#someone should be paying me full time for visions lol

[sweetsynth]

Keeping up the family tradition of predicting presidential assassinations by making a joke about “seems like the time where someone will try to shoot the president” a few days before someone actually did

[shippingmyworld]

Hello! Yet another headcanon ask, cause I've been loving the headcanons around Danny and Sam and what Danny consciously or unconsciously seeks out of a relationship and I crave m o r e.

What are your headcanons around what Manny wants or needs out a relationship? Also also, what would you say drew Manny to Danny the most and vise versa?

The tl;dr is that Manny fell first but Danny fell harder lol

I think that what Manny looks for in a relationship is someone that can keep up with him, someone that won't judge him for the decisions he makes, and someone that will stick by his side no matter what. That's why he 'dated' Frida for a whole year when they were high schoolers because their friendship technically fit the bill; it was just missing the romantic attraction part.

Growing up, Manny got a lot of love from the people around him. His mother, father, and grandpapi all showered him in it. Even when emotions run high and they fought with each other, things were usually resolved quickly and ended up with both sides explaining themselves. This also makes me believe that Manny developed a strong belief that it's healthy to get into arguments with the people you love because it shows you care enough to be open about your feelings with them.

However, on the flip side of that, I also headcanon that Manny will realize near the end of high school that his plan for the future doesn't necessarily match the vision his family has for him. It starts innocent enough, with Rodolfo making his usual comment about Manny being a full-time superhero in the future and Grandpapi auguring that Manny should be a full-time supervillain instead. This is nothing new, they have this argument all the time. But then something new gets added to the mix; Rodolfo throws a new hypothetical at Grandpapi, saying that once Manny gets married and has children, being a supervillain would just put his hypothetical family in danger. Grandpapi shoots back and says that villainy would pay much better, after all, "How do you think I was able to afford to build this entire house on top of an apartment complex???"

Manny just continues eating breakfast as usual, but this time the fight nags at the back of his mind. They both expect him to chose one side or the other eventually, but in all honesty, he doesn't want to. He doesn't feel torn up about it, like the original El Tigre did. In fact, he's extremely happy where he is, being able to indulge in whichever side of the hero/villain coin when he wants. But as time goes on and the argument between his dad and grandpapi repeats, he starts to feel more and more pressure to live up to their expectations. (Plus at this point in time I believe he's nearly graduated high school and already dated and broken up with Zoe/Black Cuervo and come to the realization that he's bisexual).

Any time that Manny tries to bring up the 'I don't want to chose.' argument with his dad and grandpapi, they would both wave off Manny's choice, saying that one day he'll have to pick like they did and being outright dismissive (not intentionally though, because the concept of it just still so foreign to them they can't wrap their heads around being both a hero and a villain) . This starts to reasonably frustrate Manny, since no matter how many times he explains himself, they won't see his side of the argument. It also starts to make Manny's anxiety simmer (which he inherited from his mother), because they're his family. They've always been by his side and even when they didn't agree, it never took long for them to talk things out. Why was it taking so long this time for them to understand him?

It would be around this time, that the OG Nicktoons Unite Gang would drop by Miracle City for the first time. Cross-Dimensional Villain of the week would be wreaking havoc in the city, so Manny and the Unite gang team up to take care of them. During the team up, I believe that Manny would instantly be drawn to Danny. Not in a romantic sense, but kinda in the "Holy shit he's so fucking cool, I have to be his friend at ALL COSTS." sense.

It's mostly in part because Danny reminds Manny so much of himself, yet seems so confident. They don't get much time to talk, but Manny's able to pick up that Danny's in a very similar situation; stuck between being a part of two conflicting worlds and constantly struggling to find balance between them. They actually click pretty much instantly with their banter during the brief team-up. So much so that it feels like they've known each other for years (Danny's sassy wit matches Manny's bravado and confidence in a playful way). That's why when the villain is subdued and everyone leaves, Manny doesn't feel the same sort of satisfaction he does when he takes down El Oso or The Mustache Mafia. In fact, he just let four super cool guys walk through a portal without any sort of hope or grantee he'd ever see them again.

There aren't a whole lot of superhero kids in Miracle City. The few that are around, Manny wouldn't really count as anything more than an acquaintance because there's always a disconnect between them (look at the Rising Son, who instantly turns on Manny the second that it's revealed Manny does a little bit of villainy). He's got a better rapport with the villains his age. Heck he even secretly hangs out with Django and a few others on occasion as civilians. However the villains give him even more flack than his grandpapi whenever he he starts leaning towards heroism, so he usually leaves their hangouts not feeling socially satisfied. Thankfully tho there seems to be a semi-regular occurrence of dimensional hopping supervillains - about once every two months - so Manny gets to see the Unite gang a handful of more times (the second time he sees them he instantly latches onto Timmy's arm and begs to get his contact information; he's much more suave about it by the time he gets around to asking everyone else, he just panicked upon noticing the pink hat and assumed they'd all leave as soon as the villain was caught.)

Near graduation when his anxiety is at it's peak, Manny will get a message from Jimmy, asking if Manny would be interested in joining the team more permanently. he instantly jumps at the opportunity (and then from there it's basically the plot of Desde el Principio lol).

Like I mentioned, I imagine that Manny didn't see Danny as anything more than a friend at first. Even though he personally acknowledged that Danny was handsome, Manny ignored that because he REALLY wanted to be friends with Danny. He constantly was engaging Danny in conversation (both irl and texting, once Manny officially joined the team). But since Manny doesn't really read social cues like everyone else, he didn't pick up that Danny was uncomfortable about discussing personal ghost stuff, so of course Manny continued to ask questions about it. It was all innocent of course (How does your green lazer thing work? How long can you stay invisible? Have you met any cool dead people?), and while the rest of the gang kinda tensed up when Manny started asking these questions (Danny included) it was surprisingly therapeutic for Danny to talk about this stuff.

Manny accepted all of Danny's answers at face value. If Danny lied about something and said, "I don't know." Manny would offer up his own suggestion (usually wrong) about how Danny's powers might work. Seeing how nonchalant Manny was about this stuff (Danny originally though that Manny might be weirded or freaked out) actually would make Danny lower his guard and start to be truthful about his halfa life. It's part of the reason why he fell for Manny in the first place, just because it became so easy to be around him. If he needed someone to talk to, something to be a nonsense-filter for the thoughts in his head, he knew Manny would never judge him for anything he might say. If he was having a really bad day and said he just wanted to sit around silently, Manny would hold him quietly until he felt better (or fell asleep).

[the-wip-project]

SloMo WriMo: Confronting Your Fears

There’s a voice in my head. And it’s telling me to stop writing.

It makes me afraid, telling me that my writing is worthless, that there’s no point, that nothing I do matters. That I suck. That I need to check my ego, pretending that I’m any sort of expert in a position to give advice to others. That if I post this then I’ll be opening myself up to attacks by trolls. Why even bother? It says. No one wants to read your ramblings anyway. Why not just keep your ideas in your head? Where it’s safe?

If you’re reading this? It means that once again I’ve beaten the voice back and written anyway.

There’s a lot of names for that voice. Impostor Syndrome, The Critical Voice. The Inner Editor. Writers Block. (Yes, I am including writers block on this list.) The Superconciousness.

And like it or not, we all have a version of it in our heads.

Writers who write often and freely are not magically free of that voice. The only difference is that they (including me— most of the time) have learned how to corral and even shut out that voice.

How? Every writer has a different bag of tricks, but it’s not as simple as using a program that stops you from rewriting, or only writing in sprints. That can be helpful, but treating the symptoms without confronting the problem will eventually lead to failure.

First you have to pay attention to exactly what is that voice in your head whispering to you. (And don’t let it trick you into believing that it’s not like other inner voices, and is actually is helpful, or truthful.)

Everyone’s inner voice is unique, but if you find yourself:

Needing to do just a bit more research before you can start (even though you’ve already accumulated plenty of knowledge on the subject)

Endlessly editing a section (often the opening!) and never moving any further forward

Suddenly bored with a story even though you were excited to write it just a few thousand words ago

Frequently abandoning writing, and having a hard drive full of almost done manuscripts

If you find yourself frequently doing any of those things? Most likely it’s fear stopping you. Fear of what? Again, it’s different for everyone, but here’s some common ones:

What if it’s bad?

What if it’s made fun of?

What if I fail in my vision?

What if I offend someone (reasonably or not) and a twitter mob descends on me with pitchforks and torches?

What if no one wants to read it?

The thing is, on the surface those fears sound very reasonable. If you write something it could be bad, or stupid, or boring, or offensive.

So what should you do in the face of all these risks?

Honestly? There’s really only two options. Quit, or write it anyway.

Me? I’ve decided to face my fears and write anyway. I assume that anyone reading this wants to do that too.

But how?

In the end it comes down to awareness, and permission.

Here’s how it works for me. I get an idea: What if it’s like Leverage, but in SPACE!!!(but in space is a common idea I have lol) I start writing: This is exciting! Writing an ensemble cast is a fun new challenge! And then suddenly I feel like I’ve hit a wall: This sucks. The characters are boring and hackneyed. No one will ever want to read it. How would I even market something like this? Why am I writing this? I should just quit. I have a different idea that’s much better anyway.

Sound familiar?

But ha! It’s familiar to me too. I know those negative thoughts are just the fear voice talking. So I face them: Fears? You might be right. It might be bad. But I’m going to write it anyway.

And I keep repeating that, reminding myself that it’s okay to write something less than perfect, that it’s okay if it’s bad, and that I still want to write this story, until the writing gets fun again. And it does get fun again. For me at least. I’ve had enough practice at this that the fears really only grip me at certain moments. Unfortunately if the fears have a powerful hold on you, you may have to battle them all the way through. Even if that’s the case, every time you beat them, they will get weaker.

And that’s it. It’s three simple steps.

1. Identify your fears, and how they stop you

2. Challenge the negative thoughts, and give yourself permission to write anyway

3. Keep writing

Easy to say, and hard to do! (Of course I’m not a mental health professional, this is simply my experiences. If what you’re dealing with is severe and/or harming you, please seek professional help.)

I'd love to know what you do to confront your fears!

[bell-arina271]

1/25/2024: Update and Yearly Goals

Hello everyone! First of all, I am SO sorry to everyone who was following me and waiting on updates for the project. I was completely wiped and had a bad turn for my mental health.

HOWEVER the fundraising idea I had in mind is still on track! It’s just taking longer for me to learn everything I need to get this off the ground. A lot of it has been learning new stuff, so it’s taken longer than I anticipated. I was planning to start mid January, but now it looks more like I’ll be launching in February. Hopefully in the first week.

Just so you’re not in suspense, here’s the idea:

I want to create a “logo” for this campaign. Nothing too fancy, but something that symbolizes artistic creativity, and will represent supporting Artist Communities. Then I’ll put it on Redbubble and sell stickers, pins, notebooks, and little things people can buy so that they can openly support the cause while “donating” to the start of it. I work full time, so all my living expenses are already paid for. The profits would go straight to funding the project.

The reason it’s taking so long is because I wanted to have other designs too, in case people don’t like the logo for whatever reason (I’m not a graphic designer, so admittedly, it’s probably not gonna be great lol) so I could give them options. Also, I wanted to open up my sister’s Redbubble first. She has Downs Syndrome and is medium functioning, so she doesn’t understand how to set everything up in the shop. She is on disability and already has housing, but I figured having a little extra income for the fun stuff she wants would be good lol I wanted to make sure she was set before focusing on myself.

Anyway, my initial idea is to still take older multi-tenant places and update them with pure function in mind, not luxury. That way I can keep rent very low. Basically just charging for utility, property taxes, and pay off renovations. Which, split between multiple people should be more than reasonable.

If for some reason that doesn’t seem viable, I’ll take someone’s suggestion of buying land and just bringing up manufactured homes to make a little community. Either way this WILL happen, it just might take me a little longer to figure out how.

I’m still talking to other professionals to see how to do all the technical stuff, but after that I should be able to take charge and start getting things under way.

Unfortunately, it… may take another year after all, because my mom just had a bad turn for her health. Bad enough that she had to quit her job. So now I’m taking over mortgage payments for the house so we’ll be set while she gets the tests and treatment. Before anyone panics, she’s not in the hospital or anything, just having issues with her vision and a few other things. She plans to “rest” for two months while we fix her up, and then get an easier job that’s not so physically demanding. Thankfully she had to quit due to medical reasons, so (I think) she’s still covered from her job insurance lol.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Hopefully my next post will be the grand opening of the Redbubble! :D

Also if any of you are Christian PLEASE pray that I will find time to relax. Things keep popping up triggering my anxiety and making it hard to get good sleep and breaks OTL

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

--

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience 

--

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity. 

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence. 

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good. 

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--” 

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.” 

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?” 

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--” 

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.” 

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.” 

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.” 

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.” 

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s. 

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.” 

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--” 

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.” 

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?” 

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.” 

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?” 

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--” 

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.” 

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?” 

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.” 

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me. 

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--” 

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.” 

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--” 

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.” 

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. 

“Then what are you here for?” 

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.” 

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal? 

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens. 

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.” 

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?” 

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.” 

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.” 

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption. 

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.” 

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.” 

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit. 

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.” 

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond. 

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.” 

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.” 

“No, you could have--” 

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.” 

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.” 

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer. 

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.” 

--

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it. 

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!” 

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’.  I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest. 

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either. 

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead. 

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look. 

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria. 

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over. 

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance. 

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder. 

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent. 

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.” 

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer. 

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--” 

“I know what you are.” 

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

[jesslockwood]

Photo Opportunities

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing(s): Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF with a slightly (barely) suggestive sentence towards the end 

A/n: damn I can't write anything except actress reader? smh but this is for @londonspidey ‘s sit-com Writing challenge (ik I'm early lol) but I was so excited I wrote the whole thing in one go lmao the prompt is bolded!

Calling yourself a fan was an understatement. You were obsessed with anything and everything marvel. And oddly enough, you could after today say you were in the club. It wasn’t a public fact yet, until later that day actually, at the Marvel panel at comic con that you were being announced as the actress for the character, Felica Hardy and no one else knew except for the people who cast you and your best friend who signed an NDA. You were technically still a known actress for your roles on television mainly as Thalia on the PJO Disney + series and a couple of still decently sized films. 

You were currently wrapping up signing autographs for fans of yours for today. Your team had planned it out so it wasn’t suspicious that you were at the con with a few of your castmates scattered doing other junkets and press so people wouldn’t guess who they were acting as the cast for new marvel projects. 

You had been planning to go meet your best friend, who wasn’t in the industry before getting a text that she bought you both a photo-op with someone and she wouldn’t tell you who. You couldn’t only assume it was a marvel actor that you would indeed, freak out. 

Y/b/n: btw I brought you a mask. I get the wig lol.

You: please tell me it doesn’t cover my full face. Also, how are we posing?

Y/b/n: I bought as many photo ops as I could so a lot of different ones, And if I tell you the poses it’ll spoil it.

You: is this with the money I pay you to be my assistant with? Lol fine I’m omw with security

Y/b/n: maybe… 

Y/b/n: and they’ll need more backup security for who we’re getting a photo op with than you do for your hellfire.

You roll your eyes before taking your stuff and exiting the booth, before heading out the backways with staff security and your detailed security for the day. You only had security because you wanted to explore the con when you weren’t needed.

Your best friend had also been your assistant for the con weekend, but you didn’t want her to be confined to you the whole three days so when she could, you would let her explore it, at least she could experience it as a fan, right?

When you made it to that part of the building, you wanted to wait in line with her, which your security didn’t agree to so she texted you when there were about five people ahead of her. She was one of the last in line, with you asking her to be kind, so others would get their chance to be first with whomever it was. 

When she texted you and your detailed exit, getting a few stares and others taking their phones out to either take photos or tweet, you wave at them before joining your best friend in line.

“Here,” she says before handing you none other than a black cat mask before she puts on a red wig. 

You glare at her slightly trying to not make a scene, before putting it on. 

“I’m assuming you're Mary Jane?” you laugh figuring out that it had to be someone from Spider-Man.

“How’d you- never mind.” She laughs with you.

She then explains how she’s going to pose for your five photo ops, joking in between how she should “get a raise for this”.

You catch sight of him before sucking in your breath. This was either going to go down amazingly or terribly, there was no in-between with you. 

“Excuse Me, are you Y/n Y/l/n?”

You turn around and are met by some fans who were standing in line behind you.

“I am! How’s your con going?” you ask politely to the two of them.

“It's going amazing! We love you as Thalia! Could we maybe get a picture? Only if it’s okay?”

“Of course! Thank you for supporting me!” your best friend grabs their phone to take the photo, before you take off the mask, and stand between the two fans, and your best friend snaps a few photos. 

“Thank you so much! And Are you fans of Tom?”

You start slowly walking back to catch up to the line. 

“Yeah, I love him as Spiderman, but I also enjoy his other roles. He's very talented, I'd love to work with him one day!” 

“Have you seen him in Uncharted?  We love Him as Nathan drake!”

“I have, he was amazing per usual! How are you two posing with him?”

They show you their innovative pose. You laugh and tell them it's great before you have to wish them goodbye before heading up for your turn for the photo op. 

“How do we want to pose- hang on, I recognize you!”

You freeze slightly before your friend mouths for you to flirt. You look down at the mask in your hand before getting into character and saying “Of course you do Spidey, I'm always causing you trouble.” you put on the mask and wink. 

He seems slightly stunned, laughing, feeling like he’s seen you somewhere, not only because he found you extremely gorgeous, while in his peripheral vision he sees his brother/ assistant, Harry waving like a madman on the side. 

Your friend directs you both through the poses, first, one both him putting “webs” onto you as she looks over his shoulder, the second one, both of you kissing his cheeks, the third, all jumping in the air in your best superhero poses, the fourth one she gets a photo op alone and the last one she gives to you,

“Seriously, who are you?”

“Your Wildest dreams, baby,” you say, taking off the mask. 

Your best friend yells “freestyle” from the sidelines before Tom dips you, gently, with you shocked, holding the mask out with your free arm and the photo captures that moment. 

 He gently helps you stand back up fully, not before you drop the mask.

“Nice moves Spider-Man.”

“Not so bad yourself, Black Cat.”

You laugh before, taking off with your best friend, well more her dragging you to the printing station leaving the mask behind. Tom picks it up before shoving it in his back pocket to hopefully give back if he could find you. 

-

`You were sitting in the green room, trending on Twitter before you were actually supposed to be trending on Twitter, and god knows where else.  

Someone had snuck a video of you and Tom, up till him dipping you, and a video of you interacting with the fans in the line.

Your Y/b/n was currently reading off some tweets out loud

“‘A kind queen we stan.’  I agree, I also agree with ‘Date her if you can't date me tom!!!’.

‘THALIA AND PETER PARKER??? My two fandoms have collided.’ same, same. Oo this one says, ‘if she ain’t playing black cat I will sue marvel.’ I'm dying at the reply ‘She needs to post the photos or I'll sue her!’. This one’s funny, ‘she could squash him like a bug in heels but he liked his queen like that.’.”

She pauses watching you texting.

“Y/n? Y/n?”

“What? Sorry I was only half listening. I was texting my publicist. She said to stay on the DL until tonight. 

“Well we should get food, you haven't eaten since this morning.”

“By the way, your show has shot to number one on Disney +. Also, you have like three times the followers you had before, probably cause you're trending on every platform, even Tumblr!”

“Wow you should just become my social media manager now.” you joke trying to ease the joy yet weirded out feeling in your stomach.

“Does that come with a raise? Because after today I've spent way too much of what I'm paid.” she jokes back.

-

After finishing his photo ops Tom asked Harry who she was and to find out. By the time he finished autographs for the day, Tom and Harry walked to the panel room in the back for announcements, one that included him for the new Avengers movie, while Harry gave him the rundown.

“So she’s an actress, she plays Thalia on Disney plus’ Percy Jackson series, and that's her most known project. The other girl with her is her assistant best friend, and now she's trending everywhere. People dug up some old photos of her being a marvel/Spider-Man fan, so there's that. And she's here at the con for the rest of the weekend. She's doing photo ops tomorrow at one, and yes she's single from what I gather since you were looking at her like this.” he makes a weird face before tom smacks him.

“And plus you have time in your schedule to get a photo op with her, that is if you eat lunch quickly.”

That gave Tom an idea. 

“Harry I’m going to need you to book me one, oh and help me find a Spider-Man costume!” He says, before leaving harry to do ‘assistant’ work. entering the green room for the announcements, watching them announce a new movie.

