your head, erasing the message and locking your phone. You huffed, it was 30 minutes past the scheduled time. Surely you had the right to leave? You heard the back door open and could feel the bile lurch in your throat.

Something was very wrong. You were not overreacting. There were several heavy footsteps and as they thudded through the warehouse, nearing your reaching form, you could not deny the quaking fear that traveled through your veins like electricity.

One? Two? No, four sets of steps. The uneven rhythm proved as much, too many for a measly photoshoot. Too many for you to take on all at once. The correct amount to hold you down. The correct amount to-

“Little sis, are you here?” A sickening voice called out and you realized the steps stopped with only his continuing.

He was trying to surprise you.

“Come on, dear, let’s get to know each other.” You could hear the predatory smirk on his face and you choked on a horrified breath as the fear pricked your skin and pierced your lungs.

You were choking on your own horror.

“Come out, come out,” He called and you were frozen, absolutely fucking frozen.

Run.

You stood up, breaking into a sprint that was a hair too slow. You felt a calloused, obscenely rough handgrip your forearm with a vigorous force and you screamed. He was squeezing, and at this rate, your bones would surely snap, “Not so fast, little girl.” He stood next to you, breath pungent with halitosis. From peripheral vision, you could see his five o'clock shadow and you realized the size difference and the lack of camera. You couldn’t stop screaming, mimicking every cell in your body that seemed to yell,

RUN.

Just like lightning, you struck him with your head, harder than you knew you could stand. His nose gave you an all too satisfying crack and his grip loosened enough for you sprint again, this time more than quick enough to keep going. You heard the clamoring of footsteps and eventually, all you could hear was the sound of the wind as you turned corners you had no familiarity with, running until your legs could no longer carry you.

Your legs finally shook you down to your knees in a part of town you barely recognized. You had passed through here once before as a freshman in college sight-seeing. It was a tourist spot and you exhaled on the sidewall as people stepped around you.

You heaved a breath that you swore you had been holding for hours with a small victorious smile. Your eyes scanned the area of regular people and your hands shaking brought attention to the purse you thankfully still had.

Without thought, you ripped it open, using your phone to call the first person you could.

“Y/n?” His voice was gruff, as if he was whispering whilst trying to talk normally, “Is everything okay?” He seemed confused, you had never called him before.

“Can you… uh…” You faltered after realizing the strangled sound you made, voice raw from the screams you let out, “…please come get me.” You nearly whispered.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Yoongi didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Stay where you are, don’t go near anyone.” He ended the phone call and you followed his directions, dropping your pin. You sighed in relief as you took refuge on the sidewalk, draping the cardigan in your bag over your shoulder, securing it around yourself.

Yoongi shot up from his office chair, looking at his employees mid-powerpoint. His marketing team turned into ice at his gaze. His eyes were much darker than a moment ago, and his jaw was like stone, “I have an emergency to attend to, we will proceed at a later date.” The room nodded stiffly as their boss walked out, all of them unaware why, having been too scared to even try to listen to his phone call.

Never in Yoongi’s life had he sped so recklessly. You were 10 minutes away and something was wrong. Your voice had never sounded so vulnerable. He had never heard it that quiet before. You were in a plaza of popular building, and if you had a photo shoot today, this would not be near any studio at all. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone taking away your light.

He slammed on the brakes when he caught sight of your shrunken form on the sidewalk, your head jerked up at the sound as your entire body jumped. Why were you so scared? Your face had a small streak of makeup on the side of your face and his skin only flared as you scurried into the car and Yoongi began driving to a more familiar side of town.

“Please don’t take me home.” You pleaded, unable to face him due to the shame.

Yoongi chose not to prod, for the time being, only nodding in response as he drove. He could see you stare out the window at the passing building and he watched your shaking for curl into the car seat. He settled on this resolve of leaving you alone all the way up to the inside of his apartment until your lip quivered as you plopped down on the couch, eyes unwavering from its spot at your feet. Then, you began to cry. No, not cry, sob, sob your hardest and just like that, a single tear snapped the ever-thinning string of restraint he had left.

You were pulled into Yoongi’s chest as sobs racked through your body, you clutched his shirt as you soaked it with tears of fear, relief, joy, and you couldn’t stop. Hell, you could barely breathe. Even so, Yoongi held you as his expensive dress shirt crumbled under your grip and stained with your mascara and eyeliner proving not to be as water-resistant as you hoped. His grip was unwavering and when a hand went to stroke your hair, you could feel oxygen reach your lungs again.

