#but for real the kind of person (always outside the US) who's so fucking smug about how our food is Bad and theirs is Good

[afniel]

Kinda getting exhausted of seeing funny posts ripping on the US for having nasty processed food. Like yeah girl go off, you caught us having a very high cost of living and a very low standard of living. Does that make you feel superior? Do you feel clever having a giggle at an entire country of people at the mercy of a few shitty billionaire corporations who just want to sell the cheapest possible corn-based cardboard to a captive audience who on the whole can barely afford to even put that much on the table? Is that what gets you off? 'Cause you sound like an asshole and maybe the humorous-to-you assumption that we just prefer poor quality food for some reason is kind of a dick move, jussayin'.

Also sorry not sorry but there's nothing inherently bad about USAmerican food as a general concept. A cheeseburger or a pizza with a variety of toppings, made with varied and decent quality fresh ingredients, is fucking delicious and actually a complete and reasonably balanced meal, die hangry about it ✌️

#there's A Type of person that I cannot fucking stand and they sure are coming out of the woodwork lately #I also don't want to hear anyone ripping on anyone else for their food either this is entirely all dick behavior #but for real the kind of person (always outside the US) who's so fucking smug about how our food is Bad and theirs is Good #they can eat my ENTIRE ass how's that for shitty food

[rorschachisgay]

im so sick and tired of fucking tiktok kids and their constant "I've become homophobic" "calling millie bobby brown" jokes every time they see gay people expressing affection or mentioning sex. like i literally saw a video of someone making "im going to run you over" jokes in response to a video of a gay couple casually talking about being excited to spend Christmas together. in what universe is this acceptable. is it funny. when members of our community really did die for being LGBT DAYS ago. to be joking and laughing about the idea of hate crimes. how clueless and disconnected from reality can you be. to be wishing death on people for being happy and normal in a world that wants us dead

its always these same fucking 23 year old tiktok children too. who make being gay their entire personality but whose entire idea of queer community is arguing about what slurs they can use in tiktok comment sections. who view being LGBT not as a community built around a shared history and oppression but as a collection of in-jokes they can make online. who demonise real life gay men as being sexual monsters, who shriek at at any mentions of sex, who demonise gay clubs and are horrified by the idea of sexuality appearing at pride parade. the thing about them is that they ARE homophobic but they probably wouldnt be able to understand that because they have a child's understanding of any kind of gay history and theory.

and the really infuriating part is any attempt to inform them of any of this gets the same smug copy paste response that older gays are repressive and "gatekeeping" LGBT identities. and the truth is that they ARE deprived of a chance to learn about history but when GIVEN an opportunity reject it because they can't stand any kind of challenging ideas that would cause them to be uncomfortable for a moment because the only thing they truly believe in is never being put in a position where they're uncomfortable ever.

im so fucking tired of the LGBT community meaning fucking memes and arguments about which tiktok audio straight people shouldn't use and im sick of that fucking millie bobby brown joke. it's truly like watching content made by people who have never tried to think for themselves. and like i GET what it's like to be growing up completely outside of the queer community i grew up in a tiny rural town knowing no other gay people i had to find myself on the internet too. but i put in some fucking effort to learn about our history and why this community exits at all im so SICK

[house-afire]

own true love (Izzy/Crew, past unrequired Ed/Izzy, mild D/s)

Prompt: 100 words of custom-made collars

Izzy had always made do with a black cravat. Edward’s men all dressed in black—“Nothing more fearsome than mass color-coordination,” Edward said once, a half-joke he delivered with a man’s blood on his teeth—so the color was a foregone conclusion. I belong here, it said. I belong to him—but only in the way everything on the ship did. Edward wouldn’t notice or care if Izzy tore this pathetic, grasping, makeshift claim from his neck.

At least it was Edward who had chosen the color. Who had said, “Above all else is loyalty to your captain.”

But it was Izzy who tied the knot every morning, who drew it up close where he could feel it all day long. It was Izzy who held it in place with his mother’s ring.

“One day,” she had said, folding his hand around it, “you’ll give it to the girl you want to marry.”

It was a long time before anyone else figured out what Izzy wanted the cravat to mean.

Maybe years of only ever having what he wanted on starvation rations had made the need start to show. Or maybe this crew just had more time to sit around and dissect his tender feelings—wriggling, bloody things that they were—because they were never doing any fucking work.