“We are so excited to announce to the Marvel Universe, and spider-verse-” that perked tom’s ears, “-directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood, and today we are announcing our amazing Miss Felicia Hardy, please give a warm welcome to the stage, Your Black Cat!”

You suddenly emerged in an aisle way, dressed in all black with a leather jacket, black ankle boots, and of course black sunglasses indoors.

The music is marvel music until it suddenly changes after a recorded laugh from you into “I can’t be tamed by Miley Cyrus”.

You start owning the music while saying hi and touching fans’ hands. You decide to take off your sunglasses and throwing them to a fan, for them to keep, before getting on stage.

“What a Performance from the one the only Y/n Y/l/n!”

You laugh, being met with the loudest applause you had heard all con before being handed a Mic. 

“Thank you but I'm a terrible dancer.” You Joke.

Tom was staring at the screen stunned. You had been the black cat all along. You were in the marvel universe and spidey one,  so he'd definitely be seeing more of you. The hard part is that you seemed so genuine when you talked, interacted with fans and was no doubt, stunning. 

“Better close your mouth or the flies will get in.” Tom turns around to find the voice of none other than his friend slash bully, Sebastian Stan, along with Anthony Mackie.

“Looks like the kid has a crush!” Anthony laughs, pointing to the screen you were on.

“I-I don’t! I don’t even know her!” Tom tries to come to his own defense, hopelessly.

“She’s got you whipped already don’t even deny it.” Harry comes in, joining the teasing of one, Tom Holland.

“Maybe we can invite her out for drinks tonight, then fanboy over here can meet her, and then probably scare her off!” Anthony mentions.

“You haven’t looked on the internet? They’ve already met.” Seb says, before showing Anthony twitter. 

Anthony stands there slightly shocked before bursting into laughter.

“Well, she’s damn well a keeper for Tom since she obviously likes him.”

A staff member peaks their head in the green room to tell Tom he’s up next.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave you two!”

On the other hand, you were on an adrenaline high from being on stage, and seeing all the fans. You knew tomorrow was going to be crazy, as you expected people to book your photo op left and right since the announcement. 

You had decided to decline an offer from your fellow marvel universe castmates, Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie, which they so graciously told you that whenever you’re free, the offer still stood. 

You had gotten to your hotel room seeing your phone blowing up on the social media apps for the second time that day. 

You responded to the important stuff, before heading to bed, knowing it was going to be hectic.

-

You had been right, it was absolutely insane, the number of people who showed up. You had fully booked all your time slots for photo ops. You had seen so many people dressed up in marvel cosplay, ranging from Loki to Ironman, even some people dressed up as your character, which was wildly insane to see.

You had been nearing the end of the line and had enjoyed every moment with the fans, and you couldn’t wait for your autographing session later that day, to truly get a chance to talk to the fans and connect with them and how they felt about you being their beloved Black Cat. 

After a few more photos, posing how they wanted, you see a fully dressed, head to toe, mask and all, Spider-Man. You had seen some spider-mans but most took off their masks to snap a picture. The person was the last in line. 

“Hey Black Cat.” The southern American accented voice tells you, seeming very familiar. 

“Hey, Spider, what poses do you have up your sleeve?” you ask kindly.

“I bought a few, Cat.” they laugh.

“Okay, You can do whatever a spider can right?” you pull out a line out of the comics jokingly.

“I can do flips if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is that some kind of nerd pick-up line? Because it’s only kind of working.” you laugh. 

“I really can, but this is one.”

He gets down on one knee, holding a black cat mask instead of a ring. The photographer captures the shocked expression on your face.

“I- Don’t- What- Spider I-” 

“Ow My feelings…” Suddenly their voice changes into a British accent before they pull off the mask to reveal-

“Tom?”

“I guess you don’t have a spidey sense darling?” The photographer captures the moment without warning eating the moment up. 

You laugh at that. 

“I guess you found out my true identity Spider. And it’s nice to officially meet you, Tom.”

He laughs, just as nervous as you, he notices he has gotten closer to you and a strand of hair loosely is blowing in your face, so naturally, he pushes it behind your ear. Another snap of the camera can be heard. 

“NOW KISS!” a voice belonging to your best friend yells from the side, mid-eating a churro.

You both laugh really hard at that.

The both of you calm down, slowly leaning lost in the moment. The camera snaps again. You both look at the photographer weirded out, and they just shrug.

“Wait can you actually do a flip?” you ask, pulling away, not wanting prying eyes aka the photographer, to pry in your business. 

“I can, though I’d show you later, maybe in the greenroom?”

“That sounds naughty, but, sure.” you joke around. 

He laughs before, you both take off from the area going to grab the photos.

-

After spending most of the day together when you could, you get Tom’s number, before heading back to your hotel room. He texts you as soon as you get back. 

Spider: I had fun today, minus finding our assistants making out.

You: we should ‘snog’ too, it’ll gross them out ;)

You: I had fun too btw. Are you leaving tomorrow?

Spider: lol we should. And yeah an early flight, 6 am to be exact. Hbu?

You: Yeah me too... another day another dollar lol

Spider: ill miss you, Cat.

You: stop talking like we’ll never see each other again lol. As a matter of fact, come to my room, we’re watching a movie!

Spider: alright, I’ll order snacks. 

  You sigh smiling at your phone. You haven’t felt this giddy in a long time.

Your phone pings with a few Instagram notifications.

Tomholland2013 has started following you.

Tomholland2013 has tagged you in a photo.

You open Instagram to find the photo of him “proposing” to you posted.

“Ow, my leg, my- feelings...Welcome to the Universe, Cat.” the photo is captioned. You decide to post, the photo of him dipping you.

“So what do you say, Spider? Wanna help me pull off the Heist of the Heist of the Century?” you caption it, Before getting comfortable to watch a movie. 

What an opportunity ;)

Tags:

@lolooo22 @webmeupspiderdaddy @harryhollandsgirlfriend @spideyspeaches @greenorangevioletgrass @queenofthepouges @sheranatic111 @keithseabrook27

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Murderer! Reader - Headcannons - "Death Card"

Also, thank you (Wattpad Person) for requesting this :) I know your the last request I got, so I prolly should have done someone else's request first, but your's was just easiest to find. (Also, I have it bad for Michael so )

Have fun reading this! I'm writing this on my laptop instead of computer so sorry if the formatting turns out worse than usual :/

Also...someone made fun of me for putting, "eight," and, "11," in the same sentence. I guess not many people know this, but anything under ten is supposed to be written out unless their fractions or decimals.

By the way, these basically aren't headcannons lol. It's just me wanting to write out a story but not being good enough to so I just write it down in simpler terms.

Enjoy~

Not only is Y/N just another famous murder who casually takes the lives of people, but she's amazing at hiding

..........until-

Y/N was an abusive home after her parents died when she was a toddler. Her aunt and uncle neglected her but karma came back at them when their car fell off a bridge, causing the pair to drown. The downside for the young Y/N was that she was put into a foster institution. And we all know by now that foster care are full of fights, drugs, weed, alcohol, and shitty employees.

As a young girl entering such a bad place, she was always a target. You know that sense of fear, worthlessness, and loneliness fucked with her head to where she felt lashing out felt great.

She would be unable to stop herself as she plunged a sharp object in and out of this prick that held her down for so long. But once she heard voices from other kids, she ran.

The story made headlines as the next big attack from yet another child. That's right, next. There was someone who inspired her to do what she did.

Of course, she always had that memory in the back of her head. That boy's violent actions filled her with immeasurable awe when she saw the news. However, she always had something more important to think about.

With so much dissatisfaction with her past, she could only fill herself up with adding things on to her in the present, and more in the future.

Y/N would steal Poker cards from people and always use the Ace of Spades to mark her kills by sliding the card into a wound. After all, betting games were the highlight of her day in the foster institution. She was always so good at it that it became her pride.

All these headlines and stories about how evil she is became such a big deal in her head. Such an overwhelming feeling of adrenaline every time she heard the name people would call her.

"The Death Card," is another name for Ace of Spades in most English countries. It was the perfect fit for Y/N.

(Ya'll, I feel like a fucking genius for coming up with that lol)

She was so good at hiding, truly. Kill someone in Kentucky, then move to Missouri. Killing someone there and move to Georgia, and so on.

Only in her hometown was she caught.

Michael was the one who started it all for her, as their same age and hometown made her feel connected to him, and finally where he got caught would be the same place she did.

14 years of hiding and killing led her to meeting him

Michael spent these 14 years sitting in complete silence. No talking, no humming, no singing, nothing. It's like he was always in his own world of thought, too busy in his imagination to interact with the real world.

Of course, there was times when he did pay attention to what's around him.

The news was the only thing he'd really pay close attention to. After all, what if something happens to Haddonfield while's he's stuck in there, and that causes plenty of people he once knew to move away?

But per usual, there was nothing about it

But there was something that caught his attention even by a little

"After 14 years, the notorious Death Card or Card of Death has finally been caught," says the Haddonfield Police Department. "While we're unsure of her motives thus far, we have been able to learn of who she is. Y/N L/N made the headlines once in 1980 at the age of eight as one of America's biggest crime cases with children as the culprit, having brutally stabbed a 15 year old boy. This happened just two years after the Michael Myers case, when a six year old boy stabbed his older sister in 1978. All else the HPD are saying is that her frantic behavior may lead her to a mental institution rather than letting her make legal decisions in court."

Michael paid attention to all the details of the report. For this report to be made about Haddonfield, chances are they'll be meeting each other soon.

The Death Card was a violent killer Michael heard of plenty of times however he never paid close attention to.

(Holy shit these are just headcannons so why am I writing long paragraphs)

He had to say, hearing about her violent stabbings were the highlight of his week. Even if he never felt strong about hearing other people having fun with their lives like she was, he couldn't help but almost feel pushed to do what she is. Living freely and ending those who cross his path...

Saying he was jealous or inspired would be a stretch though

He would spend his days painting paper mache masks while thinking of doing what she was for sure but he hated how she would show off by using those cards as if she didn't have a goal in mind, which was annoying to him. If you have nothing to live for, then kill yourself was his mindset.

Michael watched as Y/N stepped into court. He know hundreds- no thousands- of people watched as this woman of pure evil stepped into the courtroom. Her H/C hair flowed as she walked passed everyone, glaring at them with her cold E/C eyes.

A look of slight intrigue replaced his normal dull expression as he watched the girl stand up before the judge, smiling sassily at the cameras as to tell them to fuck off. Michael can recognize that look of intrusion on her face as she was practically interrogated. Clearly, she hated it there.

He watched contently as all the mystery surrounding the Card of Death was revealed to everyone in this world. Days went by of this court case before finally, she pled insanity. After all, she was known to have some underlying mental conditions as she remained so calm when talking about the varies of ways she would kill.

It's easy to see that many felt bad for the girl. Such trauma growing up led to the creation of this unfortunate human. But Michael? He didn't feel bad at all.

He never was sad or truly sympathetic however...he did feel pity. Somewhere in his soulless eyes held pity for this sad, sad girl he was soon to meet. Not exactly sympathy, but simply pity. And with that came respect.

The day that Y/N stepped foot into those doors was the day the two would meet for the very first times. Over 63 counts of first degree murder in 14 years led to the meeting of these two serial killers. At the time, they were both only 20.

Tables were scattered across the room with people talking or simply sitting alone by themselves on them. There was TV in a few different places around the room and board games in a couple of shelves. In the back of the large room was windows that showed the outside that felt so out of reach forever.

As the metal doors slammed behind her, she felt eyes on her immediately. Y/N slowly scanned the room as she gulped back the intense fear gathering in her stomach. Her lips parted open as she began to breath heavily and press her back on those metal doors.

She was so trapped and scared when she first entered that foster institution. She couldn't help but think of karma when her aunt would hurt her so badly for those five years before she died. But 63 murders are so much worse, so what could karma do to her to balance her evil deeds with punishment?

Laughter and giggled filled her ears as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her face with her arms. Her vision was going blurry; she was having a panic attack. Tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered quietly to herself.

She may be the Card of Death however she never had to be in a large group of people in so long.

Her body jerked as she was suddenly pulled away from those metal doors. She cried out when she saw a large man, around 6'7 (204cm), pull her away.

In just a few seconds, she was pulled to a metal table and forced to sit as the large man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Her body tensed unimaginably as they remained still for a few seconds, quiet aside from the occasional sobs of Y/N.

Then suddenly, the pressure on her shoulders disappeared. She heard nothing until the sound of creaking from the seat in front of her interrupted.

Y/N felt eyes on her. They were so intense over her.

A minute passed before her own eyes fluttered open, meeting the man's eyes in front of her.

A shiver ran down her spine when she came face to face with stone cold blue eyes that seemed to hold nothing within them. No light, no soul, and no sympathy. Not only that, but a orange mask made of paper mache covered the rest of his face as well.

The man tilted his head before lifting his hand onto the table, sliding something over to her. Y/N looked down at what he gave her.

"Don't speak. Write."

Michael had given her a paper with these words. His handwriting was hard to read considering he nearly never wrote anything so it took a moment before Y/N got the message. When she did, she looked back up at the man and nodded just a little so it was barely recognizable.

Obviously this conversation was to be secretive so she knew to barely show signs of interactions. The camera couldn't pick up on such a small nod to what evidence is there of them even interacting?

Michael slid the paper back to him and brought a pencil to the paper after erasing the original text. When he slid it back to her, it read, "Don't let anyone know what we say Y/N. They watch everything." When Y/N looked back up at him, she saw him dart his eyes from something behind her to something on the wall between them. She turned her head slightly to the side, noticing a camera on the wall. So she understood.

Michael had dropped on the pencil on the table, meaning it was her turn to reply. She erased the previous text before writing down, "Who are you? How do you know me?" When she slid it back, Michael took the pencil in his hand again.

"Michael Myers. I was a well known case two years before you. We heard a lot about you on TV."

"As in the boy who killed his sister at the age of six?"

"Yes. You know me?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly as she frantically wrote down a reply. Without even noticing, the knot in her stomach had completely disappeared without a trace.

"I remember seeing your case. I thought about everyday."

Michael didn't reply immediately after reading. Instead, he waited a few minutes and stared down at the table. A look of confusion remained on Y/N's features as she impatiently waited. Then suddenly, Michael erased what was on the paper and simply drew a masked person looking somewhat like himself with a knife in his hand. He drew dead stick figures around it with blood splattering everywhere.

Michael knew that this picture would cover up all the eraser marks and writings that were still slightly visible. So when the guard that walked up behind Y/N without her knowing popped up, he didn't see any text.

Of course, this did lead to the paper being taken away. Then minutes after that, both of the pair was taken away.

If there's one thing as scary as analyzing The Shape and caring for him, it's that person who cares and analyzes him finding him interacting with someone else for the first time.

Whenever Y/N got sat down in her cell, she knew what was about to happen. She was sat down in her bed as a man she'd never seen before sat down in the chair that came with her little desk in her cell with a guard next to him.

Have you ever spoken to Michael? Are you related to him? How do you know him? How does he know you? Have you ever met his family? Why did he interact to you? Why was he drawing things for you? Does he like you? Does he hate you? Did he write to you? Did you hear him talk?

So many questions were asked by this Dr Loomis in such short amount of time. "No, no, I don't, no, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, no, no," and mostly these were your responses. No matter how many times Loomis asked, you dully replied.

You simply said he sat you down and you began to draw together, both filling in a piece of the drawing together.

And eventually, you got out.

Another day went by of "talking" to Michael.

And another.

And another.

The talks were nice and casual. What goes on in the asylum? What goes on in the outside? Who should I avoid? What's the reputation of the HPD?

Do you want to escape?

But it was only a matter of time before finally the two were friends.

Y/N was kinda just in her cell one night in bed. Then she just gasped and widened her eyes. Wait, are we friends? We're friends, right!

Michael already knew of their friendship like two weeks before she did. It felt so...wrong for him. He had always been alone and silent. How could someone like her even be so likeable to him? He didn't really understand it but he knew he hated it.

One day, the two were writing to each other per usual. Michael unintentionally added a pun in one of his comments, causing Y/N to giggle. Michael cocked his head to the side in confusion, strangely feeling heat rise his face and his heart speed up. It was air conditioned so he suspected he may have gotten sick.

Whenever the two had to go back to their cells, that feeling suddenly disappeared. Then it hit him. Oh fuck-

Hell, only a week later did Y/N feel herself experiencing the same symptoms. Michael notices that Y/N would shake and fidget a lot when they interacted, making him wonder of she was cold. As a friend, it was only right for him to sit next to her and hold her close to keep her warm, right? Y/N's face went red and damn that was embarrassing. But of course, that didn't mean Y/N wouldn't hug him back.

Eventually the two were basically cuddling. The two hugging each other warmly as Y/N rested her head on his chest, struggling to stay awake as they got more comfortable by the second.

But of course, Dr Loomis caught eye of that.

The doctor had been looking deep into al the interactions these two evil beings have had. They act so casual, so normal with each other, surely more than just drawing is happening between them, right?

The doctor had pulled them into his office separately to interrogate them. While Y/N bluntly answered his questions to make him just shut up as quickly as possible, she couldn't help but think to herself. She knows that she and Michael are mentally ill, but he should definitely be fixed by now. He's smart and creative and can casually talk to people, so it's like the only thing keeping him here is that the doctors are so ill-equipped that they can't make the necessary breakthrough to save him.

Of course, just a month later, another incident happened like this. Y/N was having a bad migraine so Michael got her to just sit down and wait for him during lunch. He brought over two trays of food for them and was sure to trade with Y/N so she can eat the things she likes and he could have the things she dislikes.

Another time, a bipolar guy ran into Michael and shoved him as if it was his fault. Michael shoved him back instinctively, causing a fight to disperse between the two. As security guards took notice, Y/N was quick to push Michael away softly and ball a fist to punch the fuck out of that guy- like a, "YO WHATCHU SAY ABOUT MY MAN?" type shit. Y/N did this to seem like she was hitting back and that Michael hadn't done anything wrong.

And when each other's birthday's rolled around, they had their own celebration. Y/N was given her own paper mache mask as a gift and a small cupcake from the cafe. Michael was given stolen art supplies that were taken from other guests and also a cupcake.

Y/N slowly stopped having panic attacks, but she definitely had her moments. Of course, Michael sat with her through it.

Dr Loomis recorded all this shit so he can gather data on Michael. Then the question hit him: How would Michael react if Y/N was gone for a few days? Does he truly care about her or is he just using her?

If you think Michael hated Loomis before, wait til he pieced together the disappearance of girlfriend and the extensive eyesight on him from security guards. For the hell he raised about it, he had to get sterilized and put into a cell without being able to get out for a few days.

Y/N remained bored in her cell for days. So what better could she do than annoy the guard watching her? She would just talk nonstop for what felt like hours and hours. The dude watching her was just getting more pissed off by the second.

"Would you shut up? Crazy bitch," he hissed, hitting the cell door. Y/N giggled cockily, shaking her head. Even if she deserved to be yelled at for continuing to talk, the Card of Death refused to back down. But when the guard went inside her cell and locked the door behind him, she got a bit worried.

Y/N got off her bed and threatened him cockily, to which he responded with physical force.

Of course, Smith's Groove is ill-equipped so even with proof of being hit and tazed, Y/N couldn't do anything to get the guard fired. But Michael?

A full month without seeing each other was like a slow suicide. But when they finally got to see each other again, the two was sure to write so much about their time alone as if they were teenage friends discussing their fun weekends. However, things turned dark whenever Y/N brought up the guard.

Michael didn't show any emotions at all, no matter what happens. But Y/N learned to guess how he's feeling depending on how long he takes to respond. Slowed blinking as if he was in thought, and slower reading as got analyze her writing closer were typically bad signs.

About a year had passed since they met at this time. A year to plan to escape. By now, the two were both 21 and fully prepared to leave once and for all.

Whenever that security guard had walked passed Michael's cell one night, Michael had knocked on the door to signal him. Michael slipped a paper through the doorslot, as he was given paper since he doesn't talk, saying he found a dead mouse in his cell. The guard just huffed and let himself inside. Michael pointed to where the mouse supposedly was; and that was a mistake for the guard.

Right as that guard went to look, Michael got behind and covered his mouth before stabbing him in the neck with a paint brush that's but carved into a small blade. Within moments, the guard dropped dead onto the floor.

Taking the keys from the guard, Michael was able to let out nearly every single prisoner to this hell out of their cells. Including Y/N.

The world sister was the only thing left of the pair as it was engraved into the door of Michael's cell. And just like that, the two were gone.

How they got there so fast doesn't matter but eventually Y/N and Michael found an abandoned house to station at until the search around the area disappeared and they could move around quicker.