“It’s okay.” He breathed, “You’re safe now.” He fought the urge to clench his jaw again as you gripped his shirt harder.

Your breathing began to even as he whispered soft words into your ear until your eyes couldn’t cry anymore. The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, clinging onto one another as he felt the softness of your cardigan against his hands. You eventually broke the silence with a meek, “I’m so sorry."

"Why is that?” He spoke softly, his last intent was to scare you.

“I ran away from the shoot, and I know it’s not professional but…” You shivered, “ He didn’t have a camera.” Yoongi could kill somebody, “He had three other guys with him.” Someone, no, all of them are going to have to pay, he concluded. Nobody involved would leave the ordeal with their lives intact. They would lose everything for trying to take his sunshine away, for making your light falter, for even a moment.

He ripped himself from you, to sternly meet your eyes, “Do not apologize for the swine you encountered.” Your eyes only reflected sorrow, “You’re alive, and that is what matters most, okay?” You nodded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Your voice cracked against your will as you looked up at Yoongi, eyes glassy and begging for reassurance.

He visibly softened, “No, Sunshine, I could never be mad at you.” You nodded in understanding, “But will you let me fix this for you?”

Maybe you should have known from the beginning. You looked at Yoongi, so eager to be your saving grace, eyes intense with intent, and yet his touch was so soft. A man in love was a dangerous man, you once read in a book. Yet, never in your life have you craved such a man before, and if Yoongi’s rage mixed with infatuation could measure close to love, you would take it. He was powerful, he was kind, and he was pleasing to the eye. He was offering you the world in that one question.

“Please.” You cast your pride aside, “They don’t deserve mercy.” An angry tear went down your cheek, “I’m so tired of trying to brave it, doubting myself, denying myself any chance of help.” You could feel the tear trickle with hot fury, “I’m so fucking sick of relying on myself.”

Yoongi was quick to catch the tear with the softest hand you’ve ever felt, “I’m here now.” He spoke with the utmost confidence.

Your relationship with Yoongi from that point for the next couple of months was interesting, to say the least. You had somehow moved in upon his request, him rationalizing it by saying they knew where you lived. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. Hyungin knew where you lived, but within two weeks he and the monsters you encountered were promptly locked in a very dangerous maximum-security prison. You decided not to dwell on how they took such a shitty deal with a well-deserved long sentence.

Some things were above your pay grade, and you made peace with it.

Even so, he didn’t stop there. He could no longer stand on the sidelines anymore. That line blurred beyond recognition the moment he held you in his arms. He was essentially your new manager, stating he owed you at least that much after letting you fall into the hands of such a monster. Thankfully, the releasing of official statements and press conferences were received well. The victim-blaming for the nature of your podcast kept to an obsolete minimum. Your face still had not been released upon your request and you were able to move on, the media no longer covering the story as the sentencing was sealed.

The months passed in a flurry of Yoongi being awfully vague each time you asked about his personal life. He was constantly home outside of work, which you didn’t mind, but you didn’t want him to put his social life on your accord. You also had much less confidence in his infatuation for you then you did a couple months ago. Every time you tried to make a move, which meant a small brush of physical contact, he was not responding. The last time he gave you affection was the hug during your breakdown. The most you got out of him were a couple of head pats.

Like that did anything for you.

For crying out loud, you ran a sex and lifestyle podcast with no sex from the hot man you lived in the same home as.

Hell, the most emotion you see from him is the purest politeness you have ever encountered.

“Hello my listeners, welcome to the obligatory virginity talk.” Your voice was crisp in the mic as Yoongi laid in his bed, headphones in, listening to the newly released podcast. He was still a loyal listener, despite you living in his guest bedroom. He still could not get enough of your voice. If anything, he craved you more and desperately held himself back. He loved having you with him, but never did he think he would have to turn to rubbing one out during your more racy episodes or when he heard you pleasuring yourself in the dead of night.

Not even his thoughts could satiate him with you right there, and yet, out of reach.

“It has come to my attention that many of you think I’m a virgin, not that it’s an insult..” He could hear the smile in your voice, “Alas, I am not, but that doesn’t change my hand being the most impressive thing my pussy has seen, I’ll tell you what.” You giggled at this, “No, I take that back, my magic wand is my BFF.” Yoongi shifted, wondering if you had your toys in your room. He had sent for all of your things after all. God, he could already feel his dick hardening. How pathetic you make him at the very thought of you fucking yourself silly, eyes rolled back, vibrator against your clit. He huffed, shaking away the thoughts, “ Anyhow, let’s talk trends I am late to, rare, I know, but what’s this whole spelling coconut with your hips riding someone business?” You pondered, “I haven’t ridden someone in a good while, and my dildo can’t tell me if it feels good, so I’m at a loss here.” You sighed almost longingly, “God, I miss getting fucked, but also romanced,” You groaned, “It’s been a rough as fuck dry couple of months, which didn’t bother me for a while considering… you know, but the world keeps turning and I stay alone but moving on…” You droned and Yoongi went into overdrive.