Either way, they noticed things. How pliant he went when one of them fitted a hand around his throat and held him like that when they dipped down for a kiss. How much his face burned when they called him theirs: our Izzy, our Iz, our first mate, our unicorn.

(How he’d spent days having a fucking idiotic personal crisis about whether to keep on wearing the cravat, how he’d loosen it, tighten it, take it off, put it back on.

Took it off again and felt bare without it, but more honest than he’d been in years.)

And because they were all the touchy-feely kind, when they saw he’d put the cravat in a drawer for good, they had to do something about it:

“We thought you might like it,” Frenchie said. “Bit of each of us.”

“We know it’s super-weird,” Lucius put in, “obviously, but it’s not like any of us are normal, so—”

“If it’s the bad kind of weird, just say so,” Jim finished.

It was a collar. A real one, like they’d just decided he could want what he wanted and they would give it to him, as easy as that.

Like maybe they wanted it too: that stamp of ownership, a claim on him that would rest flush against his pulse.

Black Pete cleared his throat. “Elephant in the room here, but—sorry it kind of looks like ass.”

“That’s some of my best leatherwork,” Fang said, as affronted as he ever got. “The leather part’s okay.”

Izzy ran one finger along the patchwork outside of it. They had all added something, stitching together bits and pieces and snips from Fang’s leathers, Jim’s old duster, Wee John’s knitting, Lucius’s scarf, Frenchie’s coat, Archie’s snakeskin, Roach’s apron, Oluwande’s hat. Pete had carved the wooden buckle.

“We did pad the inside,” Wee John said. “Figured it’d be more comfortable that way, if you did want to wear it.”

“Which you don’t have to,” Oluwande said. “I mean, like Jim said. It’s up to you.”

“It’d be really hot, though,” Archie said. “Kinda hope you go for it.”

“He will,” Roach said with perfect confidence, before Lucius hissed at him and Olu elbowed him.

Izzy had to clear his throat, and even then, his voice came out strained. Anyone but this lot wouldn’t have known the difference between that and how he sounded any other time, but now he had to put up with Roach’s smugness spreading to the rest of him.

Put up with. Fine. He loved it.

“He’s right,” he said. “I’ll wear it. You sentimental twats. I—” He wheeled around and dug through his desk until he came up with his mother’s ring.

He hadn’t known what to do with it after he’d finally let go of Edward, but he knew now. He held it out to them.

“If you want it,” Izzy said roughly. “String it on a cord or something. Pass it around amongst you.”

He had to put up with Fang’s tearful hug and Lucius’s delighted, “Oh my God, that’s so romantic,” and Archie wolf-whistling him, but eventually, thank God—sometime after Pete asked if they were supposed to come up with the cord themselves: “I’m just saying, there’s a disproportionate amount of labor here”—Frenchie took it and slipped it onto his little finger for temporary safekeeping.

“I can’t believe that fits you,” John said.

“It’s because I’ve got a musician’s slender fingers, babe.”

Izzy couldn’t bring himself to pick the collar up off the table. It was like it was too heavy for him to lift on his own. He swallowed and said, “Suits you. Now is someone going to put this on me or not?”

It took them a fucking endless number of games of rock, paper, scissors—during which Izzy threatened to leave them all at the next port—to determine who would have the honor, and Roach and Frenchie started side-bets that would probably keep the lot of them in hock to each other for years. But by the time they pressed him down to the bed, the collar was around his neck.

In the end, he gave up a lace from his leathers to hold their ring.

#izzy hands #revenge crew #izzy/crew

[lightphieric]

999 Week Day 9 - The Bottom Feeders

In which the Ninth Man deflects all guilt

Title from the Bastion OST

CWs: Canon-typical death

AO3

---

This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him with his knife against a girl’s throat. People didn’t change that much. A decade ago, something like this would have never crossed his mind as a viable way to get out of anything. Something toxic had wormed its way into his skull and was controlling him. As Teruaki’s eyes darted around the room, his nails digging into the fourth girl’s wrist, he kept glancing at the suspected parasite for reassurance.

Once Hongou knew he had a former subordinate before him, he’d gone into CEO mode. He’d tented his fingers together and made vague comments that Teruaki implicitly understood as commands. “Was it you who used to carry that silly pocketknife everywhere?” he had said in that condescending tone of his that usually meant he was about to mock Teruaki’s ideas and then use them anyway. “Such paranoia…”

“You-you remember that?”