"I can't fucking believe it," Y/N cheered as she felt tears run down her face from happiness. She swayed across the room, taking in the smell of dust and air. Even something dirty felt so new to her that couldn't help but love it at the moment.

Michael would watch her as he sat down in an old wooden chair, cocking his head. His body was in complete shock as the realization of all that's happened in the past years came crashing down on him. This was the real world? This is what dust smells like? This is what shattered glass and broken wood looks like? This is what trees look like up close? This is what things look like without glass tinting the color?

This is what it feels like to celebrate with someone you love? Michael reminded himself that the girl in front of him changed his life so much. His urge to harm all around him was always so strong, but the thought of her being hurt felt a bad taste in his mouth.

He stood up from the chair, walking towards the ecstatic girl as she cried happily to herself and picked up random things to remind herself of what they feel like and all she takes for granted. She turned her head to him, smiling, "Michael, look, I found a-"

Y/N gasped as Michael gripped his mask and slowly moved it. Y/N watched in awe as for the first time, she saw her only friend in this world's real face. That pale skin and soulless eyes that she grew familiar with became so new to her again.

"Michael..." she whispered, stepping closer to him. Her face heated up as she felt the weight his eyes staring down at her. She lightly bit her lip, a shiver going down her spine.

He took a few steps closer as well, making the two remain inches away from each other. Now at this point, Y/N is questioning if Michael is gonna kill her or is gonna kiss her as he awkwardly put his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away. She leaned her head into his hand, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

In just a matter of moments, the two came together in a soft kiss. The moment was quiet as the two did their best to remain calm and together as this moment that was little way's overdue continued.

When the two pulled away, Y/N was quick to wrap her arms around him. Now she wasn't going to cry about it, but damn was that contact she needed so badly. The Death Card and The Shape were basically Yin and Yang with how one is emotional and the other in emotionless but their need for pain and each other is what kept it healthy.

Just imagine how much suffering families went through since the two got out.

[hrina]

Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here. 

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised​, @gucciwoodnymph​, @poppunkdork​ and @atlafan​! i appreciate it so much! 

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

     September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just—just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

     September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really���a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

     October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

     October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

     October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,”  Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

     October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

[yolkyeomie]

Humanity of the Inhuman | Kim Sunwoo

summary — legends are meant for the wild fantasies of the dream world, but when one myth suddenly comes true, you find yourself tangled within its webs of reality.

word count — 7.2k words

pairing — sunwoo x female!reader (ft. x juyeon in a sense?)

genre — college au, gumiho au

disclaimer — !! light mentions of death, blood, and injury !! this is an wip of fic that I did not have the energy to complete, so it leaves off at a pretty big cliff hanger :( but if enough people enjoy it it I’ll make a part 2 or sumn lol (update: it does in fact have a part 2 now, go enjoy it!)

part I | part II | part III | part IV?

I.

“Nine tailed foxes,” the instructor stated, pointing their finger towards the pictures that were projected upon the board. There were three different depictions of the creature from other cultures posted up together, expressing how each of the cultures viewed the mythical being. Mindlessly you began to draw on the notebook set in front of you, taking in each picture and messing different aspects that you liked together.

“Known as the Kitsune in Japan, the Huli Jing in China, and the Gumiho here,” they continued, switching to the next slide that only displayed more old pictures of the fox, “they are a well known part of our folklore today that even western countries have begun to adopt their own version of this creature into their literature.”

“If it’s so popular, why are we learning about it now,” you mumbled, the lead of your pencil snapping as soon as the words had been spoken into existence. You let out a deep sigh at the inconvenience, letting an angry curse come out of your mouth as you leaned over to grab something new to write with.

Though you stopped mid turn as a black pen was placed into your vision. Curiously you glanced up to catch the smiling sight of Juyeon above you, waving around his pen and urging you to take it from his hand. “We’re learning about the Gumiho because it’s an important part of our folklore, just because it’s well known doesn’t mean you shouldn’t teach it.”

He was an acquaintance, nothing more than that, a “school friend” if that made more sense. You had met him the first day you attended the mythology class after picking up the course for fun, seeing as the only available seat in the room was by him. Having no friends who attended the class at the same time as you, he had offered to become one and you gladly took up his request in order to feel a little less only in the room full of strangers.

It was a little odd to see a class so minor like this be jam packed with students, but you did notice the recent influx of people who were interested in the mythologies of their and others cultures.

Plus, you didn’t do very well on your own and were a little more socially dependent than you’d like to admit, so Juyeon’s willingness to befriend you was greatly appreciated.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” you shrug, gratefully taking the pen out of his hands. “But still, what person doesn’t know the wild tales of the nine tailed foxes? They’re like… everywhere now. If I meet someone who didn’t even have a clue what I was talking about, I’d be surprised.”

“You never know,” Juyeon continued, urging you to take a look at the board. Being presented was the Korean version of the nine tailed fox, a few notes typed beside the art describing the details and depictions of what was generally believed about the fox demon. “Maybe one day you’ll need that information to save yourself from a Gumiho one day?”

You snorted at his words, pointing out one of the bullet points to him and quietly reading them to him. “First of all, this is a mythology class. That means everything we learn here is a myth, not real? Secondly, it clearly says that they seduce men and last time I checked, I’m not a man.”

“Well, I guess you’ve got a point there,” he nodded, laying his head in his hands as he half heartedly listened to the teacher speak. “I guess I’m the one who should be paying more attention to the lecture since I’m the man, but I don’t think a Gumiho would ever find interest in me.”

“Why?” You questioned, a teasing smile appearing on your face and you poked the pin cap into his side. “It’s said that gumihos eat human livers, do you have bad livers or something? Do you have some sort of liver disease that would make you undesirable to a fox?”

“If I say yes will you stop poking me?” He innocently asked.

“I’d know you’re lying if you said yes, you’re rather healthy despite some… odd habits you have,” you clarify, giving the boy a skeptical look before turning back towards the board. You were only acquaintances with Juyeon, but there were times you’d catch him in the hallways of the building or dorms when you were looking for Kevin doing skeptical activities. Most of the time he was just smuggling snacks that his roommate would steal out of the room but man did he look crazy while he did so.

“Hey, those aren’t odd habits, it’s me protecting what I paid for,” Juyeon argued, a pout developing on his face as he tried to explain himself, “if you don’t pay for it, you don’t get a bite of it! That’s the rules and you have to respect the rules.”

You only spared Juyeon a quick glance, your eyes full of skepticism for him. He was a nice guy, a decent person to hang around, but awkwardly catching him in the hallways like a criminal running from a crime scene was all you had to see from him to determine whether or not you wanted to hang around him often. “Y/N, seriously! I'm not some freak I promise, my roommates and I just do this often and—“

“Sure, Juyeon,” you nodded, softly patting his back in only slight comfort. “I completely understand what you mean.”

“Y/N!” He complained a little louder this time, earning some sneaking looks from the rest of your peers. The two of you weren’t the biggest troublemakers but you did have a volume problem more often than you’d like to admit. Though, that was mainly because Juyeon doesn’t understand when to keep his mouth shut. “Come on, Y/N, I know you don’t believe what I’m saying but you gotta! I can even show you what we—“

“I really don’t want to walk into that room,” you decline almost immediately, “something tells me I’ll regret it if I do.”

A small chuckle left Juyeon’s mouth at your harsh words, finally taking the response as an end to the conversation. It seemed as though the two of you had stopped just in time though, as a deep sigh left your instructor’s lips. The entire class turned their head towards him in confusion, unsure on what sort of gloom had possessed their mythology teacher.

“I think… I’ll end class early today,” he declared, turning off the board that had projected the day’s lesson. In a flash, your reference for your very own nine tailed fox disappeared in front of your eyes as the instructor continued to speak. “The rain just… throws me off the mood for today.”

Instinctively you turned your head toward the window and lo and behold, the rain was pouring down outdoors. Many students groaned at the sudden change in forecast, not having brought umbrellas to shield them from such weather since the day had called from sunny skies. “Ah… that’s gonna suck going home,” you tell yourself, noting how even you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

“Excuse me!” A student called out, drawing attention to the front of the class where they had seated themselves. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you superstitious? Usually rain is considered a good thing especially on wedding days. It’s supposed to be a good omen for the future of their marriage.”

“Superstitious?” He hummed in response, thinking to himself for a few moments before answering. “Well, in a sense? Not for the reasons you think I am though.”

“Does it have something to do with gumihos?” You couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the best of you as you blurted out in front of everyone. The class turned back to look at you expectantly, exchanging confused and bewildered glances with each other. Even Juyeon looked at you as though you were beginning to lose your mind. You don’t really blame them, rain didn’t really have anything to do with gumihos after all.

However, your teacher smiled at you. His eyes crinkled at their sides and his wrinkles from age becoming more prominent as his smile continuously grew larger as he thought about his answer again. “Something my grandparents used to tell me when I was younger,” he began, each student getting left on the edge of their seats as he turned back towards the rainfall, “that when it rained, it meant a gumiho had entered the premise.”

II.

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?” Juyeon asked, holding the borrowed umbrella over your heads. The boy had offered to walk you home in the disastrous, knowing you lived off campus instead of in the dorms. The dorms were a lot closer to the apartment you had rented out, so the two of you had scrambled over to his room first in order to grab an umbrella and begin the trek to your home.

He was only walking you towards the closest bus stop to the campus, not wanting to intrude on your privacy any further than he already was. Juyeon was just your acquaintance from mythology after all, he was just a little too nice to let you go out into the rain and get soaking wet.

“What, about the whole rain and gumiho thing?” You responded, remembering your teacher's statement he had ended the class with. You shrugged after a moment to yourself, “honestly, not really. I mean, come on, gumihos being related to the rain? It doesn’t even make that much sense the more you think about it.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agreed, “but don’t you think it’s a little weird how he seemed to believe it? Whole heartedly too, he ended the whole class over some superstition his grandparents told him!”

“It’s probably an old saying in his family or something,” you ultimately decide, nodding your head to yourself as you come to a conclusion. “Lots of people have things like heirlooms and stories that get passed down from generation to generation, maybe that’s what that was. Maybe his family is really big on nine tailed foxes and rain.”

He shook his head in disagreement, stopping in place and nearly causing you to get soaked by the downpour. “I don’t think so, why would they pass down a saying like that when gumihos aren’t real?”

“How do you know that they aren’t real?” You challenged him.

“Because if they were real, then we wouldn’t be learning about it in a mythology class and calling it folklore,” Juyeon stretched his arm out so that the umbrella was covering the both of you as he kept talking, “Humans are like… cockroaches. We force ourselves into the lives of other beings, I think we would have done something about gumihos by now don’t you think?”

You grinned at him as you rocked back and forth on your feet absentmindedly, nugging his shoulder soft as you teased, “wow, I know the lesson wasn’t long today but did you already forget that we were taught? Once a fox has lived for a thousand years, it becomes a gumiho and can shapeshift! How will you know your face to face with a fearsome nine tailed fox when they look exactly like any normal stranger on the street?”

You didn’t even give the boy a chance to speak as you stood in front of him, your back getting pelted with the rain droplets as you continued to jeer, “anyone could be a gumiho. I could be a gumiho, your roommate could be a gumiho, our teacher could be a gumiho, even you could be a gumiho and we’d never know a thing!”

“I think you're forgetting something,” Juyeon countered, pulling out his phone from his pocket and waving it in your face. “Humans have technology, we’ll just develop more technology to find them if we need to.”

“Gosh, you’re no fun,” you pout.

“And your bus stop is right there,” he pointed behind you, taking note of the metal structure built on the side of the road.

You struggle to decide whether or not you want to steal his umbrella as payback for being the way he was but ultimately ditched the idea. “Fine, I’ll see next week then? That is, if you don’t get eaten by a gumiho that is.” You teased.

You watched as annoyance contorted on his face, wanting to find a reason to be mad at you but unable to keep the grin off his face. “I’m not going to be eaten by a gumiho, Y/N. Did we not just have the conversation that they aren’t real?”

“Gumihos seduce men to absorb their energy!” You argued once more. “You’re a physically fit guy whose kept his livers healthy and you’ve got the looks to draw attention to you, you’re the perfect meal for a nine tailed fox to catch!”

“Go home, Y/N,” he urged, pushing you out from under his umbrella. You whined at his audacity and quickly covered your head with your hands in an attempt to shield yourself from the rain. The boy only laughed at your reaction before waving you off, giving you a small farewell as you rushed over towards the bus stop.

When you glanced back to find him again, Juyeon was gone, turned around the corner with his umbrella in tow and forcing you to sit and wait for the bus stop to come if you didn’t want to be soaked by the time you got home.

“Sheesh he could have waited until the bus actually came,” you complained, sitting back on the bench with a somewhat annoyed frown donning your face once again. Juyeon always seemed like he was in a hurry at times, whether he was sneaking around the dorms on your campus or rushing through the hallways to get to his next destination, he always had somewhere to be. There were times where he’d completely ignore your existence in and outside of your mythology class because of his need for action, too busy with his daily life to even spare you a glance.

You wondered where he so urgently needed to go at times, but ultimately knew that was none of your business. The two of you were nothing but classmates, school friends who helped each other out every so often whenever you got the chance. You had no right to dig into Juyeon’s business, so you never tried to cross the line the two of you set up for each other. You don’t really know if you wanted to cross it in the first place.

Besides, he never even said hello to whenever he was in a rush! Why bother trying to discover something where he has to completely ignore your existence to do it? That wasn’t exactly your type of information and gossip you wanted to gather and indulge in.

You sat at the bus stop for around three or four minutes, unwillingly listening to the pitter patter of the rain on the bus stop glass. Like your superstitious instructor, you weren’t very fond of the rain but not for the same reasons. The weather would always ruin plans you had been looking forward to for weeks and the days that came after it always felt humid and musty, you didn’t enjoy the aftermath of rain like other people did.

Don’t even get you started on the days where a thunderstorm would roll over the city, those were the worst days of your life.

You snap out of your daze for a moment, however, completely forgetting your hatred for the raining weather at the sound of barking floating through the air. You tried to ignore it at first, comfortably leaning against the side of the structure and scrolling across your phone to distract yourself, but you couldn’t help it. The more you tried to pretend like the sound didn’t exist the louder it seemed to become, which was a lot seeing as the downpour was a little louder than normal.

Begrudgingly, you stood up out of your seat and shoved your phone deep into your pockets. “Is the universe trying to tell me something today?” You mumbled, covering your head with your hands and stepping out into the rain. You peered across the street where the barking was coming, checking the side of the road for any oncoming cars before rushing to the other side.

The closer you got to the other sidewalk, the louder and more distinct the barking became, resembling more of a young dog than a fully grown one. The barks were more closely related to squeaky toes than anything if you had to be honest; light, annoying, and young. But there was no one else on the street beside you, and your morals were telling you to involve yourself instead of run away.

“Puppy...or puppies?” You called, not exactly having a name to call out for the animals. You don’t even know if they could hear you over the rainfall, but it was worth a shot. If they didn’t come running to you soon you were going to run right back to the bus stop for shelter and go home. You didn’t want to fall ill from standing out in the rain for too long and you didn’t want to miss your bus stop either. “Come here, boy! Or girl…? Whatever you are, come here! I’ll get you some place warm and out of the rain.”

There was no response, which was to be expected. They were animals, not humans, so they couldn’t exactly reply back even if they really wanted to. The barking was still echoing across the area but there was no sign of the animal making all the commotion, not to mention the fact that the rain was beginning to fall harder with each passing second. You might have to give up early if you didn’t want to get caught in a potential thunderstorm, it hurt your heart but you had to take care of yourself as well.

“Ah, I better hurry up before I miss the bus home… walking is going to be a pain if I do,” you mumble to yourself, turning to sprint across the street.

Though you stopped yourself from moving when you heard the sound of bells echoing against your ears, ringing loud and clear within your head as if it was right in front of you. You cautiously look around you for the source of the bells, the jingling rippling out to the rest of the world like a droplet of water falling into a lake. The bells chimed again in your head, yet this time pulling in a certain direction and urging you to continue on that way.

Glancing between the bus stop and the direction you were being pulled toward, you followed the jingling of the bells. Everything in your body was telling you that chasing after the ringing was a bad idea but nevertheless you pushed forward. The dog barking had completely gone silent and the loudest thing in the area was no longer the rain, but the bells in your ears.

You scurried across the sidewalk like a cat, trying your best to stay dry in the unfortunate weather but ultimately failing as you began to feel your clothes stick to your skin. “Ah, there’s no way I’m not going to be sick after this.” You mumbled, turning the corner to peer down an alleyway where the bell chiming was the strongest.

“I’m wet and cold and I’ve been out here for way too— oh my god!” A scream fell out your mouth as you tumbled to the ground petrified by the sight before you. Slumped up against the wall was a boy, barely clinging onto his life as he took slow ragged breaths to keep himself stable. On his arms was the familiar crimson red creeping down his forehead and splattering to the ground, creating a mixture of water and blood pooling underneath him.

Did you just find the end results of a bloody fight? In the middle of the city and close to your college’s campus no less?

“Excuse me, are you alright?” You called out to him, mentally smacking yourself for asking such a question. Clearly the boy wasn’t okay, he was bleeding out in the middle of the rain!

Despite the stupidity of the question, he slowly turned his head toward you. A majority of his face was covered by his hair being plastered against his head thanks to the rain so you couldn’t exactly see if he was looking directly at you, but the mere fact that he was responsive was enough for you.

You hurry over to him as fast as you could, though careful not to slip and fall on the slippery ground, before crouching down next to him. “Can you move at all? It’s not good to sit out here in the rain and waste away, you need to go to a hospital or something—“

“No,” he declined, forcing himself to sit up against the wall and make an attempt to stand up. The boy struggled to himself up right, leaning against the wall for support and the severity of his wounds being put on display. It didn’t look like he got into a fight, per se, more like he had been attacked by an animal. He had large gashes that covered his body and his clothes were tattered and stained with the red hue they leaked down his arm. He needed any sort of medical attention, right away or he might actually bleed out in the middle of the alleyway.

“Can you not see that you’re hurt?” You hissed, grabbing a hold of his wrist and tugging him down to your height. The boy grimaced at your toughness as you rolled up his sleeve, catching sight of an ugly yet fresh scar that needed to be addressed immediately. “You need to go to a hospital, or you’ll die out here in the rain.”

“No,” he challenged you, his face somewhat akin to an animal’s snarl as he tried to snatch his arm away from you. In that instance you heard the soft of the bells that had led you down the alleyway, much louder than they had been before and nearly drowning at the words that the boy had spoken. It sounded like… the ringing was coming directly from him. “I can’t go there, I won’t go there. They won’t be able to help anyway.”

“Are you an idiot?” You couldn’t help but ask, almost scoffing at his persistence to stay away from medically trained professionals. His lips formed into a pout, appalled by the fact that you had the audacity to call him an idiot. “I’m trying to help you man. It’s raining, you’re bleeding out, and I’ve probably missed my ride to go home. Please don't take my kindness for granted and let me help you.”

III.

You laid down in the middle of your bed, staring at your ceiling as you struggled to recall the events from the day before. It’s not like you to forget things easily or anything, in fact you had a rather decent memory when it came to remembering events that had taken place beforehand. You didn’t have a photographic memory, you just had a habit of remembering little details that have happened throughout your day.

But right now? You couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened yesterday.

Most of what you could remember was leaving your mythology early because your teacher had ended the class early. He didn’t like the rain and it had shifted his mood and everyone was grateful for the extra time off. Juyeon had generously offered to walk you to your bus stop with his umbrella so that you could get home without getting rained on and…. that’s where it ends. You can’t recall anything that happened after that. You don’t even remember ever walking into your house the more that you think about it.

“Alright, this is weird,” you declare, forcing yourself to sit up off of the bed. At least you had no classes to attend, you don’t know how you could pay attention to anything you were being taught if you had to deal with your sudden memory loss. “Why can’t I remember anything? Why does it feel like what u forgot was something really important too…?”

Just when you felt as though you were on the verge of pulling your hair out, your phone began to ring. It was a lot louder than you originally set the volume on and was practically screaming at you to pick it up instead of ignoring it like normal. Frustrated, you snatched the device from underneath the sheets and answered the call with a much more aggressive “hello?” than you had meant to start with.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Juyeon’s voice registered through the speaker.

Juyeon. Why was Juyeon calling you right now? The two of you don’t usually call each other unless it was something class related because you weren’t close enough to each other to hold conversations like that. So the mere fact that he had called you out of the blue like this was…. weird to say the least. “Of course,” you replied, giving your voice a lighter tone than when you had answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You called me a couple of times yesterday but I didn’t answer because I was busy,” he clarified, giving you a little peek as to what had happened the day before.