Did you seriously want to fuck someone? Like someone else? You were living with him now, why would you feel the need to have relations with anyone else? His fists clenched at the very concept. You couldn’t be talking for show, you were say too genuine. Before he could even stop himself, he marched over to his bedroom door, ripping it open.

Only when he did had did he realize that you were in front of him, hand raised to knock on the door, “Oh, hey.” You gave him a smile as you slowly retreated your raised arm, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Every so often you both would have a movie night in which you would try to understand his feelings with small touches and ultimately fail. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company. Today, you were buying into an article’s advice and watching a scary one. Not that you were terrified, but you were a jumpy person.

At this rate, you couldn’t tell if you were horny or just wanted affection.

Both, probably.

Your crush on Yoongi had only worsened throughout this whole experience to top it off. He was hot and kind who could blame you? And yet, he never made a single move as if he had no interest. God, what if he didn’t have any interest?

Your heart sank for a moment, “If not, I think I was gonna try to go out-”

“No!” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s panicked tone when he cleared his throat, “I mean, I want to watch a movie, so you don’t have to go out.” He muttered and you nodded slowly. He could not have you going out, not after what he heard. You were craving other people. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“O…kay…” You smiled a bit, “Well, I picked a scary one if you think you can hang.” You gave him a sly smile before going to make popcorn.

He smiled as he watched you prance to the kitchen. You were so beautiful and fun and everything he’s ever needed. All that was left was for you to be his, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He had to be a gentleman. He had to wait for the right time. That’s what Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung said. The only issue was that he had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You know, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi.” He was quick as ever to correct you, “Please.” He sounded more desperate than usual and you nodded.

“Right, well I was just going to say that you have absurd taste in snacks.” You said with a chuckle, “All I ever see in you cupboards are coffee.” You wistfully sigh, “I need to go grocery shopping.”

The sound of you being so domestic-made Yoongi break into an ill-concealed smile as he settled onto the sofa, setting the oddly scary movie you chose up, “I can take you on Saturday.” You nodded when you finally found a bag of chips and sat next to the man of your affection with a cushion between the two of you.

You really couldn’t say what the movie was about, you had only seen it between the gaps in your fingers all while Yoongi watched it with a straight face. When it ended he said a short goodnight as always, except something in you, lurched out.

“Actually, I think I may go out after all.” You swore you followed your mouth’s lead as opposed to the opposite. You just said shit and had to go along with it. Fuck, you didn’t want to go out. You wanted to stay home and be scared that there was a ghost in the closet, but now you had to get ready and shit.

“Why?” Yoongi stopped, hand gripping his door handle much harder than usual.

You were taken aback by the question. It was valid, you supposed. But was it? How do you even answer that question? “Well, it’s been a while since I've… ya know…” You clicked your tongue, suddenly too shy to say,

“Had sex?” It was so blunt, and his eyes pierced through you and yet, you could feel your core tingle.

You were nothing but a sputtering mess, “W-W, I-I, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi, y/n.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he stalked over to you. Despite the unconscious steps back you were taking, the couch brought you to an abrupt stop.

“R-Right, anyways, I-” You shut your mouth when Yoongi hovered over you with his presence alone.

“Say it,” He glared daggers into your form, “Say my name.” Before you could even open your mouth Yoongi groaned, slamming his hands on the couch on either side of you in frustration, “God, why do you want other people when I’m right fucking here?” Your mouth was agape at this, “I’m so sick of holding myself back.” He cursed, body pressing against yours.

“What do you mean? Other people?” You mustered and Yoongi let out a chuckle void of humor.

“I listened to your podcast about wanting to be with someone and getting romance and…” Yoongi seriously thought you had been referring to anyone but him? Him? Seriously? The hot man in the place you live? You couldn’t stifle your laugh which caused his rant to falter, “How is this a laughing matter I am-”

“So fucking dense.” You giggled, “I’ve wanted you to at least look my way for the past three years, and you seriously think I want to be with other people?!” You sighed, “I live with you for fuck’s sake, and you won’t touch me!” Now, you were letting your frustrations out, “I brush your hand, I touch thighs with you, I-I scare the shit out of myself hoping you’ll at least hold me!” You heaved a breath, “And all you do is stay still!” You let out a frustrated yell, “The most attention I got from you was when I was almost attacked, is that what I need to do to draw sap from a fucking rock?!”