Hongou had ignored him, waving his hand as he thought aloud. “No, I suppose that wouldn’t matter right now. My wallet is gone. I presume your possessions were taken, as well.”

Teruaki did have his knife. His wallet was gone, but the knife was hidden in his sock like always. He liked to think that carrying one around was also not like him. He’d been doing it for over a decade, yet he held out hope that one day he would miraculously shake the habit. It was all because that bastard Musashidou got in his head. Blustery, self-important Musashidou thought his own life so valuable he’d hired three bodyguards to wait just for him outside the door during Nonary Project meetings. He’d made Teruaki overly conscious of his lack of self-defense capabilities. Thus, the knife, which had never been used.

Until now, of course. Hongou had mentioned the knife, so it had to be involved in whatever his plans for him were. That, plus the faulty RED and DEAD…

His calculations had been quick; it was either two and three, two young men who could have easily overwhelmed him, or one and four. The pink-haired girl seemed weak enough, and Hongou would surely play along – this was all his idea, after all.

Up close, Teruaki recognized the girl as one of the children from Building Q. He even remembered her name – it really was Clover, how clever of her. He recognized all the pieces that came together to make her a real person deserving of kindness, but that wouldn’t do, so he called upon what he’d learned from Nijisaki.

Hongou’s callousness at least had an understandable medical explanation. Nijisaki, on the other hand, was simply vile, and Teruaki felt his slime all over him to this day. It was Nijisaki who had taught him how to not feel remorse when looking at the children’s bright eyes and chubby cheeks. As Teruaki steered the fourth girl’s hand to the RED, he reminded himself, “These kids have fucking superpowers. They’ll pull themselves back up. Think where you’ll be in a decade if you just take the advantage you’re being given.”

This was where he was a decade later: a husk driven by the wills of three wicked men. Hongou, Musashidou, and Nijisaki vied for control, shoving the girl to the floor, pulling the lever and stepping through the door before anyone could stop him.

Teruaki wasn’t sure who was responsible for his remarks as the door shut. It wasn’t like him to be so smug. He made himself sick. Those three made him sick. He vowed to purge them if he made it off this damn ship. He would become his old self again. It was the least he could do after what had already happened.

The sludge that burst from him moments later was thick and vile. But it was all him.

#zero escape #999 week #teruaki kubota #the ninth man #fanfiction #my writing #zero escape 999 #999 spoilers

[linasqueersocks]

Snippet #8: Ursula Marlowe Finley

Warnings: death mention, kind of creepy magic? I don’t know what else to call it

This is my first intentional attempt at horror so… no one else has read this before and I’m sorry if it’s inconsistent or if there are any mistakes!!

——————————

Ursula Marlowe Finley never used her first name.

Ursula Marlowe Finley went missing when she was fifteen.

Ursula Marlowe Finley was assumed dead.

Marlowe Finley is at my party.

She looks immaculate in a bright red mini dress and black knee-highs. Her hair is up to show off the hoops in her ears. She’s already flirting with three people simultaneously. Typical.

What’s not typical is that no one else recognizes her.

I make my way over through the music and the heat from the fire, pasting on a smile that was a lot easier a few seconds ago.

Before I can reach her growing group of admirers, I’m waylaid by someone whose name I should probably know. “Thanks for inviting me, this party’s great!” They look at the person on their arm, who I’m pretty sure was not there when they arrived.

I sigh inwardly before nodding and replying, “sure.”

They lean in conspiratorially, close enough that I can smell the sour of alcohol on their breath. “You know, if it weren’t for you, I’d still be some nameless nobody.”

Oh no they did not just tell me that. My smile becomes even more strained as guilt spreads through me. “Well, uh, I’m glad to- glad to help.” My gaze flicks to the person on their arm who has yet to do anything but stare hungrily at my ‘friend’. I look back towards my destination. Marlowe’s gone. Shit. Still looking around for her, I pay the person’s shoulder, “see ya round, yeah? I gotta go.”

Where could she have gone? I realize that I’ve been standing close to the fire and desperately need fresh air, so I decide to go to the edge of the party, outside the clearing. The farther I go, the more couples I pass and turn away from. Eventually I find myself in a grove, the rustling of wind through the leaves replacing the thrum of the party. A branch snaps behind me. I turn around and there she is. Up close she looks more like an imitation than the girl I knew.