You called Juyeon first, why would you do that? You didn’t even call him once, but multiple times given the way he had worded his sentence. You’re not even close to Juyeon, why would you even dare to call him several times yesterday? If you were in trouble you should have just called Kevin like normal! “Are you saying you don’t remember?”

“Yes, actually, I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.” Maybe you had gone to go get a drink or something before coming home and that’s why your thoughts from yesterday were blurry. But you’re not the type of person to drink that much, at least not alone you wouldn’t. “Listen, Juyeon, I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean to call you, I was just… out of it or something. I don’t know I just can’t remember right now.”

“It’s fine, Y/N, don’t worry I’m just glad you’re alright. I got worried something might have happened to you but hearing you now makes me relieved.” You smiled at his words, letting his caring words for you twirl around in your head like ribbons. Juyeon was just too nice to you, honestly, but he was probably like this with everyone he knew. It made sense if he was, he was kind to almost everyone he met.

Before you could answer, the jingling of bells echoing through your ears, distracting you from any other words that might have come out of the boy’s mouth. You glanced around the room for shunting that could have made the noise, but you don't exactly have anything that could chime like the whimsical clicking of a wind chime. “Do you hear that?” You asked him, cutting off the boy mid sentence as you stood up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he answered, “what am I supposed to be hearing? All I hear is you.”

In a flash all of the memories from the day before flooding back to you. The barking, the bell ringing, and the injured boy who refused to go to the hospital to treat his wounds. It all came back to you now, but why had it gone away in the first place. “I’ll… I’ll call you back, Juyeon.”

“Y/N? Y/N, what's wrong? Is something—“ you hung up before he could finish his sentence, cautiously following the ever growing sounds of the bells you had heard earlier. The closer you got to your door, the louder the chiming became, probably signifying the fact that you were going in the right direction.The last time you had followed the bells, they led you straight to the wounded boy. So if your hunch was right, it was most likely leading you straight back to him.

You carefully opened the door to your room, peering through the crack in the door frame to see what was going on. It was eerily silent and for the most the entirety of your apartment showed no signs of inhabiting a second person. “That’s odd…,” you noted, fully stepping out of your room to look around the room for the boy from yesterday. It seemed as though he hadn’t even lived in your house for an hour. “I don’t think he ever left… and I still can hear those bells so he can’t be far.”

Goosebumps ran down your spine as a cold wind blew through your living room. Something was off, you’ve never felt uneasy in your own home before. You had picked this apartment to live in because it felt comfortable and warm like home, but the only thing you were getting from it now was the feeling of being watched. As if a pair of eyes were carefully taking in your every move to determine how you’d react next.

“I know, you’re here,” you stated, rolling your eyes as you began to turn around. “You couldn’t have left in the middle of the night, you were bleeding out and collapsed as soon as you—“

You stopped mid sentence when you stopped the boy in the hallway to your bathroom, frazzled and confused by his surroundings yet still keeping a close eye on you. Now that he wasn’t soaking wet and bleeding (thanks to your amateur bandaging skills) you couldn’t help but notice how much more innocent without the dramatic effect of everything that had happened yesterday. “You really are still here, nice to see you didn’t die while I was asleep.”

“Where am I?” He demanded, not as aggressive as he was the day before but still in a rather rude tone you weren’t expecting from him. “How did I get here and… who are you?”

You slumped onto the small couch of your living room, glancing around the room for a moment before turning back to him with a cheeky smile on your face. “Heaven. You died in your sleep and now you’re in heaven. In the goddess that's going to accompany you through the afterlife.”

“Lies, you just said I didn’t die while I was sleeping,” he quickly pointed out, catching your lie as soon as it came out your mouth.

“Woah, despite all those injuries and passing out in the way here you still have a working brain, that’s good to know,” you tease him, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at your tiny jabs. “I’m Y/N but i guess you can just call me your savior really. Oh, and this is my house. You slept on the couch last night and I appreciate the fact that there is no blood on my cushions. Thanks.”

He nodded his head in understanding, though it seemed like the movements weren't actually correlating to what his mind was thinking. “Wait, you’re my… savior? No that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?” You questioned, “I saw you bleeding out in an alleyway yesterday and I tried to take you to hospital but you kept refusing to go, so I just… took you home. I address your wounds and everything and just hoped that when I woke up there wouldn’t be a corpse in my living room. Luckily, as we see now, there isn’t. I saved your life.”

“No!” He yelled, rolling up his tattered clothes to find messily wrapped bandages all over his body. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you were dying?” You blurted, confused to the boy’s sudden panic. “What would you rather have bled out in public for all to see?”

“Yes, actually, that would have been the better option of the two.” How ungrateful was this boy? You saved his life and all he has to say is that he wished you didn’t? Maybe you should have strayed away from your morals for a second because all that had gotten you so far was a boy with no manners. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve done.”

“I have realized what I’ve done,” you responded, “I’ve saved your life because I’m a good person. Why are we arguing about this, there are no downsides to getting your lives saved. Wait, are you embarrassed because you got attacked by some feral cat and nearly died? Not gonna lie, I’d be embarrassed about something like that too.”

“I wasn’t… attacked by a cat,” he explained, a scoff threatening to spill out of his mouth at your bizarre accusation. “I don’t think a cat could make those types of scars.”

“If it wasn’t a cat…” you began, thinking aloud as you tried to member the wounds that covered the boy’s body. The more you pictured them in your head. The more you realize those weren’t… cat scars. They still seemed as though they were animal scars but a cat didn’t make that big a gash on a person’s body. You should have known, you’ve gone to cat cafes enough to have learned the hard way. “Then what…?”

“Gumihos,” the boy replied, tearing off the bandages you had wrapped around him the night before. You winced as you watched your handwork tumble to the ground, but were more concerned over the fact that the gashes on his arm were healed almost completely overnight. “I was attacked by gumihos.”

“Nine tailed foxes?” You blurted, more for yourself than the boy. Seeing you bewilderment made a smile begin to etch across his lips, childish yet mischievous as you tried to break down what you had learned in your head. “But… those are just folklore, they aren’t real. If they were, one would have been caught by humans at this point.

“Why? Don’t you know that a gumiho can shapeshift? They live among humans as if they were any other mortal in order to get what they want in life,” the boy explained, reminding you of the words you had thrown at Juyeon for making the same excuse. “You really think that they’d let a human catch sight of their existence and get away with it?”

“Okay then answer me this,” you ask, sitting up attentive to the stranger you had brought into your home. “If gumihos are real… then why did one attack you and leave you out to die? Don’t they usually kill humans for their livers and hearts? You should have been devoured by now.”

A hearty laugh left the boy’s mouth, much stronger and louder than the small giggle from earlier. His smile couldn’t stop growing on his face as he blinked his eyes at you, the dark browns of his iris swapping out to a bold amber yellow color. His pupils slowly began to dilate into the familiar small slits of a cat’s as your own eyes widened in pure fright. The boy you had saved had now become your greatest mistake. “What makes you think I’m human?”

IV.

“Juyeon!” You hissed at the boy, urging him to come to you once you had finally caught sight of him. He was walking with a group of his friends, people who hadn’t mingled with and didn’t know whether or not you wanted to in the first place. When the boy had turned his head to you, the entirety of his friend group did as well, displaying their bright and eager smiles as they waved their hands in greeting. Awkwardly you greeted them back, unsure of what to do next as they also whispered and muttered to themselves as they let Juyeon break from their group.

Hopefully it was something nice and not anything that could hurt your feelings. They were still grinning and jeering with each other despite whatever comments they were making, so maybe it was a conversation of their approval. Or at least… you hoped it was, you couldn’t really tell the difference. You acted like you had a tough shell but in reality you were way too soft when it came to a stranger’s perspective of you.

“What’s up Y/N?” He greeted, a fond smile plastered across his face as he stood in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets. “It’s a rare sight to see you interact with me when we don’t have a class together. It must be serious.”

“Well…” you trailed off, unsure of how to explain to him. “I guess it’s serious? But nothing too serious… I need some advice really, that’s all.”

“Advise?” Juyeon questioned, intrigued by the topic you had brought him. “Wow… of all the people could have chosen, you need my advice! I can’t help but say I’m honored. But what happened to your other friend… Kevin was his name, right? He would come to walk you home after class sometimes, why aren’t you asking him?”

You grimace at the thought of the boy before quickly waving the thought away. “Kevin will just think I’m crazy and make fun of me. Plus, I think you’re probably most equipped to help me out here since we take mythology together and all.”

“Ah… still keeping this as a school oriented friendship right?” He teased, getting a small laugh to leave your mouth. “Alright, what is it? What mythological help do you need this time? I’m all ears.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure on how to word your sentences without sounding insane. The whole reason you had gone to Juyeon instead of Chanhee was because he would understand you a little better than your friend could. “Gumihos… you know how we’re learning about them currently, right? Is there something that people should know about them in order to protect themselves from one?”

Juyeon raised a brow at your question, staying silent as he thought to himself. “Gumihos? I thought you didn’t want to learn about gumihos because it was pop culture and everyone knows about them?”

“Well, what can I say!” You exclaimed, hoping to cover up your nervousness as much as possible. “I decided to take up a personal essay of sorts on those nine tailed foxes. I got intrigued a few days ago about them and I wanted to get as much information as I could about them, but we don’t go back to our mythology class until I… really can’t wait to get started.”

In reality, you actually had that gumiho boy holed up in your apartment still. In fear of the boy actually attempting to devour your liver you had locked him up in your bathroom and placed a talisman on the door so that he couldn’t escape. You had absolutely no clue on how to deal with a gumiho and you had only recently started your lesson on the fox spirits a few days ago. So needless to say, you wanted to be prepared for whatever might come next while housing him.

“That’s fair,” Juyeon agreed, taking your lie like candy and smiling brightly back at you. “I mean, the concept of nine tailed foxes are pretty cool, so I can’t blame you for looking into them a little further than everyone else.”

“So?” You asked, eagerly awaiting his answer, “Do you have any information I should know?”

“Well… there's this one thing I’ve been told before by my grandparents,” he explained, trying his best to recall past memories that had no use up until now. “Yeah, they would use old myths as stories to tell me before bed when I was a kid. They told me that no matter what fork a gumiho comes in, never let them kiss you.”

“Kiss?” You blurted out, shocked that that was the one thing he decided to share. “What’s kissing got to do with fox spirits?”

“It’s how they take your energy,” Juyeon told you, putting his pointer fingers together as if mimicking a kiss between two people. “When a gumiho kisses you, they absorb your energy. The more energy they absorb the weaker you become until you eventually die! Kinda scary, right? Not only do they feed off of human livers, but our mere life essence.”

“What type of bedtime story is that,” you mumbled, skeptically glancing over Juyeon. If that was the type of stories he was being told as a child, how was he not a little messed up in the head? If you were him, you would be absolutely terrified of everything even approaching you. Who knew when someone would randomly come up and kiss you? Your first and last kiss would be from a fox trying to steal your life away!

“I was very easy to tease as a child,” he shrugged, his smile turning sheepish as he softly scratched the back of his neck. “My grandparents loved telling me stories like that because I was an emotional little kid, ease to scare and quick to try and stuff like that.”

“That makes a little more sense,” you nodded, “no sane person would tell that as a bedtime story, it’s always got to be told to a child that’s easily scared.”

“Yeah, yeah, say what you want. If they hadn’t told them those stories of gumihos, I probably wouldn’t be taking mythology now,” Juyeon explained, glancing back toward the direction your shared class was. “And if I didn’t take mythology, you wouldn’t have any friends in that class.”

You shrug in response, he was right. If Juyeon had decided that he didn’t want to take the mythology course you probably wouldn’t have ever met him in the first place. So that was one good thing that had come out of his grandparents scaring him into the folklore of nine tailed foxes. “If you don’t mind me asking by the way,” the boy continued, switching topics while he still had your attention. “Whatever happened that day? You said you’d call me back but you never did. I can’t lie, I was a little worried for you again.”

“Ah, that,” you stall, struggling to make up a lie off the time of your head. You felt bad for lying to Juyeon more than you already were, you heard what he said! He’s worried about you and you didn’t want to put any more of load onto his back with your supernatural problems. “Well, I think I’ve got spirits in my house. I’ve been hearing weird noises sometimes and I thought you could hear it too, that’s why I asked.”

“Funny how things like this happen to a mythology student, huh? I wonder what kind of spirit has skipped their way into your house then.” Juyeon laughed, shaking his head at the ironic situation you had got yourself in, “well if you ever find yourself needing a home away from home, my dorm room is always open? We’d have to clean up a little bit before you arrive and sneak you in but anything to get away from spirits, right?”

[tsukishumai]

Hii. Can I please get 21 with akaashi? :)) also L O V E your work

+ Oops forgot to say my pronouns are she/her (for the 21 Akaashi) have a good dayy

Thanks for the request ! And tysm I love you <3

send me a prompt + ur fav character here :)

21. “I haven’t seen her/him/them smile like that in ages.”

Tags: mentions of alcohol/cigarettes, & meeting the parents lol

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I was having the worst case of writers block but anyway I’m kinda back I’m not sure if I like this one but I hope you do! Lmk ur thoughts <3

Akaashi put the finishing touches on the wooden board he laid out on the table, placing star-shaped fruit in empty spaces to make everything look vibrant and colorful.

“Whoa, where’d you learn how to make that?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen, two wine glasses balanced between your fingers in one hand and a large bottle of Cabarnet Sauvignon in the other.

“I saw a few posts online,” Akaashi stood back and admired his charcuterie board, nodding in satisfaction at how the salami river looked traveling between the mountains of brie and cheddar. “Do you think your parents will like it?”

You smile to yourself, wanting to point at that that’s the seventh time in thirty minutes that he’s asked if your parents would like something. But you figure the beads of sweat forming on Akaashi’s forehead indicated just how nervous he felt, so you placated him with, “I think they’re going to love it, Keiji.”

His lips twitched in some semblance of a smile for just one second before he brings a knuckle up to his lip.

“Or maybe I should put out fig jam instead of raspberry jam? Fig jam goes really well with brie, but I like the color of the raspberry jam better…”

Akaashi’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Too late, they’re here,” you practically giggled with excitement, setting down the wine glasses on the dinner table. Akaashi quickly started adjusting his shirt, pulling at the collar and tugging at the hem before you stepped in front of him. You gave a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, and said, “Don’t worry, Keiji. I just know they’re going to love you.”

The two of you opened the front door of your shared apartment in tandem, Akaashi standing back and smiling nervously as you threw your arms around your parents. He knows how much you’ve been missing home lately; Tokyo was nothing like your hometown, and he knows all too well the suffocating air of loneliness.

Akaashi liked to think he did everything he could to keep those demons at bay, but even he understands that he could never truly fill the void the same way family could. So when he mentioned inviting your parents over for dinner, offering to pay for the bullet train tickets himself, the excitement you had shown all over your face made him wonder why he didn’t suggest doing so any sooner.

Now that he was standing here, palms sweating as he stood under the scrutinizing gaze of your father, he thinks he maybe could have waited another couple of weeks to meet your parents.

“This is Keiji,” he heard you introduce, and he automatically bent over into a bow.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Akaashi-kun, none of that, get up and give me a hug,” your mother reached over to set Akaashi straight before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Akaashi’s eyes widened in surprise, looking over to you in a slight panic as you simply shrugged. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“I just have to warn you, my mom can be kind of a handful,” you mentioned one evening while you were cooking dinner. Akaashi stood a few feet away from you, diligently chopping the vegetables you had given him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s really affectionate, for one. That alone is enough to throw some people off,” you mumbled, giving the beef in the pot one last stir before transferring it to a plate, “She likes to tease a lot, and you can never take what she says seriously. She laughs at her own corny jokes, not to mention she’s loud.”

You extended a hand out to Akaashi, and he promptly handed you the cutting board full of vegetables. You added them back in the pot, sautéing them gently.

“That sounds exactly like someone I know…” Akaashi quipped, and you threw your kitchen towel at him.

“Shut up and hand me the curry cubes.”

Before Akaashi could even think to bring his arms up and hug your mother back, she quickly let him go and diverted her attention to the stunning display on your dining room table.

“Oh my, what do we have here,” she exclaimed, moving over to examine the variety of crackers, meats and cheeses that Akaashi so artfully placed on a wooden board he bought at the local grocery store down the street.

“Yes, mom, it’s called a charcuterie board…” you quickly went over to show your mom, and Akaashi was left alone with your father.

Akaashi turned back to the stern-faced man, bowing deeply before uttering out his second, “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

Much to Akaashi’s relief, your father didn’t throw his arms around him, and simply returned Akaashi’s bow. Akaashi discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, waving a hand out to motion to the kitchen, “May I get you anything to drink?”

Your father didn’t reply, simply giving Akaashi a soft grunt and walked passed him to where his wife and daughter were laughing. Your mother and you both had a wine glass in hand, sampling different combinations the charcuterie board had to offer. Akaashi observed the way your dad didn’t reach for a wine glass of his own, opting to making himself a bite of salami and gruyere. Akaashi made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing a can from the emergency six pack he bought.

“My dad, on the other hand,” you set down the plate of katsu curry at the head of the dining table for Akaashi, and plate for you in the seat directly to his right, “He doesn’t really say much, but I promise you, he’s a total softy at heart. Don’t let the scowl fool you. He’s like, the total opposite of my mom.”

Akaashi came out of the kitchen carrying to glasses of water, setting one in front of you and one in front of himself before taking his seat at the table. “I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

You picked up the glass to take a sip, smiling into the rim, “Yeah. I guess that explains me and you.”

Akaashi paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akaashi nearly gleamed at the nod of acknowledgement from your father when he handed him a beer, nearly laughing at the discreet thumbs up you had given him from behind your mother.

Dinner went by without a hitch. Your mother made it easy, asking Akaashi about the details pertaining to his life, and offering him stories about your childhood. He chuckled at your frustrated groans whenever she whipped out her phone to show him baby pictures, asking her to forward him the one where you’re missing your two front teeth.

Your dad hadn’t said much the whole evening, but the crinkles formed in the corners of his eye all the same when Akaashi said a joke that made his wife and daughter howl with laughter.

“Akaashi,” your father grunted, standing up with a beer in one hand as Akaashi collected the dishes from the table, “Why don’t you join me on the balcony for a moment.”

Akaashi audibly gulped, and you fought a snicker from your throat as your grabbed the plates from Akaashi’s hands. “Go on, I got this.”

Akaashi nodded, feeling like his shoes were made of lead as he followed your father through the sliding door that lead out to the balcony. Akaashi promptly slid the door shut behind him, your father immediately leaning over to prop his elbows on the railing.

“That’s a good view,” he mumbled, waving his hand and motioning for Akaashi to stand beside him.

“Thank you,” Akaashi answered, taking his place next to your dad, “It’s part of the reason we chose this apartment.”

Your father nodded, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He brought the white stick to his lips, lighting the end before inhaling a deep drag.

“I brought you out here because I wanted to thank you,” your father started, catching Akaashi by complete surprise. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in ages.”

Akaashi was stunned, staring at your father dumbfounded as he continued to let out puffs of smoke. A couple of heartbeats pass between the two of you, Akaashi searching for the words and trying hard not to let the tears further cloud his vision.

“I’ll do anything to make her laugh like that,” Akaashi said a little too quickly, coughing over his last word, “Sir.”

Just then, your father laughed, and Akaashi found himself smiling with him.

“That’s a good man. One last thing,” your father put the cigarette out and tossed it in the empty beer can in his hand, “Don’t tell them about this cigarette, okay? I told them I quit.”

Your father gave Akaashi two pats on the shoulder, leaving Akaashi on the balcony feeling like he could just about rule the world.

[jean-kayak]

A Little Courage To Confess

Summary: Maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad

Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x black!fem!reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, confession of feelings, (smut 18+!!), fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, overstimulation, college!au, modern!au

Word Count: 2186

A/N: I hadn't originally planned to write a Valentine's Day fic, but I kept seeing them on my dash, so I caved lmao, and this is my first time writing for Jean, and I wanted to start writing for aot anyway so I thought I used this fic to break myself in lol, also this is lowkey self indulgent but nevertheless, enjoy!

All characters are 18+!!

"I hate Valentine's Day," you grumble as you throw your arm over your face, listening to Jean chuckle in response.

"You say that every year," he says, and you scoff, not moving your arm.

"That's because it's stupid. Everyone expects so much on that day, but you should be getting that amount of affection every day in a relationship," you rant, and Jean listens intently even though he's heard this spiel many times.

"That's fair," he offers as he looks down at you. "Or is it because you've never had someone to celebrate the holiday with."