Yoongi flared at this, “Don’t ever think about putting yourself in danger.” He pointed at you, “I couldn’t take it, and I can’t take you not being honest with me, I thought you never noticed-” He was being a hypocrite, but he didn’t care.

“How could you say I don’t notice you when you straight up forgot I existed until this year?!” Yoongi was the one dumbfounded this time, and you took your chance to push past him, “I will go out tonight because I deserve-”

You couldn’t even breathe the next syllable before your back hit Yoongi’s bedroom door, his hands pinning your wrists above your own, the man breathing heavy. The air was thick with frustration as he gave you a stern look, “You deserve the world, I know,” The anger in you began to dissipate at his sincerity in his words, “And I am so in love with you, that I don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you,” Your breath hitched at this, “But I don’t care anymore, because I would sooner kill someone before they put their hands on you, I’m sure you know I mean business, Sunshine?” You nodded, every cell in your body springing to life as Yoongi drew his lips closer to you, “So?”

You blew out a shaky breath with an equally shaky smile, “L-Love me? I-"

"Say you love me, and I’ll do it.” He was more rushed this time, urgent almost, “I’ll stop holding back, and I will give you all that you deserve and so, so much more.” He was almost pleading.

What the fuck do you know about love? What does it look like? Sound like? Is it the way Yoongi smiles at your dumb jokes in the morning? Is it the way his voice sounds through the walls as he practices newly-written lyrics? He was a good man to you. He was an attractive man. He could give you the world, and all he wanted in return was your love. Could all of this be love? Could it be the way he’s made you feel the past couple of years, especially the last couple of months?

Well, why the hell wouldn’t it be?

“I love you, Yoongi.” You breathed against his lips and he didn’t miss a beat in closing the gap so not even air could come between the two of you.

Electrifying all over again, but so, so different. This wasn’t fear. This was lust lighting a fire within you that Yoongi only stoked further as his silky tongue tangled with yours in a flurry of repressed emotions and endless unspoken confessions. His mouth attached to your neck and you let out a moan, quickly going to cover your mouth.

He ripped your hand away almost instantly, “You’re rarely this shy when you’re in your room, why deny me your sounds now?” He growled against your ear and the pure sex in his voice only made you moan louder. He was the rain you had admired from afar, but now he was pressed against you, and holy shit, were you getting wet.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can wait, I want to cum so fucking ba-ah!” You yelped when his hand went to cup your sex under the long shirt you always wore. You were on your tippy-toes, too sensitive to press your full weight onto him.

“Such an innocent-looking girl with such a nasty mouth.” He squeezed you in his hand and watched in glory as your eyes rolled back, “Since you’re a fan, I’ll be nice.” He teased as he got onto his knees, dragging your panties down with him to the floor.

“Oh shit.” You let out a breath that was quickly stolen when his tongue pressed against your entry. He lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder as his mouth lapped at your clit and you lost yourself in the feeling, moaning mindlessly.

“You taste like deliverance.” He mumbled against your pussy and this only made your eyes roll back at the eroticism in his words. You couldn’t even keep track of what he was doing anymore.

All you could do was feel. His tongue fucked you into oblivion as he held your hips still, determined to make you come with his mouth, and his mouth alone. He let out a lewd suck and you quivered at the sensation and action. He knew how to play you and please you that you did. His tongue entered you again and he let out a delicious moan which vibrated against your folds, “Fuck, you sound and feel so fucking good!” You cried out as his tongue made thick strokes against you that only sped up expertly as he moaned into you, “Can I cum, Yoongi?” You asked, a smart girl, he concluded. He smirked against you, full intention to deny your request until, “Please, my love, I want to cum in your mouth like a good girl.” You begged pathetically and he couldn’t refuse you. You had him wrapped around your finger and hardly knew it. He got to work quickly, tongue entering you again only to flick upwards and you groaned at this. Groans were quickly replaced by increased screaming as he stiffened his tongue and licked all around your sex. You began to scream his name like a mantra as you tighten around the muscle and came the hardest you ever had.

You slumped against the door, chest heaving, “You okay, baby?” The nickname from him elicited a tired smile. You looked down at the man, lips glossy as he licked them. He sat back on his calves and you wasted no time in diving at him on the floor.