“Hey, Marlowe.” No response except for eyes trained on me. “What are you doing here?”

A smile spreads across her perfect lips. “Going to a party.”

“Right, ‘course.” I try for a lighthearted chuckle and fail. Marlowe steps toward me and tilts her head. I swallow. “So… how’ve you been? We haven’t talked in ages.”

She takes another step towards me as she speaks, this time I mirror her in the opposite direction. “Oh, y’know. I’ve been really busy— romance is so time consuming.” She reaches a graceful hand up to run her fingers through her hair. “What about you? You’ve always had so much free time.”

Wow, that wasn’t a jab at all. “Painting. Swimming. Throwing parties.” My breaths come harder than they did a few minutes ago and an idea pops into my head. “Are you enjoying art college?”

Marlowe practically jumps at the lifeline, smile turning playful and smug. “Yeah, it’s great! I’m finally fulfilling my dream. Especially the hookups part. Hah. I’d say that’s actually the best part.” What? She takes a step forward and again I step back. “Sorry, I forgot, what are you studying again?”

That’s the last thread. Marlowe was my best friend. She would never insult me, never forget what my passions were. Marlowe wanted to study law with her whole heart so that she could keep what happened to her family from happening to others. She hated sex and dating and thought it was all a ton of shit. The real Marlowe flirted for the fun of it and everyone knew not to expect a something from her. The real Marlowe was kind and generous and cared too much. This person is not Marlowe. Never was.

I step back quicker this time, almost tripping over my feet. I whisper, “Who are you? What are you?”

At that, the girl-thing that is not Marlowe Finley smiles at me, wicked and sharp and dangerous. “What do you mean?”

Fuck. Fuck fuckfuckfuckfu— she(?) steps forward and I step back twice, her(?) smile growing more uncomfortable-to-maintain looking by the moment. I am so fucked. My eyes darting around the grove for escape, always returning to it(?). I can barely get out a sentence between my teeth and my rising fear, “Get away from me.”

Why is she(?) so calm? Oh god, I’m going to die.

That’s when I run.

It chases me with the slow, relaxed demeanor of a predator that knows its prey cannot escape. My heart beat is rising in my ears like there’s no tomorrow. Hell, for me, that might be true. Shit. As I run blindly through the trees the thing that tried to be Marlowe Finley is somehow only a few paces behind.

Finally, finally, I hear the hum of the party. Distant, but there. That’s when I make the first of my three mistakes that night; I stop.

Exhausted, legs and chest burning, I stop beneath a tree with no clue if I’ll survive this, no clue where I actually am, no clue where the tears on my face came from.

No clue how I’m suddenly lying on the ground with my terror moving from my stomach to my mouth and my leg snapped in two.

Not-Marlowe is standing over me, satisfied with a job well done.

My second to last mistake; I start to feel safe. “You wouldn’t kill me here, not when they can hear my screams. That’s just stupid. They’ll call the police.”

It laughs, high and musical, and so goddamned pretty. Exactly like Marlowe. “Oh darling. Who? It’s just us and the moss now.”

That’s when I make my last mistake. I scream.

At the top of my lungs, I scream.

The thing that is not Marlowe and is not my friend waits until I can’t scream anymore. “Just close your eyes and try not to move,” it says. It kneels down and I am paralyzed. From fear or from what ever it is, I don’t know. Everything goes blank.

I walk back into the party smiling and laughing, and no one recognizes me.

I walk back into the party with Ursula Finley at my side.

#lina writes #fiction #my fiction #writing #my writing #my snippet #snippet #horror

[quartings]

I don't know who I'd normally talk to this about, but I wanted to discuss one of my least favorite tropes here. That being the whole "mastermind serial killer trope".

(TW for descriptions of all the awful stuff media serial killers usually do below)

What I largely dislike about the trope is the fact that the moment you see a character like this in any show or movie, you know they're 100% going to win and beat the protagonist because they're soooo smart and they somehow managed to set up an impossibly elaborate sequence of crimes, obscure clues, and psychoanalysis that culminates into some dumb grandiose message. So because you know they're always going to pull some nonsense out of their ass by the end and win, there's no reason to watch whatever show or movie they're in anymore because there's no real tension anymore.