"Fuck off," you respond with no heat behind your words as you lightly slap him on the chest. "The only good thing is that the candy is basically free." You finish the sentence by opening your mouth, and Jean sighs before he digs into the bag of chocolate before dropping it in your mouth.

You swallow thickly as you move your mouth around to get out the candy stuck in your teeth. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'll never get to celebrate it with anyone. I mean, I didn't think I was that ugly," you joke, the self-deprecating joke not even phasing you anymore, it's the one you always use whenever you're on the subject of your least favorite holiday.

"Hey, you're not ugly," Jean opposes firmly, and you smile softly.

"Thank you." He moves your arm from your face, and you open your eyes, blinking as they adjust to the light.

"I mean it. You're beautiful." You feel your face heat up as you give him a shy smile, and he feels his heart skip at your reaction, and he's reminded again of his dilemma.

He's been in love with you since he can remember, the only issue is that it's one-sided, and he hates it. You're in your dorm, both of you laying on the tiny twin size bed. You're laying on your stomach while Jean is laying on his side, propped up with his elbow.

He's so close to you that it's a little unsettling for him because he's afraid that you'll be able to feel every time his heartbeat changes, and he can see and feel that you're not wearing a bra, which does absolutely nothing at helping his situation. Every year you complain about Valentine's Day and how much you hate it, and he also hates it because every time it rolls around, he finally gets the courage to say something to you only to chicken out.

You've both basically made it a tradition to hang out on this day, sharing the candy that you brought for a ridiculously cheap price and he listens to you rant. And that's the routine. But he wants to change it.

"Any guy would be lucky to have you," he says, and he feels a ping of jealousy in his chest at the thought of another guy being the one to steal your heart.

"You say that all the time," you respond with a roll of your eyes. "I'm just convinced that no one will ever go out of their way to confess their feelings for me."

I would. In a heartbeat, Jean thinks, almost says it, but he keeps himself from spilling by shoving another piece of chocolate in his mouth. He grabs another one to focus on anything but the close proximity of you two, and you open your mouth to stop him before he can put it in his mouth.

He rolls his eyes again but moves his hand over, and you lift your head to meet him halfway, and his breath hitches when your lips graze his fingers, but you don't seem to notice, humming happily as you close your eyes, chewing soundly.

You don't notice him staring at you, but his resolve is starting to weaken. So what if he confesses to you and you don't feel the same? What's he gonna lose? Many, many years of friendship? That only nearly makes him shut up, but his head is screaming at him to say something.

You hum when he calls your name softly, and you open your eyes when he doesn't speak right away. "Please don't hate me for what I'm about to do."

You frown in confusion, but he's leaning down, his lips brushing yours and he hesitates for a second but finishes the contact anyway, and you make a surprised noise as you kiss him back, your hand tangling into his hair.

He shifts so that he's hovering over you, the bag of chocolates resting on your stomach falling to the floor, but neither of you pays it any mind. He brings his hands to rub at your sides as he deepens the kiss, tasting the chocolate on your tongue as he moves a leg to rest on the other side of you, caging you under him.

He moves down to your neck, snaking his tongue over the junction between your neck and your shoulder before pulling the skin between his teeth, making you keen as your grip tightens on his hair lightly. He moves to the other side doing the same thing a few more times before you pull his face back to yours, crashing your lips onto his has his hands run up under your shirt.

He pushes the material over your chest, his hands running over the exposed skin, rubbing your nipples until they're erect before breaking the kiss to let his mouth have a turn. You moan as soon as the wet muscle circles at your nipples which makes Jean groan, his pants too tight to be comfortable.

You start to become impatient while he's working on the other one, your hands pulling at his shirt as you struggle to get it off. He sits up, quickly stripping off his shirt before resting his hands at your shorts.

He looks at you for permission, and you nod quickly, lifting your hips to help him pull down your shorts, slipping them off your legs, the soaked clothing landing with his shirt on the floor. He groans loudly at the sight of your pussy shiny with your slick, and he doesn't wait any longer to move down, his face inches away from what he's been dreaming of.

He licks an experimental stripe up your folds, and he revels in the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head, and it makes him eat you out with more zeal. The pretty sounds you're making go straight down to his dick, the feeling of your thighs making his ears even warmer.

He pays a generous amount of attention to your clit as he nudges a finger at your hole, groaning when he slides it in, feeling how tight you are around his finger. He adds another, spreading them apart to stretch you out as you get louder.

This is what he's been thinking about for way too long, and he thinks he might just pass out from the fact that he's finally getting to taste you. He curls his fingers, hitting the spongy spot inside of you, causing a gush of wetness to seep out, and he quickly laps it up, moaning at your taste exploding all over his taste buds.

"Jean, please," you beg, practically breathless as you try to push him off of you which he does reluctantly, and he mentally takes a picture of the blissful look on your face, your skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

He's taking off his sweats along with his underwear, grateful that he isn't being constricted anymore when his dick slaps against his stomach, and he feels pride bubble in his chest when he sees your mouth fall open slightly at how big he is.

"Jean," you plead desperately when he rubs at your folds with the angry, red tip, and he lines up with you, throwing your leg over his hip.

"I know, baby, Daddy's gonna take real good care of you," he murmurs as he lines himself up. Your nails dig into his arm as you already feel stretched out from the head, your breath feeling like it's being punched out of your lungs.

He's whispering praises with soft caresses on your hip as he slides in slowly, your walls so tight around him, he thinks he might cum before he even gets all the way in. He groans into your neck when he bottoms out, his chest rising and falling quickly at how your snug walls pulse around him.

"God, Daddy, you're so big," you wheeze. He's even bigger than you ever imagined, almost forgetting to breathe. He whines into your neck, his grip on your hips turning from soft to bruising.

"Please tell me I can move," he groans, trying to wait for you to adjust, but he can't hold back for much longer. He feels you nod quickly and before you even finish, he's pulling out and slamming back into you, making you cry out loudly.

He lifts his head to see nothing but ecstasy on your face, your body jolting with every thrust of his hips. You've never felt so full, feeling like he's hitting every nerve ending in your body.

Your back arches off the bed when he rams into that spot, and you claw at him frantically as if you're trying to ground yourself. His eyes flutter close when you clench around him, but he quickly opens them to keep looking at you, finding it hard to tear his eyes away.

This is what he's really dreamed of. Having you literally writhing underneath him, but you feel amazingly better than any dream he's had. He lets out a deep moan when you clamp around him hard at the same time you let out a silent scream as your orgasm hits you like a brick.

Your tears blur your vision as Jean keeps moving, and you jump when he fingers your clit. "D-Daddy," you whimper, feeling it hard to keep a grip on him.

"You got one more for me, baby. You got one more for your Daddy, don't you?" he coos, and your breasts bounce with every jab of his hips, and he leans down pulling at your nipple with his teeth as he seems to go impossibly deeper, kissing your cervix.

He does the same to the other as you feel another orgasm building up, your clit puffy from overstimulation, but he doesn't stop his strokes on your bundle of nerves, and you feel like you're going to explode from having two highly sensitive areas stimulated.

"I'm so fucking close," he rasps out, crashing his lips onto yours before his body goes rigid, and he cums with a loud moan of your name just as you do the same, your release squirting all over him. He kisses you softly as he fucks you through your highs, slowing to a stop as he kisses away the tears on your face.

"I love you." His post-orgasmic state makes him lose his filter, and he's so out of it that he doesn't even register that he said it.

"What?" you question, and he pulls away, his blood running cold when he realizes what he said.

"Shit--I," he blanches, searching for anything to say now that he's in the most awkward position. "I didn't mean--"

"How long?" You cut him off and he stops his scrambling to look at you.

"For as long as I can remember," he tells you honestly. There's no point in hiding the truth now that the cat's out of the bag, and this is the part where he gets hit with rejection.

"Really?" you ask, almost in disbelief, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face as he looks at you fondly.

"Yeah. I love you, I've been in love with you," he admits wistfully. "And it's okay if you don't feel the same way--"

"I love you, too." His eyes widen at your confession like he can't believe what he's hearing. You bring a hand up to push some of the hair behind his ear, and then he's leaning down kissing you until you both are breathless.

"Really?"

You nod easily. "Yes, really. I have for as long as I can remember," you repeat back, and if his heart didn't already feel like it exploded, it sure did now.

He pulls out of you, giving you a quiet 'sorry' when you wince before slipping on his sweats, and you watch him walk out the room, coming back a minute later with a glass of water and a washcloth.

You grimace as he cleans you up, the soreness already blooming in your lower region, and he picks up the chocolate as you drink some water. He gets back on the bed, pulling you into his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat starting to lull you to sleep.

"Do you still hate Valentine's Day?" he whispers into your curls, and you hum softly as you shrug.

"Eh, maybe." He chuckles before pulling you closer to him.

You might still have a little resentment towards the holiday, but maybe it isn't so bad.

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: this chapter is one that is very special to me and really echoes a lot of the same feelings that I’ve experienced through the years. writing this chapter felt really healing for me, as I hope maybe it can to you who might’ve felt the same. Because of this, please read the warnings below and read what you feel comfortable with! Remember that no matter who you are, or what you’ve gone through you absolutely deserve love!! 

Part 5 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, explicit language, HARD angst to FLUFFY fluff, mentions of alcohol, fingering (f receiving), squirting,  dry humping, nipple play, protected sex, fluffy sex, cockwarming

CWs: implications of jealousy and possession (past), non-con pressure, fist fighting, quite a bit of blood, bruises, and other wounds, mentions of a scar, mentions of past toxic relationship, mentions of nausea, mentions of low self worth and self deprecating habits 

Word count: 8.7k (grab a blanket, your plushie, some fuzzy socks...also I promise no other chapter will be this long LOL) 

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

-Two years ago, and some change- 

Tonight was different. It could have been for a number of reasons. Maybe it was the way that he held onto your hand tighter than he usually did. You swayed your body next to his like you thought that you should have been doing. If you hadn’t you would have looked out of place. He hated when you looked out of place. The skimpy dress you had worn that night was just for him. You thought that he would like the way that the straps barely clung to your shoulders and the way that it was snug against your curves. 

He was watchful. Silent. You had known him to be a generally loud and gregarious person. He had many friends. Many of his friends you really did like; but, there were others that you had liked less...the friends with wandering and judging eyes. 

“Why her?” They would ask. 

“You could do better.” They would whisper in his ear when they thought that you couldn’t hear. 

“Isn’t she...boring?” 

“Not boring when I’ve got her alone.” 

The club was full of people; a suffocating amount. Bodies thrashed up against eachother in all their sweating heat. Shiny polyester and the tulle ruffles of shirts scratched against your skin in passing. Under the line of sight, no one could see where hands might reach or creep in the dark corners of that room. With the music blasting, no one could hearo f the sinful desires whispered from ear to ear. 

“Don’t you want to get outta here?” He had craned down to give you his message. 

“W-why don’t we just dance? I like this song.” 

“But we’ve been here for so long.” His hand gripped tight on your arm. “Really. Let’s get out of here.” 

“But--” 

“Let’s bounce. I don’t wanna be here any more. Let’s go have fun somewhere else.” 

Fear rose in your throat. His tone had changed to the one that you had been trying to keep at bay for weeks.

“Baby, I’m having fun!” You tugged back at your arm which he hadn’t released. Your brain worked quickly, and you did what you thought would’ve been distracting enough. You kissed him. 

Hard and fast you shoved your tongue down his throat in ways that you only would do when it had been the two of you alone. The music was loud. No one could hear the way he forced a moan into your mouth. Your hands wove deeply into his hair that was swathed in that cologne of his that was dizzying. It was saltwater and cinnamon. 

Your body pressed up flat against his chest and, as expected, he threw his arms back around you and kissed back with the same fervency that you tried to drench him in. 

Your words were breathless. “Can we...stay?” 

“Baby, how can you say that when you kissed me like that? God, if I could screw you right here and now...” 

His friends had been watching. Or pretending not to watch. It was no lie that their eyes had been peeping from the corners. 

“Let’s get some more drinks then? Hm? Maybe later we can head back to your--” 

“--NO! I want you now.” His words were violent, and his hands starved in his feverish way, yet still, he sucked his devilish smile into your neck. “Baby, please.” 

Just a few more drinks. That was all that it would take. Just a few more drinks and he would be a stumbling mess. He would forget his name and you and then he wouldn’t be able to take you anywhere. You loathed yourself for feeling that way, but it was the only solution you could think of. 

“Let’s go out back. No one walks down that alley, you know so.” 

A nervous laugh slipped off of your lips. “I-I know, but--it’s so cold outside, it’s snowing an-and it won’t be comfortable--” 

“--I don’t need comfortable, I just need you.” 

Lazily, his eyes met with one of his friendsand he flicked his finger to beckon him over. “You. Come with us. We’re gonna need someone to watch the door.” 

His friend scoffed and shoved his glass into the hands of a stranger. “Fine. What are you gonna pay me back with?” 

“I dunno, I’ll think of that later.” 

Your arm wiggled, a slight attempt to free yourself of his grasp. “Babe, babe, come on. I-it’s risky, an-and--” 

“--And what?!” 

“I-I don’t...I don’t...” 

“Babe I thought you liked it when we did risky stuff? Remember last week? The bathroom? You liked that didn’t you?” 

“That-that was different.” 

Above your heads the speakers boomed with a bass drop that you could feel vibrate in your chest. Strobe lights of dozens of different colors blinded your vision. Your head panged with a pain that must’ve been the alcohol, but with each passing second, you felt more and more lightheaded. Air just barely escaped from your lungs and your lungs felt like dead weight. 

His voice had been muffled. Your feet started taking steps that didn’t feel like they were their own. He used his body mass to part the sea of bodies, drawing you farther and farther away from it all. The two men chuckled as you neared the back of the building where the haze from the stage seemed to accumulate. 

“Stand right at this door and don’t let anyone get out from it. Don’t leave until we come back in.” 

His friend rolled his eyes, then took out his showy looking pen to take a long drag. He blew it into the other man’s face. “Have fun you two.” 

The cold winter air stung at your dry lungs. You realized then that you had forgotten your coat inside. Under your feet, flaky and white snow had mixed in potholes which had filled with iridescent oil. Together, the only thing that you could think of in that moment was how the two colors and mixed. In no way where they similar: one, black and slick, the other soft and pure. They made no sense. 

“Ohhhh...Baby.”

His breath was hot and it steamed in the air like some kind of deadly and wispy poison. His hands were big. Much bigger than yours, and they seemed to wrap you all up in them. They were magnets to your hips which fell into them with ease. He must’ve been cold too you figured: goosebumps formed on his arms where the falling snow fell on them. 

“You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you?” 

“Y-yours.” Your voice trembled. 

“That’s right.” 

His freezing hands swept up both sides of your face and you prayed that he couldn’t feel the tears stream from your eyes to his fingers. All at once, you felt nauseous, you felt sick, shame, rage, embarrassment and fear. With the adrenaline pumping in your ears, you did something even you didn’t expect. 

“S-stop.” 

His mouth continued lapping over yours, even your words which you repeated, 

“Stop!” 

“Baby, we’re just getting started!” Frigid fingers crept up your shirt to your bare skin. 

“I SAID STOP!” 

You had bitten his lip, and the metallic taste of his blood dripped onto your lip. 

“You bitch!” He stumbled, then wiped the blood to his finger. 

Hot tears fell freely, and your body shook: perhaps it was the cold, or your fright, but it shook every part of you. 

“What the fuck?!” He rose his hand in the air, “Who the fuck to you think--”

“--HEY!” 

A voice echoed down the alley and bounced off the brick walls. He was a black outline, but it was undoubtedly him who had shouted. He was still, but all at once he started running, sprinting towards you and you cowered to the snow. 

“Don’t you fucking--” 

The other man ran right up to the both of you. He was shorter, but crashed into the other taller man with a fist raised. He nearly had to jump a little, but he had knocked him square in the face with a horrible fleshy sounding thud. 

He finished his sentence, “-Don’t you fucking touch her!” 

The shorter man rubbed at his knuckles which had bloodied quickly. Your boyfriend had slipped on the ice a few steps back, falling to the ground clumsily and wetting it from the blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He laughed incredulously. 

“You pack quite a punch for a little guy don’t you? Well, you picked the wrong fight--” 

He rose to his feet with fists raised, then took a swing at the other man. He was agile, and ducked with ease, then twisted around the taller’s body to punch into his ribs. Still he didn’t miss each punch, and your boyfriend landed hits to his face as well. The stranger fell to the ground this time, groaning out and splashing into the cotton snow. While he was down, the taller man kicked into his sides. 

“How do you like that? Huh??? You have no FUCKING RIGHT. This is between me and my girlfriend, so, fuck. off.” 

The stranger spat blood to the white snow. “A-actually, I did have a right.” 

“What was that??” He kicked harder. 

“You-you were going to hit her? Weren’t you? Who the hell hits their girlfriend?” 

In one motion, the shorter man was back up on his feet, stumbling, but still swinging. He was weaker, but still punched into the taller man’s sides relentlessly. The two men sparred, and you felt frozen. It was as if you weren’t even breathing. 

Stop. Stop. Stop. Your thoughts rang, but your voice couldn’t muster it. 

“You’re the fucking--” Punch. “--Scum--” Punch. “--Of the--” Punch. “--Earth.” 

Your boyfriend’s eyes had become bloodshot red. In a mix of furious arms, he had scraped his wristwatch against the other man who cried out with a horrible sounding whimper, and then a flash of red started to flow down his arm. 

Your dress had soaked through with the freezing cold water and you had nearly buried your eyes into your arms. Never had you felt so small, so helpless. 

“HEY! What’s going on down here?” 

A flash of blue and red lights lit up the pitch black alley. 

“What’s going on??” 

The policeman’s voice buzzed over the loudspeaker on his car. 

The shorter man was a crumple on the ground and he hissed out with pain from his teeth. His arm quivered with pain from the gash that had been pressed into it. By contrast, the peaceful snow fell lightly onto his body and got tangled into his curled, dark hair. Your boyfriend; you hadn’t even seen him turn to sprint down the opposite side of the alley. 

Regardless, the stranger still managed, “Ar-are you okay? Did he hurt you?” 

Your dry and tear-stained cheeks crinkled. “N-no. He didn’t.” 

“T-that’s good. Listen, I-I need to go. I can’t afford for them to take me. Ask them to help you and take you home. 

The clink of the policeman’s keys on his hip jingled as he neared. 

“I’m sorry I have to run.” He stumbled to his feet. For a few seconds, you could see his eyes under the flickering yellow streetlight. They weren’t brown or black, but some kind of dark stormy grey. 

He went running down the alley, as fast as he could manage with a limp to his leg and his dripping arm creating a trail behind him. 

As he ran, he left behind him a scent, foreign in the winter air. You couldn’t name it exactly, but you had guessed at least for then, it might’ve been something like rosemary and cedarwood. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

2am, and you felt euphoric. Like a fucking cloud. Even though it was typical, there really were no other words that could describe it. 

Felix and Chan bumped their hips against yours while they danced in the rhythm of the song that the DJ had played. Both of their bright smiles were utterly adorable, and the three of you doubled over in your laughter at each other’s terribly awkward dance moves. Chan made his best attempt at the robot, and Felix busted out some of his favorite internet dances. You rose your hand to the side of your face as if to say I don’t know them. Felix’s tiny hands interlaced into yours and you danced with him too while Chan mimed throwing dollar bills into the air. 

“How much longer?” You yelled over the music until it scratched your throat. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t get a chance to look at the line up!” Chan’s body bumped up against others in the crowd while he tried to check is phone. “It’s fine! I’m sure he should be coming on soon!” 

You couldn’t remember the last time  that you had been to a show that wasn’t to see Jisung. It was strange thinking about all of the things you used to worry about when you had gone to see him in the past: was your outfit sexy enough, had you remembered to put on your lip gloss...you’d even worry over stupid shit like if you had missed any spot on your legs while shaving. 

None of those worries filled you now. The clothes that you had put on in your haste made little sense, and were a bit warm in the room where sweat practically dripped from the walls. You had even left your apartment in such a hurry--you had been working on a new piece from a spark of inspiration during midday.

“He said that he was going near the end I think!!” You informed your friends. 

Chan did a little excited dance. You didn’t know if he was more thrilled over the fact that he was there or how you had promised to introduce him to Changbin after the show. 

The lights shifted, turning from pink to blue, and the music faded too. Your beating heart slowed as the atmosphere changed and Felix clawed back onto your arm. 

“Oh my God!!! I think that it’s gonna be him!!!” Chan nearly leapt into the air. 