Before he could react, you gripped him through his sweatpants and smiled when you realized he was rock hard, “Can I please ride you?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” He growled when you straddle him as he sat, legs spread and back against the back of the couch now. You gave a less than innocent smile as you reached for his member, delicate hands wrapping around him, only to pull it free and closer to your entrance, “Condom?” He questioned.

“Pill, I need to feel you, fuck.” You panted, against logical judgment, but it was lost when you pressed the head against your own entrance, “Shit.” You ground against Yoongi as his head lolled back.

He could hardly handle it as your hips twirled, the tip just outside your entrance. Finally, he had enough, and with strong hands pulled your hips to fill you to the hilt. Your mouth popped open in shock and pure masochistic delight as the pain only added to the high of lust Yoongi gave you, “Sorry, baby girl, I knew you would feel so fucking good.” He emphasized this with a thrust up, “Plus, I could hardly resist being deep inside you immediately.” He growled in sadistic pride as your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Hurts so good.” Your hips moved spastically, chasing another high with Yoongi deep inside you. Not once did you lift your hips. You wanted to stay full, and Yoongi was more than happy to oblige, “So good, I wanna stay like this.” You moaned out as he sucked on your neck, hands going under your shirt to grip your breasts with a fevor you craved.

“You feel like heaven.” He grunted against your neck as he littered it with hickey after hickey. You were his and the way you squeezed around him and clawed at his shoulder only spurred him further.

Yoongi could feel himself twitching inside you and this only made you gasp as you gleefully squeezed around him, “Yes, yes,” You sounded like a prayer to him, “Cum inside me, I need it.” You were nearly screaming as he began to thrust into you at a rapid pace.

“Yeah? You want me to paint those pretty walls white, hm?” He teased you despite the strain in his voice, “Fuck it right into that pretty pussy of yours, no mine.” He grabbed your hips, working your body for his own high, “This is my pussy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it’s all yours, Yoongi!” You yelled and with that, he groaned as he came, ropes of cum that you could feel as his hips made good of his promise to fuck it into you. You milked him as you squeezed tighter before coming undone as you came with a scream that sounded like the next symphonic masterpiece to the fucked out man inside you.

You huffed a small chuckle against his neck as your curled your form around his, “So needy.” He teased as he went to remove himself inside of you only to be met with a squeeze from you that made him curse, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You giggled, “I like how you feel inside of me.” You shrugged before shivering at the empty feeling only to gasp when three fingers were shoved into you. You wiggled in glee, “Fuck.” Your breath hot against his neck.

"You just like to be full, huh baby?“ You nodded shyly, "You’re perfect.” He chuckled as he used his other hand to stroke your back.

—-

“Announcement time, my dear listeners” You spoke in the studio, trying not to sound like it was through gritted teeth. You counted your blessings that you were alone, “As you know, your dear old Sugar Sun has promised a face reveal and I-Min Yoongi!” Well, mostly alone. You heaved a breath as you came against his mouth for the third time.

The man between your legs looked up at you, eyes way too innocent, “What? I’m waiting for my part.” He spoke nonchalantly despite the wetness on his lips.

“I’ll never get there if you keep making me cum and start over.” You glared and the man shrugged, “I got far enough, right, babe?” You pouted and watched his resolve crack, “Honeypie?” You pleaded and he faltered, “Love of my life?” He grumbled as he sat up next to you in front of the mic.

“Fine, go ahead.” He licked his lips.

“…and I decided to go a step further.” You smiled as the man next to you held your hand, “I will be doing a photoshoot to reveal my face and my collab partner to an upcoming song and my boyfriend…”

You looked to him, eyes twinkling, “That would be my cue.” He placed a quiet kiss on your head, “My name is Min Yoongi or Agust D as some of you may know, and I look forward to my career and life with this little piece of sunshine.” You giggled at this.

“So cheesy.” You gave him a bright smile nonetheless, “Crazy news, I know, but I secured the fucking bag, my dear listeners, he’s never getting rid of me."

You were joking for the most part, but you didn’t know how right you were. You would not be away from him any longer. You were his sunshine, his little songbird, and his world all at the same time. He needed you like he needed to breathe. Now, you were his. You were his sunshine despite the rain he embodied. The rainbow between the two of you was too intoxicating to even bear the idea of giving it up. Even for a fraction of second. You were his. Every moment, minute, second, everything would be together. He was yours now and forever just as you were his. Blissfully and eternally in love.

"I’m too crazy to let go now.” You laughed as he kissed your temple affectionately.

So was he.

Buy me a ko-fi (it would make my day)

Masterlist

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts oneshot #bts yandere au #yandere bts smut #bts #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi

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