And the thing is, that even if they know every detail about how to commit a crime and about the people trying to stop them, their plans are always so pointlessly convoluted and time-dependent that even the slightest accident from an outside source can throw everything off and ruin the whole plan.

What if the courier you send to deliver the severed head or cryptic message gets caught in a traffic jam and doesn't make it at the oh-so specific time you need them to? What if the detective assigned to find and arrest you isn't the "worthy intellect" you want, and they're just of average or lower intelligence and can't solve any of your cryptic riddles? Even if they're smart, what if they just overthink everything and misinterpret the riddles and go way off case? What if some stranger stumbles upon your crime scene and messes up all the clues before the cops get there? What if an even bigger crime or disaster happens that overshadows all your killings in the media? What if your time-sensitive clues go unnoticed and expire?

It just really makes me want to write a story about a really smug serial killer who's planned out this massive trail of complex clues and killings that's meant to teach people a "lesson about society" or some nonsense, finally culminating in him mindbreaking the hardboiled detective sent to arrest him (as usual). But instead, nobody picks up on the clues or misinterprets them, and people attribute the killings to a bunch of unrelated suspects, so the killer doesn't even get any infamy or a cool nickname. By killing very low-level public figures, even if some of them were shitty people, the serial killer realizes that they haven't really done anything to improve the actual bureaucracy they hate and their city gets even worse.

Maybe there's even a Cindy Lou Who kind of moment where some very earnest soul confronts the killer about his motives, and he gives this massive spiel about humanity and how he's "figured out the system" and the other person is just like "that's dumb, why don't you just be nice to people instead". Sort of like "Killing one bad person but not undoing or mending any of their bad actions does nothing"

Conversely, you could have the killer confront an even more cyncial person who's like "Oh wow, you just killed one random corrupt governor while there's still so many worse people running around? You're patting yourself on the back for being some sort of genius while wars, famine, and Bionicle cancellations are going on? Whoop-dee-fuckin-doo, don't talk to me until you've wiped out every last person I hate personally, that'd at least make my life better. Kill me and see who cares. Hell, do your usual mastermind martyrdom suicide thing to 'send a message' right now, we all could use a good laugh. Starving orphans on other continents will totally get your grand goal and thank you. Fuck off."

And this is a bit more 'out there' but you could even "Ghost of Christmas Future" the serial killer and show them that the only impact they'll have on history is to be a very annoying chapter in textbooks, and most kids in high school will only remember them as "that stupid bitch that was on question 10". Pain and suffering existed before them and will exist after. Or even better, to see a serial killer react to all the thousands of Gen Z memes people make absolutely RIPPING into them and every personal aspect of their life.

Idunno, maybe I'll do something with these notes and make a story/comic/animation along these themes, maybe not. Just thought I should at least get this off my chest.

[yandere-sins]

Hello! Can i request a yandere bully! Bakugou, locking a darling in the locker? I may leave You there for a while, and comfort you when the reader is begging you to

Continuation of this one here! Thanks for requesting ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

You couldn’t deny that the feeling wasn’t new.

Being roughly shoved into the barely big enough locker, you both felt scared and, at the same time, knew what to do. Braking your fall with your back, you kept your head forward so you wouldn’t hit it again, the mild concussion you had last time having been learn-experience enough. You had closed your eyes out of instinct when Bakugou gripped your shirt, but they snapped open immediately, trying to help you. However, Bakugou, too, had honed his skills, slamming the door close before you could squeeze your fingers in its way.

You’d rather have a broken finger than suffer this ordeal again if you were honest.

“No!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, knowing it was futile since no one else was around. Still, a part of you hoped that you might be able to intimidate Bakugou to think this over. “Shut. Up,” was his angry reply, his fist hammering into the locker door with every word. You had to fear he might actually break through the door by force, but it would have been in your favor.

It was so damn frustrating. You always thought you had done something to Bakugou, apologized over and over to him, so maybe he’d stop his bullying. But after finally talking to someone about it, you had decided that you wouldn’t engage with him anymore, and well... it just so happened you found comfort in the arms of the new student who finally treated you well as the only person ever since you came to UA. Everyone had always been too scared of Bakugou once he started targeting you. Of course, you couldn’t blame them either...

You and the new student started to hang out at any time, so you could avoid being targeted, and you spent some of the most wonderful hours by his side. The bullying did seem to stop now that a witness was always around, and you were so sure it was finally over, and you could move on. What could have caused Bakugou to explode the way he did? Not only did he punch your new boyfriend - and possibly broke his nose - no, he also carried you off without permission, bringing you to your most hated place on planet earth.