It was frightening how familiar it all felt; you felt as if you had been transported right to that first night, the night that you had met him and the night that he had entranced you up on that stage. Everything in the room darkened, and the smoke slithered onto the stage. Everyone had quieted with their focus narrowing on the empty expanse that had been set up all for him. 

To the side of the stage, the announcer chuckled into the mic, “Ladies and Gents, as you know him...SPEAR B!” 

Music erupted like a crack of lighting over the speakers and was so sudden that nearly everyone in the crowd jumped out of their skin. The spotlights flooded the stage in a blinding white light, and before your eyes could process it, he had thrown himself to centerstage with some kind of magic or trick of the eye. It was so confusing, all you could do was stand in shock. 

Rapid fire lyrics flew off his tongue with lightspeed, and he carried himself around the stage with as much regality as a king. His hooded eyes held nothing but concentration at each of his words, and he threw his arms around with emphasis so you could hang onto every single syllable. He shone under the lights where he had adorned himself in his favorite array of silver and crystal jewelry: his trademark chain around his neck blinked like diamonds. Every curve of the muscles on his thick arms and thighs tensed and the vein on the side of his neck flared as he spoke. With a bite to his lip and an indulgent smile, he owned very single part of his own world. 

He was fucking mesmerizing. 

Felix and Chan were wildly flapping their bodies around and thrashing their heads along with every other body in the crowd, but you had stood still. It was unbelievable that you had been close to him. All your memories of him holding you softly in his arms, planting kisses into every tender inch of your skin seemed so far away, but so close. He couldn’t have been the same person. 

Your heart swelled with a pain. It might’ve been warning, precautionary, or fearful. Or, it might’ve been warm, intoxicated, infatuated. Your own mind couldn’t comprehend it. 

Over the hundreds of eyes in the crowd, somehow, he had found yours, and it was just as that first night had been. He was so massive, so crushing. His confidence was something so addictive and his gaze so thick that you felt as if it  was crushing. Still, there was one thing that was different about it now. 

He knew you. He wasn’t just some stranger. 

He knew your ins and outs, he knew your fears, the way that you would shy away from him or how you would lean into him closer. After that one meeting, you had encompassed everything that he could imagine, as he did for you. 

You had started as strangers, but now you couldn’t even imagine a time when you weren’t. 

He had broken his composure for mere seconds to smile at you. It was a simple: I see you. And you see me. 

It was cliché. Fucking cheesy as hell. God, it was sugary sweet and rotten; a phrase you hadn’t said in a year or more. But, with the dozens of other girls screaming it in that room, bumping with bodies and bass ringing, condensation on the walls and music louder than your own voice, you joined the cacophony.  Even if he couldn’t hear you screamed the words with your whole chest:

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU SEO CHANGBIN!” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The music had subsided, and the stage lit to normal as the stagehands switched around the arrangement for the next act. You and your two friends were out of breath and exhausted. Sweat beaded on all of your brows and you felt it dripping down your back as well. The three of you stood laughing out in your euphoria: it as a high like none other. 

“Damn. Why do I really want ice cream right now?” Felix huffed out his laugher and slung Chan under his arm. “Doesn’t that sound like a really good idea?” 

Chan whipped the damp strands of hair from his eyes. “That does sound like a really good idea. But...you think any places will be open?” 

With surprised glances, the three of you burst out hysterically. 

You wiped an exhilarated tear from your eye, “We’d have to go to the store.” 

Somehow, it was the funniest thing that you could have said and Felix and Chan held their sides in their laughter. 

“Do-do you think that Changbin would want to come with us?” Felix helped fix your sweater which had become a bit ajar on your frame. 

“I don’t see why not.” 

Chan did another adorable little dance. “Holy hell. I can ask him about his process!!!.” He scooped you up into a tight hug. “This is so exciting!!!!!” 

“Just don’t...scare him away.” You patted into Chan’s hair with adoration. 

“He should be back out any minute right? He said he would come looking for you?” 

You nodded, feeling your heart start to race at the prospect. You hadn’t felt this giddy about the attention in a while--not at least, attention that had been given to you without a condition. 

Behind your little group, you felt a tug on your wrist, then your cheeks swelled with warmth. 

“Chang--” 

“--Holy fuck! You actually came!!” 

Jisung’s eyes lit up and an inhumanely wide smile spread across his face. 

“...Jisung--” 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it, you actually came! Shit, I really thought that after we talked the other day that--” 

Chan ripped Jisung’s grip from your wrist. “You better cut that out.” Once as giddy as he was before, his expression had turned deadly serious. 

“What are you doing here?” Felix pushed you slightly behind him. 

“Performing? This is my show too. I’m on in thirty. You’re here to see me too?” 

“Like hell we are.” Chan rolled his eyes. 

Jisung chose to ignore him, bringing his attention back to you. 

“B-baby, thank you so much for coming, and for giving me another chance--” 

“--Another chance? Y/n, what is he talking about?” Felix asked, then both of your friends eyes were on yours. 

A knot formed back up in your throat with your decisions that you had let hang since you had las spoken to Jisung. You thought you had been clear enough to him, and you had told your friends you had thought that you had ended it. 

Chan huffed out an authoritative sigh, “We’re leaving. Come on,” he wrapped an arm around both you and Felix. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

“No! Wait! Y/n don’t leave! Let-let’s talk about this, y-you never let me see you any more, I’ve been missing you...missing you like crazy,” His grip reached out to you once more, pulling your whole arm closer to him with a pain that panged in your shoulder. “--since you’re here...let’s just talk this out okay?” 

The music in the room grew louder once more, and the next act entered the stage with the announcer’s enthusiastic voice. The lights flashed out, and suddenly all of your bodies were bathed in red, pink, and blue light. 

Another memory, from another night, flashed before your eyes. He held onto your arm tighter than he usually did. His incessant eyes pleaded over to yours like he had countless times before. 

“Jisung, stop.” 

“I-I just don’t understand! Let’s not do this here! Can’t we go somewhere private where the two of us can talk? Baby--” 

Another hand grasped at your opposite arm, then it snuck around your waist. 

“--What the hell do you think you’re doing to her?”  

Changbin pulled you into his chest with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs, then he immediately inspected the arm where the other had grabbed you so tightly. 

“Did he hurt you? Let me see.” 

Chan and Felix’s eyes widened in their shock. 

Jisung pushed himself closer. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing Changbin? Don’t get involved in this, it doesn’t concern you.” 

“Actually, yes, it does.” 

Everything was unfolding before your eyes, and you felt faint. All the secrets, lies, the way that you had entangled yourself in it all, was crushing you like vines with thorns. Your fear bit bile in your throat, and you couldn’t decide if you felt strong enough to run. 

Before you could say anything about it, Changbin pulled you out from the crowd, faster than your wobbling legs could handle. He was furious, you could tell, but he tried his best not to let it seep over to you. Changbin muttered curses under his breath, but pushed forward, past the dancing bodies, past the stage, past the maze of speakers and other sound equipment in the back. 

“Let’s just get out of here okay?” His fingers dug into your waist. 

Behind you, Felix and Chan shoved their way a few paces behind, ultimately getting caught in the web of people moving this way and that. Not far behind them, was Jisung thrashing with all his might to catch up. 

With your heartbeat in your ears, words started spilling out from your mouth: 

“Changbin, I didn’t tell you--I-I still haven’t told you, but you need to know before--” 

Changbin swung the back door to the venue and it slammed behind you with a metallic clang. It was nearly blizzarding outside, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Rather, he pulled you back into his chest to hug you tightly. He was desperate in the way that he hung onto your body; like he was trying to suck the very life from you. 

“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t get there sooner. He’s a fucking dick, I won’t let him touch you again, I promise.” 

Your nose clogged immediately, and your sobs came out choked and full of utter fear. 

I’m going to loose him. I’ll lose him. He’ll hate me. He’ll let go, and never come back. 

“Chang-Changbin...Jisung, he was--” 

“Beautiful, why are you crying? Stop, stop, it’s okay.” He soothed you, wiping the tears from your cheeks that got muddled with snow. He too had snow clinging to his eyelashes and his hair that was also strung with sweat. 

The back door swung open with another startling clank, and Jisung threw himself out of it with Felix and Chan holding him back by the arms. 

“HE DOESN’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW HER!” Jisung screeched, then tore free of both of your friends. 

He lunged himself at Changbin who had seconds to respond. He turned his back to shield you with his body, and Jisung clawed with an animalistic energy. 

“HE DOESN’T FUCKING KNOW HER!” Jisung had been sobbing too, then swung a haphazard fist to Changbin’s back. 

Felix and Chan came rushing to catch you as you fell into their arms, then Changbin swiftly turned to return the hit. 

“Me?? You’re fucking crazy!!” He dodged another hit. “What the hell do you know about her?? Huh? YOU don’t know a thing about her!!” 

Jisung wiped his eyes then threw another lazy punch. “What are you talking about???” 

The two men stood still, both of them turning to turning to look at you with heaving chests. In your friends arms you trembled, and your worst nightmares unfolded right in front of your face. Your body fell to the ground, and the snow seeped into your clothes, just as it did on that night so long ago. 

“Holy shit.” Jisung grabbed both sides of his head in his realization. “She fucking played us. SHE FUCKING PLAYED ME.” 

Changbin cast his eyes away from you, just as he had when he had barely known a thing about you. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure. 

“You were fucking her too, weren’t you?” Jisung laughed out like a madman. “So that’s what she’s been doing this whole time I haven’t seen her. She’s been fucking you and--” 

Changbin’s fist rose, and it came crashing into the side of Jisung’s face so suddenly that you and your friends jumped from how fast he had done it. 

He said nothing, but proceeded to raise his fist again, then sent it right back into the soft of Jisung’s cheek before he had a minute to respond to the first. Jisung whimpered, then spat blood out of his mouth. His tears had returned, but this time, they were infused in his own anger. The two boys steadied their stance, looking into each other’s eyes with lethal rage. Jisung attacked back with a yell that echoed through the alley, and he too landed punches to Changbin’s sides in sharp hooks. Changbin then grabbed the other man’s shirt collar, pulling him close, then knocking him back with red and bloody fists. 

The two boys scuffled and slipped in the snow which had slicked on the ground to make each of their steps clumsy. Jisung sobbed through each of his punches, whereas Changbin held his teeth shut with a grit, merely grunting as he swung more and more. Your own tears blurred your vision, and your chest felt tight; nearly like it was about to burst. Your friends clung to your body just as tight, hushing to you and yelling at the boys to stop, but their voices sounded distant and faint. 

Jisung landed punch to Changbin’s eye which split the skin there on his eyebrow. Changbin returned the favor in the same spot, creating the same effect. With crackled lips they swore at eachother, and you could only make out one phrase from Changbin’s mouth: 

“Don’t you. Fucking. Touch her.” 

The door swung, “Changbin?” 

Minho hugged his coat around himself, only to jump out of his skin at the scene in front of him. He dodged two of Jisung’s swings as he clambered over to his roommate to hold him back. He was nearly two seconds late: with a roar, the two boys landed terrible blows at eachother, knocking them both to the ground. 

“‘Bin--stop, STOP!” Minho wrapped his arms around his friend. 

Just as he did, two other boys exited from the venue: one of them tall with long black hair and the other with hair as white as the snow. 

“Fuck you.” Jisung growled dizzily, and his two friends swooped in to help him back to his feet. They too looked furious, but Jisung waved them off groggily. “Don’t w-waste your fucking time. Y-you--” He pointed directly at Changbin. “D-don’t waste your time...on her. I-I’m such a fucking fool.” 

“Sung, let’s get out of here.” Jisung’s tall friend urged him. “Anyone on that street could’ve called the cops.” 

Minho held Changbin up then looked to you and your startled friends eyes seriously. “We need to leave too.” 

“We need to get him to a hospital.” Felix’s voice cracked. 

“You think that he can afford a bill? N-no. We can’t do that. I’ll explain later...he’ll be fine. He’s done this to himself before. Idiot.” Minho slugged his roommates arm over his shoulder and Chan rushed to grab the other. 

Your legs shook when Felix helped you to your feet. Any second, you thought they would give out. Thick strands of blood and saliva caught on Changbin’s lip. Seeing him like that made you feel even sicker. It was all your fault. 

“M-My place is close-by. We can go there.” You locked eyes with Minho. 

“Okay. We’ll go there.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Your hands trembled violently once you brought your key to your lock. They burned with the cold, and were wet from how you had clawed at the snow. 

“Here, let me.” Felix gently offered. 

Your apartment was an absolute wreck. Tiny as it was, you had managed to make a mess of it all with art supplies, dirty dishes, hundreds of sticky notes with reminders and textbooks. As you entered, you swept everything to the side with your feet. 

“W-what do we do?” Chan’s own fingers had turned pink from the cold where he held Changbin: head slumped and blinking hazily, then shivering furiously--the action thus making him groan out in pain. 

“He-he’s freezing. There’s blood...” You fell from Felix’s arms. “I-I have to help him.” Once more, tears welled in your eyes. “We need to get him warm. Get him in the shower and clean him off.” 

“Okay. Where’s the bathroom?” 

You guided the group of boys down your hall where it became a group effort to remove him of his soaked clothes. Your pants had also been soaked through, but that didn’t even phase you; not when blood stained his mouth. He slumped his body over into four pairs of arms. 

“I can take it from here.” You closed the door behind yourself. 

Just as you did, you caught Chan’s surprised and widened eyes after Minho had leaned back from his ear. “He’s the son of WHO?” 

You shimmied your own clothes off, ignoring your own shivering as you held him up. The act itself was difficult, and you had given up when it came to your undergarments. It didn’t matter much, so you left them on, along with his. All you wanted was to get the blood off of him--you couldn’t bear to see it. 

The warm water on your skin felt unreal: a blanket of warmth to dissolve away the chill that clung to your body. It was as if you were defrosting: melting away the illness, the poison, the doubt and the fear. For a moment, you let yourself think that it was that simple. 

“Y/n” 

At your feet, the water turned from clear to pink. 

“What is it?” You hushed above the sound of the shower, and Changbin rested his forehead on your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why? You shouldn’t be sorry...I’m the one that should be.” 

“N-no.” He coughed, “I feel so sorry.” 

“Changbin--” 

“--Why him? Why him when he would treat y-you like shit? I-I know how he is.” 

“I-I don’t know...” 

It was a funny thing crying in the shower. It was somewhat like you weren’t crying at all with how your tears mixed with the stream. 

He sniffled, “I-I’m not mad at you. I mean...I was, but...I just don’t understand.” 

“Please, be mad at me. Be fucking furious. T-this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have lied. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret--” 

Changbin chuckled, then rose his head, lips bloodied, one eye squinted, with a smile on his face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’re holding me back. I didn’t have to do it this time.” 

At first, you didn’t know what it meant. But then, you realized. You had been clinging on to him for dear life: your arms completely wrapped around him, even now when he was standing on his own. 

“I thought that I gave a damn since it was him--it made me so fucking mad that it was him but...” 

“...What?” 

“Fuck me, but...I love you.” 

 You shook your head vehemently, tears crossing with the warm trickle of water.  “N-no, you don’t.”

He chuckled once more, “I think I’d know if I did or didn’t.” 

“Don’t say that.” Your chest shook. 

“Why?” 

“B-because you don’t mean it. You can’t love me.” 

“Why not?” 

His hands, bruised and pink cupped both sides of your face. 

“Someone like me...You can’t fucking love me.” 

“What? You’re not making any sense. Y/n, I think I’ve fucking loved you since the first night that I met you, and you can’t stop me from loving you. Listen, you don’t even have to love me back for now, but can you at least accept how I feel for you?” 

How was it you had been able to scream it before, but couldn’t find the words now? 

Heated steam filled up your shower, and dripped from the walls. His skin too dipped with drops of that water. You thought to yourself how the blood and the water mixed, the two colors didn’t work together at all. Why was all you could think of colors? 

“Okay?” He asked. 

Your own hands took to his soft cheeks, where you brushed away any streaks of red you could see there. 

You closed your yes after, succumbing to the feeling that the water brought you: melting, fading, dissolving, just like the way that watercolors blended from one to the other on a page. You felt Changbin press his forehead into yours. 

“I-I think that I love you too--but--I’m so scared. So fucking scared.” 

He let out a relieved “oh” then pressed his lips gently into yours. Each kiss after the other was more and more careful. He poured his whole being into your quivering lips. 

“Please don’t be scared. Don’t be scared of me. I swear that I won’t hurt you, I never want to. I mean it. Please don’t run from me.” 

Here you were, worrying that he was the one to run from you. You felt pathetic thinking how patient he had been with you, how much he had put up with, and what he had just done, all for you. 

He kissed more “pleases” into your mouth, then drew you flush against his chest. 

You held onto him tighter. “Do you mean it?” 

He nodded, then craned his neck to fill your mouth with more of his answers, and it did feel like the way that watercolors faded into one another. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Will he be okay?” 

Felix, Chan, you, and Minho sat on your couch with mugs warming your hands. In the past half hour or so, none of you had said much. 

Minho sighed. “He will be. He just needs to rest now. I’ll take him to the clinic tomorrow, see if anything is wrong. Knowing him...thick skulled asshole...” He scoffed with a smirk, “--He’s fine.” 

“T-that’s good.” Chan took a sip. “He fell asleep?” 

“Right after we got out of the shower. Lucky I stole some of Chan’s joggers back then. I put him in my bed and he was out like a light. Didn’t say that anything else hurt.” 

In unison, the four of you took another anxious sip. 

“He can stay here tonight? If that’s okay with you?” Minho asked. 

“Yeah. That’s fine. I don’t think he wants to move wither.” 

Felix looked about himself awkwardly. “Wellll I think that we should get going then. Y/n, call us if you need anything?” 

“Mmhm.” 

A silence filled the air. 

“Y/n, did you know?” Chan blurted out. 

“Me? Know what?” 

Minho shot the other man a deadly glare, then cleared his throat. “Bin’s dad is some high ranking politian. Someone so high that we’d know his name: that’s how he explained it to me. He left his whole life with them to rap. If he had gotten caught tonight, in the alley or some hospital with his real name, it would’ve been all over the news. He’s been trying his best to be invisible since high school...doesn’t want to tarnish the family reputation or something, even though they practically hate him....I don’t get it. They basically disowned him after he said he wanted to do rapping, not like he minded though. His surname isn’t even Seo.” 

“Do you know what it is? His surname?” 

“He’s never told me and I never asked.” 

Another silence fell over your group. 

“...He never told me.” You watched the steam of your tea. 

“And I didn’t tell you either, alright? This stays between us.” 

Felix mocked a zip over his lips. 

“Guess I’ll have to ask him about him about his artistic process another time then, hm?” Chan cracked his sarcasm with an airy laugh. 

“Guess so.” You tried your best to laugh back. “Thank you for tonight. All of you.” You met each boys eyes and each of them nodded in understanding. 

Felix clapped his friend’s back. “Let’s head out.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

One light was left on in your room: the strand of pink string lights that you hung over the wall your bed was against. The rest of your room was cluttered as well with clothes strewn about and your backpack contents scattered all across the floor. From your tiny and aged window, snow had accumulated in the corners, and further, the yellow and red lights of the city sparkled. Just as you were about to pull the plug for the lights, Changbin groaned out groggily. 

“Wait...what are you doing?” 

“Turning off the lights. I’m going to go to sleep too now. I wanna give you some space. I’ll go over on the couch.” 

“No!” He roused himself, “No. Don’t do that. Can you...stay in here?” 

“Sleep with you?” 

“If you want? I wouldn’t mind.” He smirked, ever cocky. Nothing took that from him. “Two bodies are warmer than one.” 

“Bin...” 

His smile really was just a bit too cute. 

“Mm. I like it when you call me that.” He reached out his arm to tempt you in. “Please? Come on.” 

You toyed with his forearm, shaking it a little like you were throwing a tantrum. “Do I have to?” 

“Hey! We just had a fuckin’ moment! I just bore my frickin’ heart for you.” 

“I’m just teasing. I will.” 

Right by his wrist, a puffy scar caught your eye, and you wondered if you had missed cleaning one of his wounds. You turned his arm over, revealing the gnarly scar: a stripe, about 3 inches long running parallel to his arm. 

“What’s this?” You studied it further. 

“Oh. That. Don’t get mad, but, tonight’s fight wasn’t my first. Some fucker with a watch or a bracelet or something tore the shit outta my arm this one time.” He inspected it himself, “It’s my battle scar. I’m kinda proud of it. If I hadn’t stepped in, who knows what he would’ve done to his girlfriend? There’s a special place in hell for guys like him.” 

Stormy grey eyes. 

Rosemary and cedarwood. 