The annex had always been sparsely visited by students and teachers alike. There were just some clubrooms around, but since it was already late in the afternoon and a sunny day, most members were out in the fields or back in the dorms already. But strangely enough, even the weirdo Bakugou had a locker here; one big enough to fit a person in it.

“You can’t-- Ah, damnit, Bakugou! Stop locking me in this damn locker! It’s not funny anymore! What did I ever do to you?!”

Perhaps you were feeling especially feisty that day. You never had screamed at him like this, except if you were pleading for mercy. But ever since your boyfriend convinced you to see the guidance counselor, you had started to come out of your shell. Everything had been so good. Why was it coming back to bite you in the ass now?

Bakugou didn’t respond. No mocking comment, no snide remarks. Not even threats or insults belittling you, even as you started hammering your fists against the door. Out of experience, you knew someone would come. You were sure your boyfriend already contacted the teachers and people were searching for you, and latest when someone passed by, you could reach out and ask for help. But were you really going to fall back into old behavior and just sit it out? Wait for the time to pass and life to go on like before?

“... like you,” you suddenly heard from outside, a tiny voice compared to the usual boom and vibrato that Bakugou had. “What?!” you hissed, annoyed that once ‘his majesty’ decided to talk, he did it so you couldn’t understand. A long groan escaped him, furious and raging. “Just listen, you idiot! I said I like you!”

This time, the ‘What’ echoing in your head was left silent. Your mouth hung open as you stared at the blonde tuft of hair through the slits in the locker, Bakugou standing there with his back turned towards you. “... the fuck...” you finished your thought, accidentally saying it out loud and quickly realizing it, but it was already too late.

“What’s your problem,” Bakugou grumbled, annoyed, and part of you was glad not being able to see his face. You wouldn’t have known how to come to terms with him blushing or nervously fidgeting around like someone who just confessed usually would. “Just tell me what your fucking answer is.”

“No,” you replied instantly, without even a moment of hesitation. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to think it over before blurting it out but never. You could never imagine yourself at the side of your bully, the person who made your life a living hell. Someone who’d lock you in a locker to confess to you. What kind of joke was this?

“No?” he mumbled, suddenly turning around, you two staring eye to eye through the slits. “What do you mean ‘no’?!”

“Is this a joke?!” you barked back. “Tell me it’s a joke, ’cause there’s no way I could be together with you!”

Bakugou opened his mouth to say something, but instead, his eyes only grew redder, expression growing mad and furious, and you heard the unexpected crashing of fists against the metal, making you flinch back. The whole situation seemed so surreal, but it was very, very real. Standing up for yourself made you feel strong, but when uncomfortable silence befell you two, you started to overthink again.

“Bakugou...” you mumbled, placing your hand against the door. You were back to only seeing his hair, but you knew he was leaning forward, probably starring daggers into the ground. Maybe not everything was too late. Perhaps you could fix this, appeal to him one more time. “Just let me out, okay? You and I... that doesn’t work, but we can stop being children and scream at each other and just go our separate ways.”

You couldn’t think of a better way to talk to him. After all, you couldn’t understand what was going on inside of him at all. He had been bullying for god-knows-how-long, yet, he thought he liked you? Couldn’t he see the contradiction in his statement and actions? But this cruelty had to end at some point and now was as good as any. Going different ways would help him too, you were sure.

“Children?” he whispered, finally snapping upwards again to stare at you with a mocking expression. “Do you think my feelings aren’t real?”

Weirded out by his behavior, you only shook your head.

“I don’t think you know your position in this. There is no ‘no’ when I ask you if you like me.”

“Bakugou...”

“It’s that guy, isn’t it? He’s in the way, right? He’s been stealing you from me, taking up all your time that you should spend with me, isn’t he?”

“Bakugou, please, we’re never spending time together--”

“He’s making you say no because you’re guilty, am I right? I can take care of that, you know?”

“Wait!” you interrupted his speech, sudden panic rising inside of you. You were well aware of Bakugou’s strength, but attacking your boyfriend wouldn’t make any of you happy! “If you go, I’ll scream! They’ll find me, and I’ll tell them what you’re doing! That’s criminal! Aren’t you studying to be a hero?!”