You thought you had cried all the tears that would’ve been possible that night. Blurred memories, the ones that you had tried so desperately to forget came flooding over you. How you hadn’t known...was beyond you. 

“Hey...” Changbin scooched back up to wipe your tears. “Tears again? What’s wrong?” His thumbs wiped them away. “You can tell me?” 

“It-it was you??” 

“Me? Me what?” 

“On that night, in the alley when it was snowing, I-I was alone and he...” 

Changbin’s eyes too blew out, then his own tears gathered in the corners. “Holy shit...that was you too?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh my god.” 

Instinctually, he threw his arms around you, back into his scent that was just as clear as the real first night you had met him. Together, you both turned into babbling, sniffling messes. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Your voice shook. “I’ve always wanted to thank you. I-I can’t believe--” 

“--Come here.” 

Changbin swept you off your feet and wrapped all of his limbs around your body where he had pulled you into the bed, finally sweeping the covers over top of both your bodies with a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’ve gone though so much. Fuck, I don’t know how you’ve done it.” 

Your own hands snaked around his body. “Bin...”

“We’re kind of impossible aren’t we? All those years ago, and now...” 

“Thank you.” You kissed into his mouth, silencing him something much sweeter than your secrets. 

His body shifted, and he returned with his own kisses, each one slow and careful. He twisted his body to lean slightly over you, wincing at the pain that it caused him. 

“Fuck. That hurt.” He sighed with a tiny pout, “But, I don’t want to stop kissing you.” 

You bit a little smile into his lips. “Don’t push yourself.” 

“What? I can’t help it.” 

This time, you pushed him back to swiftly cast your legs on either side of his hips to straddle him. “This better?” 

He hummed out a happy yes, reaching down to pull your lips into his again. Like it always had been, you could’ve kissed him like this for ages, and time would slip into nothingness: a mere construct undefinable. Outside, the world was still dark and cold, but inside, the heat of your two bodies mingling banished it all away. 

“By the way, I wanted to tell you that I think that your art is beautiful.” Changbin broke momentarily, then pointed to your unframed paintings stuck to the walls with painters tape. “I’ve never seen anything like them. I don’t know why you keep them hidden here. The world should see them.” 

“Trying to get into my pants now? Who told you to say that?” 

From your string lights, his whole being was bathed in a soft pink light. 

“No one. But I mean it...you know, if I wasn’t debilitated, who knows what I would do to you right now.” 

“Woooow, you talk such big game.” 

He shot you a teasing glance. “I’ll fucking do it, fuck my probably broken-or- bruised ribs.”  

“No! Don’t do that.” You chuckled. “Don’t hurt yourself.” With a newfound confidence, you lowered your body to hover your lips over his own. “What if I go easy on you....nice and slow? Didn’t you say once that you liked to take things slow?” 

His eyes darkened as he mimicked your tone. “Anything as long as it’s with you.” After, his hands swept all the way down your back, lightly brushing up the fabric of your sleep-shirt, then to kneed into your ass. “Will you let me love you tonight?” 

“Will you let me love you back?” 

“Yes.” 

You shoved your hips down into his, grinding as purposefully as you could over his half-hard dick and shivering at the sensation over your clit. Both of your bodies trembled at the action. Under the cotton sheets and down comforter, there was nothing that could have felt cozier against the bare skin of your arms, and the way that his fingertips traced scribbles into your back. 

In seconds, he had pulled your shirt off your head, kissing little moans into your mouth once his hands had found your breasts. All the while, you kept your hips moving, reveling in the way that with each thrust of your hips you had felt yourself get wetter. He pulled and tweaked at your nipples which hardened them instantly, and you bowed down to kiss him on all the places where he didn’t know he had needed the attention: on the tip of his nose, in the corners of his mouth, over that scar on his chin, fluttering over his bruised eyelid, overtop the Band-Aid above his eyebrow, giving care to all the little scrapes on his cheeks. 

He had keened his hips upwards, now properly hardened from your friction against him. Even just like this, his length felt heavenly. With a careful prompt, he guided your torso upward, granting his mouth better access of your perky nipples which he took into his mouth greedily. Even greedier hands cascaded down your stomach to your boyshorts where he pulled at the elastic. After, he ghosted his touch over the thin fabric separating him from touching your clit. The sensation nearly sent you topping over, but rather you grabbed at the iron headboard to your bed to steady yourself. Changbin blew his words over your nipples with a cool air. 

“Can I?” 

“Do you even need to ask?” You chuckled out. 

“Of course I do.” He hooked two fingers to help you shake the fabric off your legs. “I always do.” 

First, he pulled you down into his lips; a distraction, then he coaxed his digits into your folds. You hadn’t known how embarrassingly wet you had become, but that was nothing compared to the reality of it. The sounds of your slick coating his fingers was loud enough to make you giggle, and for him to return it. 

“That excited huh?” His index finger rubbed faint circles around your clit. 

“W-what about it?” 

“I just think that its cute.” He removed his hand to show you the way that your arousal strung around his fingers. “‘So wet for me, aren’t you angel?” 

“Mmhm.” Your hips did their own helpless dance over the pads of his fingers once he had brought them back down. “S-shit.” 

A wicked smile spread over his face as he indulged in you more. Back and forth, he traced around your swollen clit, then down to your entrance, barely giving you any contact at all. 

“Remember our first night? Hmm? Remember what I did to you? ...I could do it again...” 

“B-Bin...” You gasped out his name at the thought. 

His tongue slicked over your bottom lip, “Would you like that?” His index and middle finger swept even rougher swipes over your clit which sent you mewling back on his tongue. 

“Yes? Or no? Use your words Beautiful.” 

That intense feeling, that unreal feeling...you would’ve been lying if you had said you hadn’t dreamed of it. 

“...yes. I want you to.” 

“Okay my love. Just relax. Lean on me if you have to, okay?” 

“It won’t hurt you?” 

“No. Not at all.” 

With your quivering thighs, his hand dipped back down and toyed with the heat of your folds and angrily sensitive clit. Your choked moans muffled into the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. Every single touch of his made your body feel as if it was aflame. Relentlessly, he switched from circling to stopping, every once and a while slipping a couple fingers to stretch out your entrance. He wouldn’t grant it to you fully yet, but his curved digits teased at your g-spot for only seconds at a time. 

In his ears, you filled them with “more, more, more’s” and little whimpers of “deeper, deeper, please, deeper.” 

“More? Is that what you want?” 

He winced terribly at the action, but he pushed you off from on top of him till you were flat on your back, screwing his fingers into you deeply. 

“I’ll give you as much as you want.” He kissed the words to your collarbones. 

All at once, his pace was renewed, and his fingers curved up sharply inside of your pussy to simulate your g-spot as roughly and quickly as he could. In his skill he gave your clit attention with his flattened thumb. The overwhelming feeling built in your core and inched closer second by second. Your control over your body slipped past you, and you fell completely into the feeling. 

You came with a uncontrollable shake of your whole body, and a release of pressure that made you into a moaning mess--that of which you didn’t need to be careful of if you had been too loud or not. Freely, you convulsed with that indescribable feeing, and your liquids wetted both your thighs and the fringes of the sheets which Changbin just barely removed from your body. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

In his adoration, the man above you proudly chuckled at your body still quivering with aftershocks. 

“Think you can take a little more after that? Take your time angel.” 

Your head spun, but it did so only for a moment. As you came down, Changbin kissed one, two, three, little kisses into your shoulder while he admired the way that your body shook. 

You nodded, laughing at the fact that you really did have no idea what time it was, nor could you even guess. 

“Do you have--” 

“--Dresser. O-over there.” A weak finger of yours pointed to your side table. 

A series of grunts slipped out of him, but he rolled himself over to take a condom from the strand and take care of it himself. He hid is tiny embarrassed smirk once he laid down. 

“Angel, I-I think that you’ll have to--” 

“--I know.” 

Back to your origional position, you aligned your entrance against his length which was still as red and hardened as ever. 

“Nice and slow right?” 

With one hand, you guided his dick into your velvet walls. 

“Oh shit.” Changbin pulled at your lip with is teeth upon the first roll of your hips. “Just like that. Just...like that.” 

It was beautiful, the way that he felt inside you. It had hurt a bit the first time, but now, it was different. The way that he filled you up was perfection: you were perfect for him, and he was for you. 

“D-don’t stop.” He pleaded while he scraped his nails down your back. 

To think, the one who had told you he didn’t say “please” was now at your mercy. It took everything you had not to let it go to your head. 

He angled his hips upward, pushing himself even deeper, and you nearly lost your composure at the feeling. Your core tightened again, and you let yourself grind over him, not stopping once. 

“F-fuck. Bin, ah! Shit--” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Became his breathless mantra. “Y-you fuck me so good angel.”

Clambering lips came colliding and you rode out your orgasm on his dick fiercely, connecting your mouth with his so he could feel every little bit of the pleasure that he gave you. He did the same, spilling his euphoric “ah ah’s” all over your lips and eventually to your neck where he sucked carelessly upon his own orgasm. You milked every last bit of him from his throbbing erection until he shook and begged you to stop his overstimulation. 

Perhaps because you were tired, or you craved the feeling, but not a bone in your body wanted to move. 

“Can we stay like this...for a while?” 

Changbin kissed his answer back to you. 

“For as long as you like.” 

Yes, the both of you had turned to sweating messes, and the scent of sex hung heavy around the both of you. Of course, it smelled just a little like rosemary and cedarwood. Wrapped up in one another like this, there was no telling where you began and he ended. 

Until the sun peaked at the horizon, he filled you to the brim with his “I love you’s” anywhere that he could manage: into the palms of your hands, into the love bites he had painted onto your chest, onto your ears which he nibbled, and, into your sleepy eyes which had held his for as long as you could, until the allure of sleep drew both of them closed. 

[silverdragonoid]

Strength & Vision [Swain x Darius OS]

A/N: I’m posting this fic here for now because it’s short and I plan to write more little things like these for LoL in the fututre, and put them in a collection when there’s more. Starting with a Swain fic because I’m brainrotting and this scene is haunting me. He’s so hard but so fun to write. I hope you enjoy this take on their dynamic. This story is full of tenderness but still here are the

Warnings: Spoilers for ‘Blood of Noxus’ comic, grief, mild manipulation

Lenght: 947 words

“Darius! Are you paying attention?”

“Hm?”

Darius’s mind returns to where he’s sitting on a chair in the Grand General’s dark bedroom. His gaze snaps back to the figure standing in front of him which is poorly lit by the moon. Swain’s red eyes pierce through the darkness, but Darius has known him for too long to feel unsettled. He simply says nothing and drops his gaze.

More often than not, the Hand of Noxus is where the battle calls him to, wherever that might be, which leaves little time for rest or togetherness. Swain mostly stays in the capital, wherefore he was about to update his partner on every change he should be aware of, until said partner stopped listening. It’s not like him to lose focus.

“What is it?” Swain asks in a soft tone and cups Darius’s cheek with his right hand.

Darius relaxes his shoulders. "Quill…"

Swain knows what happened, has seen it within Darius when he has used his demon on him to secure their trust. So he knows how hurt the strong man really is by that betrayal.

"I know you miss her. The old Quill," Swain empathizes. Darius loved the strong and patriotic warrior who fought alongside him, not a broken fool. She is no more, both of them. And Darius has yet to learn to move on. But Swain will be patient with him - with the only man he can trust.

The younger man speaks up: "I'm trying to understand how it could come to this."

Swain tenses up and answers in an austere tone: "Our vision requires sacrifices. She forgot that and became one.”

Now, that worked Darius up. His features twist in frustration and he shakes his head. She grew up knowing the meaning of war. “But it makes no sense. She was the one who taught these lessons to children and soldiers. She encouraged others to send our sons and daughters to fight and spill their blood for Noxus. But when her own son fell in battle she switched sides!”

The Grand General takes Darius’s face in both hands - the warm energy from the demon a familiar feeling to his skin - and forces him to look him in the face. Wild eyes meet determined ones.

When Swain speaks, he doesn’t sound aggressive or taunting, just serious: “Sometimes, humans don’t make sense. Sometimes, humans are selfish. Quilletta had flaws - don’t let her become yours.”

Darius feels ashamed by the way his emotions got the better of him for a minute. That’s not like him. He regains his hardened composure and says: “I’m sorry, Jericho. This was a moment of weakness.”

The human hand on his face slides up to stroke his hair before soft lips touch his forehead. “Don’t be,” Swain whispers, “I know no greater man than you.”

The taller man smiles. “I know one,” he says, “I’m looking up to him right now.”

Even someone cold-blooded as Swain can’t help his fluttering heart.

They are equals - Swain ensured that - yet they have this game going on between them where they like to put the other on a pedestal. And to hear such things from a man like Darius means more to the mage than most things in his life. Because in Darius he sees the embodiment of Noxus, the essence of their vision. The vision of a strong, unified world in which everyone gets what they’ve worked for and everyone can achieve anything on their own - if they have the guts for it.

Finally, Swain allows his features to soften as well. “Be careful with your words, Darius, or you might steal an old fool's heart.”

And it’s the fact that only they have the privilege to see one another like this that makes them hold on onto each other.

Darius rises from his seat and wraps his hands around Swain's waist before leaning in for a kiss. Swain reciprocates tenderly. Fortunately, Swain is a tall man, yet they have to strain their necks because of Darius's height.

After they pull away, Darius takes a step backwards to properly look at him, keeping his grip tight. Swain can tell that he's still troubled.

"Jericho…" he makes a pause but Swain doesn’t rush him, "Who did you have to sacrifice for this?"

"I killed my parents."

The answer came with no hesitation. He looks at Darius with emotionless eyes. Personally, Swain doesn't consider them as sacrifices, but he doesn't say that.

Darius is silent for a moment. He didn't expect this answer although he's heard of the executions.

He proceeds: “Was it hard to do it?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t remember,” Swain opts to say instead.

“Do you regret it?”

Of course not.

“Not for a second,” came the reply instantly. Then, the visionary fills his voice and his eyes with conviction, leaving no room for doubt, as he adds: “It was a necessity that proved itself worthy; only on that account are we here now. Every drop of spilled blood will be worth it when our dream of Noxus comes true.”

“I know it will!” Darius, infected by Swain’s spirit, drops his hands to his sides and clenches his fists. A fire blazing beneath his surface makes him nearly tremble. “And I won’t disappoint you.”

Swain strokes his face and whispers, almost reverently: “You could never.” His gaze is the closest to loving it can get - this time sincere.

Darius smiles briefly, grateful for the faith of his companion.

“I am aware of that, right now, we are paving the way for the future,” he speaks, “and that we won’t live to the day when our efforts will come to fruition, but I know it’s fine because I’ll die with the satisfaction that the nation from your vision will be established.”

In response, Swain grabs Darius’s hands. “Our vision, Darius. Our all.”

~~~

A/N: this is by far not my best work but I guess I’ll need these sorts of outlets often when I focus on one long project in the future. next time will be a different ship tho. if you wanna chat about these brainwashed dudes or anything else, you can always dm me :3 and pls read the wild rift comic ‘Noxian Brotherhood’ if you haven’t yet because it’s precious for no reason. thanks to @jacepens for beta’ing this<3

[babybottlepop96]

Always: Shikamaru x Reader

Warnings: death, sadness, fluffy shit.

A/N: this one is about 2.2k words, it kinda got away from me lol enjoy and request!

Being Naruto Uzumaki's fraternal twin sister had its perks. I mean, the excessive amount of friends, ramen 24/7, always having a best friend that would be there for me and have my back no matter what but would also put me in my place if he had too. Being born five minutes after the infamous jinjuriki he was also so protective. Threatening any guy that would just have the nerve to flirt with me, the sister of the future Hokage.

We only had each other for so long, sure, our relationship took a bad turn for a while. While he was usually ignored and looked at as a monster, I didn't get the kind of treatment. Being the "normal" one of the twins, I was treated with more respect because I didn't have a tailed beast to host. I always felt awful for that and no matter how many times I stood up for my brother, he refused to accept my sympathy. The Chunin Exams came and went when he finally came to me after a few weeks of ignoring me. It was after Saskue had left and he was a mess. He cried into my shoulder and told me he was sorry. I just held him close and told him that I was never mad at him. I could never bead at him for how he felt about everything. It was unfair to him to be treated that badly, unfair that he had no say in being a host and I told him that he was so strong and had such a kind heart and people would eventually see that. I mean, they had to right? He was going to be the future Hokage.

When he left for those years with Jiryia, it was hard. It was like half of me was missing and I felt kind of lost without him. While he was out training, I had passed the Chunin and the Jonin exams. I was so proud of myself, but it would've felt even better if my twin was with me. 

When he came home, I wasn't there to greet him. I was on business with the Kazekage. Gaara became a close friend, he accepted my friendship because he felt like he could trust me. He became like a little brother. And then everything happened with the Akatsuki and I ended up losing an arm trying to save a few children from a clay bomb. I laid in one of the beds while everyone was trying to get Gaara back and I felt like I failed. I was a fucking Jonin for kage sake and I couldn't protect or retrieve Gaara. It hit me hard.

When Temari, Sakura, Kakashi and Naruto arrived, they went straight to Kankauro. That poor boy was in such pain from the poison, it hurt my heart when I heard him scream from the extraction. I was so focused on not paying attention I hadn't realized Naruto had made his way over to me and held my left hand. Once I felt his hand touch mine, my eyes flew open and he had tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, (y/n)! I should've been here to protect you! I failed and I'm so sorry you got hurt." He his head dropped to the side of the bed and cried.

"Hey, hey it's okay Naruto. This shit happens you know that. And it is not your fault, okay? You had to go and train. This was just a mission that turned wrong. But you're here now! And I just know you're going to go after Gaara and bring him home. And I'll be rooting for your success.. believe it!" I smiled, small tear trails staining my own cheeks. He looked at me and gave a small smile.

After everything that happened at the sand and Gaara's return home, no longer a host for the one tail, things seemed to go somewhat better. I got a fake arm that works well with my chakra and I had been training non stop with all my friends. But I mostly spent time with one particular ninja the most. A cute, lazy Pineapple haired Nara. You see, Shikamaru and I had been close and dating for about a year at this point. We never particularly told anyone, but people seemed to know. Well, all except Naruto. He was so oblivious to it all, he didn't realize how close Shika and I were until Pein attacked the Hidden Leaf. So, that's where I'll begin this little tale.

~~~~~~~

"Shit shit shit!" I was running around trying to get civilians to safety, grabbing children and pushing other civilians towards the Hokage head mountain. A building was starting to crumble and fire and explosions were coming from everywhere it seemed. Once I felt like I got everyone I could I ran back to where the main event was happening. Thankfully Naruto wasn't here, I wouldn't even begin to imagine what they would do if they had captured him. I mean, they killed Gaara, but Lady Chio had that special secret jutsu that she took to the grave. I couldn't bear to lose my brother. 

To fight was lasting so long, there was no way to tell when it would all be over. I was separated from Choji, Ino and Shikamaru when everything began. The three started fighting while I helped get the civilians to safety, but I knew they had to be around here. Alive. They just had to be. Things were seemingly going fine until I heard a small child scream. I snapped my head to the sound so fast I swore I got whiplash. A small girl was cowering against a wooden wall, the enemy heading toward her. I ran as fast as I could and snatched the girl away. I tossed her to the side gently and told her to run. She just looked at me, her big brown eyes filled with tears and a worried look on her face. "It's okay, you go to the mountains and find your family. Okay? Go!" She nodded and took off. I fought off the enemy for as long as I could. My chakra was running extremely low, so low that I wasn't able to dodge the wooden spear that came hurtling towards me. It went straight through my chest, pinning against the wooden wall behind me. I coughed up blood and my vision started to go a bit fuzzy.

"Your time is now over. You were a decent Shinoni, but you were still weak." The enemy spat out. I didn't say anything as I clutched the wooden spear that pinned me to the wall, trying to take in air. It felt like I was drowning, I could feel my lungs filling with blood and tears start to run down my face. I would never see my friends again, see my brothers happy go lucky smile while down bowl after bowl of ramen. I would never be able to Shika that I loved him. Everything was fading to black, my head dropped and my arms went limp by my side.

I woke up in a dark place, no longer in pain. I was dead. "Hello little one." A voice spoke and I looked around to see a small light. I ran towards it, hoping maybe I'd wake up for real and I was alive and well. That this was just a sick dream or a gentusu. But what I saw when I reached the light was unbelievable. I saw the fourth Hokage with a woman with red hair. 

"Welcome, (y/n)." The woman came over to me and gave me a hug. "I'm your mom." She whispered in my ear and turned to the man. "And that's your dad." To say I was crying was an understatement. There was a river flow of salty tears streaming down my face as I hugged them both. 

NARUTO'S POV

I ran back towards the village at full speed, I just had to get back. I had to protect my friends and mentors. I had to protect (y/n). I saw the massive crater when I returned to what was supposed to be my village. Injured and dead ninja and civilians alike were being gathered in a clearing. I ran ahead, I had to find them, I had to find everyone. I spotted Sakura first and ran towards her, "Sakura!" She turned her head, tears running down her face and I stopped in front of her. "Where is everyone?" She pointed to our group of friends, everyone is there except for Kakashi-Sensei and my sister. "S-Sakura? Where… where is Kakashi and (y/n)?" She sobbed louder which caused all of our friends to look over. I walked towards them and the moment I spotted Shikamaru on the ground holding someone, sobbing, I froze. I knelt down and looked over him. He was holding my sister, cradling her head in his lap. Her body was paler than normal against the red stain on her shirt. I didn't move, I didn't cry, I just stared, not convinced that she was actually gone. After a few moments I got up and made my way towards the true enemy.

"N-Naruto? Where are you going?" Sakura asked me, her voice meek and breaking.

"To end this."

SHIKAMARU'S POV

The enemy had retreated for a bit, allowing us to gather our injured and deceased. I was frantically looking for (y/n) I had to make sure she was okay. "(Y/n)!!" I heard Ino yell from behind me. I ran towards her voice as fast as I could. Once I reached her, my blood ran cold. There she was, the one that I truly cared about and loved, pinned against a wall, spear straight through the chest. I tentatively reached out and touched her and my instantly moved back as I felt her cold, stiff, lifeless body. I stood frozen. The rationalist inside me was gone and I then pulled the spear from her form and caught her in my arms and she limply fell. The cry that ripped from my throat was inhuman, angry and broken. I fell to the ground holding her close to my chest. "W-wake up, please!" I cried even harder knowing it was useless. She was already gone. Passed onto the afterlife while I was here to deal with the heartbreak. The pain. I knew this love thing was a drag, but I endured it for her. She made my days brighter, the sun burn hotter, she made everyday so much better. 

"Sh-Shika? W-we should get her to the others." Ino whispered, scared her own voice would break, as she gently put a hand on my shoulder. All I could manage was a small nod and tried to suppress my cries. I carried her to where everyone was putting the deceased and all our friends stood there with wide eyes and I carried their closest friend in my arms. Everyone was shocked, too stunned to say anything as I put (y/n) on the ground. But I still cradle her head in my lap, I couldn't let her go just yet. The tears still slipping down my cheeks were enough for everyone to know this was real. When Naruto showed up I sobbed, he was just in shock as the rest of us. When he left to go confront the real Pein, none of us stopped him. If anyone could end this. He could.

YOUR POV

Talking to my parents had been the most calming time of my life. Well, afterlife. They told me stories about what it was like before they died, how Kakashi was like another son to him. How they never wanted Naruto to host the nine tails. I told them how life was growing up, how I was dating Shikamaru and my dad gave me a whole lecture on safe sex, even though I was dead and I wouldn't have to worry about any of that. Well, until I started to glow. "Looks like you still have a full life to live my sweet." My mother smiled and I looked at them with a smile and tears in my eyes.

"I love you both." I said as I faded back into the darkness. This time though, when I opened my eyes I saw a face I never thought I'd be able to see again. "Shika?" His eyes snapped open and he stared down at me, his eyes wide and mouth open. He stared at me for a moment, not believing what he was seeing. His dead girlfriend, breathing. Alive.he held me so close to his chest and sobbed even louder. Ino and Choji were all giving him sad looks until they saw my arms wrap around his neck and held him closer.

"OH SHIT!" Choji yelled as the other dead bodies were coming back from death. I sat up slowly and grabbed Shikamaru's face and kissed him. I kissed him like it would be the last time I ever would. 

"I… I thought I lost you for good this time." He spoke softly.

"I will always come back for you." I smiled at him, tear glazed eyes staring into his own. "Always." We kissed again, pulling each other close. We stayed like that for a moment until we heard a certain obnoxious blonde yelling at us.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?! SHIKAMARU THAT'S MY SISTER! WHEN THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?!" Causing everyone to let out a laugh. Resting his forehead on mine Shikamaru spoke quietly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Shika. I love you too."

[lunarreaper-ut]

Do they have chronc illness? Having long(er) lives doesn't mean they can't feel it xD

So nighty, isn't corrupted but has some Kind of phantomn tentacles, interesting. Which makes me curious about killer and about his soul state? Is it like canon killer or... ??

I want to know... I really really do... Are there any rumors going around the castle? Especially about nighty and killer and their... Nightly visits~ uwu do people mistake it AS something else like *cough*naughty*cough* things or maybe believing nighty is torturing killer or idk, any Kind if ridiculous story? Do people even now that killer chills in nightys room (where he actually gets storys read by the king of night himself, lol. Its so cute i swear! Oh if they would know haha 🤭<3) And also ... Do they sometime uumm.. (Obliviously) happen to Cuddle while reading/listening to each other, sometimes???

Oh and Pls tell me... Do any of them have any Kind of habbits? Im curious^^

Ps: will u maybe make something like an relation chart someday??? Dont have to, just asking. :3

Oh these are good questions! All your questions are good but nonetheless >w<

Let's get into it!

Do the Kings have any Chronic Illnesses?

I'm not sure exactly what you mean, but I assume you're talking about like disabilities? Like how some people headcanon (me included) that the original Nightmare has back problems because of the tentacles?

If that's the case, then technically Nightmare does have one, but it's not the back issues. Nightmare has minor vision issues in his right eye, because of an injury in the past. He also has a pretty obvious scar, which makes him rather intimidating. I haven't mentioned it because I haven't finished his design yet and I haven't really had a reason to mention it >w<; (Honestly I haven't really described any of them o.o)

The Kings aren't really all that affected by their age, but they are capable of being scarred or permanently disabled. Their particularly strong immune systems also makes it hard for any serious chronic illnesses to afflict them. It's another one of those "It's not impossible, but it's certainly not likely" situations >w<

Is Killer's soul similar to his canon soul?

Yep! Killer's soul does appear outside of his body, but it is visually different from the original Killer. KV!Killer's soul seems to have a white pupil, like an eye! Killer is also able to move his soul around slightly, though only to position it differently around his body. (Such as moving it into the palm of his hand, or around his torso, though it takes a fair bit of effort and he never has a reason to do so.)

Killer's soul is also similar in that it can change into a heart shape when he's feeling particularly positive feelings!

Are there any rumors about Killer and Nightmare's late night visits?

Thankfully for them, no not yet! People don't really pay much attention to the King of the Night or his Guard, and Nightmare usually stays in his office until most of the staff have already gone to sleep. (He works late, Killer has been trying to break him out of the habit.)

Killer and Nightmare already walk around and spend a lot of time together (Since Killer is his Royal Guard), so the idea that Killer would escort Nightmare to his room isn't unsurprising even if someone saw them. If someone were to see Killer going into Nightmare's room, they'd probably just assume it was for some sort of check or precaution. Killer doesn't really sleep in there often either, so there's never been an incident of someone seeing him come out of Nightmare's room in the morning.

Do they cuddle during their late night visits?

Hehe >w< Killer tries to respect Nightmare's boundaries, so he doesn't really do a lot of physical contact with the King, but there are some times where they're a bit more comfortable with each other~! Killer might lean against Nightmare while he reads, or even lay his head in Nightmare's lap when he's feeling particularly bold, and Nightmare allows it.

When he asked what Killer was doing, he just said he was getting comfortable, and Nightmare left it at that. If Nightmare were to ever initiate any physical affection, Killer wouldn't even question it, and would just enjoy it!

So they don't really full on cuddle (yet), but there's some physical affection >w<

Do any of them have any habits?

I assume this is for the main four, so I'll go ahead and answer for those four!

Nightmare

Nightmare has a habit of working late (as previously mentioned). By the time he's finished, most of the castle have retired for the evening (other than those who work night shifts.) He's also developed the habit of scanning the rooms he enters before fully stepping in. That developed because of the assassination attempts.

Nightmare also has the habit (in private) of holding or squeezing comfort items, like the plushy he was gifted. If he can't do that, he taps surfaces. It usually ends up making him look impatient.

Dream

Dream has a habit of talking over people sometimes. He doesn't really mean to, and has been working to fix it. Being the King, he's never really had to fight for someone to listen, so he sometimes forgets that he should be the one listening. He mostly does this to Nightmare, but it truly isn't intentional.

He also has gained the habit of needing to touch Cross in some way if he's nervous. It's usually grabbing onto his clothes or even his hand, but having some contact with Cross is a comfort.

Cross

Cross' habits are mostly in relation to his training. He's developed such a strict routine over the years, that straying from it usually makes him feel off for the rest of the day. He has to do things a certain way or it just doesn't feel right.

Non work related habits though? Cross separates his food on his plate. He's not sure where the habit came from, but he likes keeping his food separated, even if it seems childish. He'll also end up grabbing food or drinks that Dream likes when he means to get something for himself.

Killer

Killer also has the habit of checking a room before entering it. This stems from his years running from the Guardsmen though. Not having eyelights makes it easier for him to carefully examine places or people without getting suspicious. He also habitually cleans his knives. He has to do it at least once a week, but he also does it when he's bored with nothing else to do.

If he's able to, Killer will count the people in the rooms he enters too, and keeps track of who leaves and who comes in. He makes note of people who might be issues, and never lets anyone get within a certain distance of Nightmare without him being certain they can't or won't do harm.

Most if not all of Killer's habits are related to his past or his current job, but there is one that I can think of that isn't job related! Killer has the habit of looking at Nightmare after he tells a joke or a pun. He wants to see Nightmare's reactions.

As for the relationship chart? I'm not sure! I could do one, I just haven't done one before so I dunno how I'd set it up >w<

[awkward-tension-art]

Put on a Show

So @weebsinstash has an incredible yandere!erasermic x reader series go read everything they write, its fantastic

I wanted to play around with the idea too, so i asked for permission on anon lol.

enjoy this full 2,090 words

Warning: yandere themes, yandere!erasermic, League of Villains, fear, mentions of past torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, implied  Spinner x Reader, kissing, Villain origin story, female pronouns used for reader, (if i missed a tag lmk)

You ran. You ran as fast and as far as you could. Your bare feet hit the wet ground, cursing as you stumbled. Your hands hit the mud, but you didn’t stop.

Even when your lungs screamed.

Even when your muscles burned.

You kept going.

With luck, a razor and your own wits you had managed to escape that hell house. You’d managed to escape from the clutches of your obsessed demons. 

At the slight thought of your tormentors, the now healed break in your leg aches all over again. 

Keep going.

Keep going.

KEEP GOING.

The woods betrayed you before, but hopefully, the downpour may erase your footprints. A branch latched onto your shoulder and you screeched. Memories of Aizawa’s cruel grasp flooded your mind. You slipped on the wet ground, tumbling down a slight incline. 

Dazed, confused and hurt, you ignored your pain and kept going. Desperation and adrenaline kept you going.

Do not stop.

Do not stop.

You looked down to avoid losing your eyes to another branch, only to embarrassingly run straight into a tree. Your body fell back, landing harshly on the mud.

You heard a groan.

Trees do not groan.

Fear overran your systems as you slowly, shakily looked up.

In front of you was a man covered in green scales. He looked more like a lizard, than an actual human, but you quickly guessed that was his quirk. But, he wasn’t alone.

A scarred man with piercings. A teenage girl with blond hair. Another man with a mask. And lastly…

You recognized him from the news.

Shigaraki.

The League Of Villains

“What the hell,” The lizard-man hissed, rubbing his head, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

You took your chances.

“Please…” you gasped, looking up at the white haired leader, “Help me.”

It took approximately 3 seconds to be taken from the forest. The scarred man, Dabi you learned, pulled out his phone and called Kurogiri, their method of transport. 

Spinner, surprisingly like a gentleman, helped you stand and introduced himself. 

Not a second later your vision was filled with black and you were out of the rain.

Out of the cold.

Out of the monsters’ clutches.

Instead, you found yourself in a surprisingly comfortable bar scene. It was warm, bright, and quite homey.

Shigaraki continued to stare at you, his red eyes giving away nothing. The blonde however, hovered, as she began to talk. You couldn’t keep up, exhaustion slowing your mind and mental process. All you managed to register is ‘blood’.

A tall woman spoke up first, “oh dear, look at you. You look like a wet rat.” She inspected you before standing straight, “Let me get you something dry.You can call my Big Sis Magne!”

You nodded, managing a small “thank you,” as she rushed out of the room to come back with a dry towel, draping it over you.

‘Huh, it smells nice,’ you thought, wrapping it around your shoulders, taking in the small comfort. Almost like roses and lavender…

The leader finally spoke up, “Who are you?”

That was the question. That one simple question caused the dam to burst. You broke down, telling them everything. The torture, the abuse, the agony, all by the hands of two supposed heroes. You went over every grueling, painful detail, tears pouring down your face. 

They knew of your captors and torture before they even knew your name.

With every word, The league members, especially Dabi, became more and more disgusted and angry. You didn’t even finish when Spinner offered a kind hand for you to hold onto. 

“P-please,” you finally managed, “D-don’t send me back…”

Shigaraki scoffed, “Heroes think they can just do whatever they want huh? Well fuck ‘em. Eraserhead and Present Mic want their precious treasure back? Well too bad. It’s ours now.”

Big Sis Magne let out a happy laugh, “Oh good! Another girl! If you ask me, only having Toga around was getting to be too much.” She took your other free hand, “We’re gonna be such a good team, those nasty heroes won’t know what hit them.”

“I can’t wait to make them pay with their blood,” Toga smiled, her golden eyes shining with excitement. Dabi remained silent, but Spinner gave you a kind smile. “What a show it will be! You, coming face to face with those demons, and having us at your back!” The one with the mask, Mr.Compress, finally spoke, giving a theatrical hand wave.

With every word, you felt your shoulders get lighter. 

“Now,” The leader, your new leader, spoke up, “Tell me all about your quirk, and those pieces of garbage that hurt you.”

When Shouta and Hizashi returned home, they knew something was wrong. The house seemed...cold. You were not in the living room, nor the kitchen. 

They assumed this was one of your bad days. Where you’d sleep until it was late at night, only so you can avoid them.

Quickly, that changed. 

The closer Shouta got to your door, the more he felt his gut twist. The air seemed wet and almost humid.

“Hey, are you awake in there?” He knocked, concerned, “I’m coming in!” 

When he opened the door, the wet air made sense. Your window was open, rain poured in from the storm outside. The carpet and everything else by the window was soaked, giving the hero a clue that you’ve been gone a while. 

“HIZASHI!” The black haired male called out, darting into the room. Desperately he looked around, only to look up when he heard his husband cry out. 

“She’s gone! Our songbird is gone!!” He panicked, aiding Shouta in his desperate search. The couple tore apart the house, hoping this was something else. Hoping you didn’t leave through the window. 

They hoped and prayed, only for their optimism to be dashed when their search turned up empty. 

“We need to go after her!” The blonde hero cried, “s-she could be hurt! She doesn’t know how to take care of herself!!” 

Shouta was already preparing to venture outside. He was at the door when he turned to look at his severely distressed husband, “stay here. In case she comes back, I’ll go look for her.” 

With that, Eraserhead ran out of the front door of the house, hoping to find you in the woods. 

Days became weeks became months. With every passing hour, you felt happier and lighter. Your spirit and soul were healing. It will take time, but you knew you were able to recover. You had escaped, and found a family who would ride or die with you. 

You’d ride or die with them. 

Spinner was especially kind to you. He was a gentleman, always asking before touching. You spent most of your free time with him when he or you weren’t gone collecting information or searching for members. 

You still weren't comfortable going on missions by yourself. Most of the them were with Dabi, Big Sis Magne or Jin, who you’d met shortly after your joining. Despite the short time with them, you felt like you belonged. You helped them, they helped you. You became a part of their family. 

They’d even gone so far as to get your cat Mochi back. Dabi simply dumped the kitty on your lap and walked away without saying anything. You missed your feline friend, and now in the league, he gets all the love the villains could muster. 

They try to keep sudden loud noises to a minimum. Occasionally a surprise yell or sound would happen, but someone was always quick to jump to your defense. 

It was mostly Shigaraki, but he’d apologize begrudgingly.

Even he wasn’t so bad. You had gone with Toga to get him a new controller, and he’s tolerated you ever since (maybe even respect you after you managed to beat him to a quick video game match). 

This was your life. This was your freedom. 

This was what you wanted. 

It’s been hell without you. Shouta and Hizashi were in hell. It’s been months since the eraser hero found your footprints surrounded by others. It’s been months of searching. Months of desperation to rescue you from your kidnappers. That’s the only logical reason for your disappearance. 

You were kidnapped. 

You needed them. You needed your lovers. 

But they couldn’t save you. 

Some nights Shouta would wake up alone. He’d be cold and lonely. Slowly he’d walk to your room, and find his blonde husband asleep, holding your favorite pillow. 

It stopped smelling like you a while ago. 

With every passing day their hope waned. With every passing hour their hearts ached. 

Shouta finally broke down one night. When he woke up alone again he wandered to your room, finding Hizashi in his usual position. Instead of being asleep, the blonde’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs and cries. 

The Eraser hero sat on the bed and held his husband, not bothering to muffle his own weeping. 

This isn’t what they wanted. 

The view from the roof was both beautiful and hilarious. You orchestrated a nomu attack, remaining hidden. Spinner was accompanying you. The others were scattered around the city, taking in the chaos. 

You remembered those roads and streets. You walked them for so long. 

Until those bastards stole you. 

Now, with your life in the league, you could stroll down the sidewalk again. You could see the sky and feel the sun. 

You could punish heroes for abandoning you. For letting you get kidnapped. 

A smile graced your lips. The chaos of the nomu was beautiful. 

There was a flash of black in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head. Slowly, your smile grew at the sight of Eraserhead struggling to take down the brutish monster. 

Only to have your smile fade when Present Mic saves him. 

“Ugh, I hate them.” You growled, “I see them and I hate them.” 

Spinner looked up from his spot on the roof. He swished his tail once before following your gaze to your distant tormentors.  

“You should put on a show,” he put a hand on your shoulder, “drive ‘em even more bat shit.”

You laughed warmly, the idea of breaking their hearts even more gave you infinite joy. 

“Mind if I use you?” You asked, preparing to use your quirk. 

With the villains you have gotten stronger. Your quirk was a weapon. A strong, powerful, useful weapon. 

You’re the opposite of what Shouta and Hizashi said over and over again. 

They can’t tell you that you're weak. Not anymore. 

There was a tipped over bus, and that’s where you planted the illusion. 

You and Spinner, hand in hand. 

Oh this is gonna be good. 

When they dealt with the Nomu, Hizashi looked to the bus, and even from a distance, you could see his eyes widen. 

“S-songbird!” 

You gagged, and Spinner laughed softly beside you.

Shouta looked up, meeting the illusions gaze. 

You feared he’d use his quirk, destroying your fun, but he didn’t, at least not in that instant. 

“G-get away from her!” The black haired male shouted, his black eyes trained on fake-spinner. 

“No,” the illusion spoke, “I think your precious songbird belongs to me.”

The illusion of spinner pulled illusion you closer. The illusion of you looking bashful.

Shouta prepared an attack, jumping up in the air to do so. Hizashi prepared his own quirk, apparently ok with sacrificing your well-being to get you. 

You cause fake-spinner to dip fake-you into a deep kiss. 

That was apparently distracting enough to cause Present Mic to choke on air, and Eraserhead to stumble and miss his attack. 

“Come on my sweet,” fake-you cooed, “let’s go.” 

You created one more illusion, covering the two fakes in smoke, making them disappear. 

As you finished with your quirk, you rubbed your temples. 

Spinner laughed beside you, “m-my sweet! Oh my god you killed me.” 

You gave a faint smile, that only grew when you heard Hizashi’s mournful howling. 

Spinner and you peered over the edge of the roof, and spotted the two of them breaking down. The blonde was wailing. You swear you saw his fat tears from your position. 

Shouta just looked broken. He looked absolutely devastated.

Maybe a long time ago that sight would have hurt you. 

You made eye contact with your partner next to you. 

“My sweet,” you teased, promptly bursting into laughter.

“Let’s go! Before they hear us!” Spinner tried to shush you, failing with his own giggling. 

You nodded and grabbed his hand. 

“Let’s go then,” you winked, “my sweet.”

The both of you fled, making your way to Jin and Toga. 

You smiled at the sight of them, only feeling happier as more of your family of villains got together. 

This is exactly where you wanted to be. 

A villain, to make those heroes suffer.