Your appeals were met with a cocky grin, his eyes shining as if you just challenged him. “Who says I can’t be a hero and still beat the shit out of that bastard?”

“Everyone! Everyone will know what they did! I will tell them!”

“Try it,” he hissed before pushing away from the locker. You threw yourself against it, but the door must have jammed when he kept bashing into it. Slapping your palm and hammering your fists didn’t help as you had to watch him walk away after looking at you in this typical, belittling way he used, always looking down on you. “You can have some time to think about your answer while I’m taking care of some business. Remember what day it is?” Bakugou yelled back over his shoulder, and you could hear the smug grin on his lips.

“What day...? Friday?” Your eyes widened suddenly as you realized that there were no clubs on the weekend due to the new regulations for safety, and you began to panic and scream Bakugou’s name after him. If you’d just have to spend the night, that would be manageable, but with the strange mood he was in, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust him to come let you out anytime soon. A whole weekend inside the locker would kill you for sure, and tears rolled down your cheeks as his footsteps slowly faded.

What a monster.

How could you ever like him back?

What more would you have to endure because of him?

But truth be told, what else could you do but tell him you liked him? You just wanted to get out of the hell that was this locker. Save yourself from the embarrassment and torture.

"I like you! Bakugou, I like you!" you screamed.

But the footsteps didn't come running back.

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou #yandere!bakugou #BnHA #Boku no Hero Academia #MHA #My Hero Academia #yandere bnha #yandere!bnha #yandere mha #yandere!mha #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[rcksmith]

Be mine — Roman Godfrey

Requests: “Helloo, I would like to request an imagine of roman Godfrey with smut prompt 28”

“Hii, omg I lover your work!! Can you do fluff prompts 45 and 59 and smut prompts 32 whit Roman Godfrey? Thank you, love💖”

Fluff prompts:

45. “where have you been all my life?”

59. “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

32. “I’m going to show you what a real fucking is.”

A/N: I was excited about these request for Roman, I loved it. I hope you guys like.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Roman Godfrey/ Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, explicit smut, NSFW, degradation, dirty talk and also fluff too.

— — — — —

The big white and airy room tried to show a soothing and safe energy, the light tones contrasted with the golden rays of the sun outside and could even try to show a lyrical vibe. Could, if not for everything else.

It was hard to pinpoint the source that messed up that whole idea of ​​peace that the colors on the walls had, but maybe it was because Godfrey Industries was... oblique, mysterious, sinister. There was something in the air, a dark breeze that echoed all the floors of that gigantic building, bringing the feeling that something was out of place. It was, at times, disconcerting. Like looking at a perfect painting but knowing that something is out of place. Or to witness the seconds of frightening calm before a major disaster. But as the months went by, you had to get used to it and adapt to it. Your daydreams wandered far away. You wondered what you were doing there, in that country town that also had that sinister energy.

Why you left Los Angles? Okay, did you know why. After finishing college, you sent out resumes to as many companies as you could. Its from that time when you realize that adult life has knocked on the door and that the cost of living in California was too high. The plan, when you left home to pursue your dream and go to college in another state, was to get a job as soon as possible. But some things got out of your control, and when you realized it, you had graduated and you didn't have enough money to come up with second plans.

So, when the multinational Godfrey Industries called you after an interview and gave you the job, you didn't hesitate. The salary was too good for a international negotiations assistant, and after a while you could breathe easier, and be able to straighten out your financial life and have a better resume to be able to get back to a big city.

It was a good plan, a rational plan. You were proud of that. But it was logical that too much confidence was accompanied by some ruin.

And its ruin came under the name of Roman Godfrey.

Roman was swallowed all the air in any the room when he entered, as if its imposing presence subdued any environment. Everything about him exuded the same objective: to conquer, to possess, to win. He was the Trojan army. But the worst and the most dangerous was not his difficult personality, but how you felt close to him. How his presence caused side effects on you.

He was absolutely gorgeous. It should be considered illegal for someone to have that appearance, that voice, that sinisterly penetrating look. You felt that Roman Godfrey had the aura of intense and exciting music, like the song of danger.

He was the personification of sin, and you were being tested by the universe.

The trinity of what could be a gigantic disaster was completed when, a few months ago, Roman started testing you, joining the universe in what appeared to be a plan to slaughter your sanity.

It was your first meeting with the Company a few weeks after you was hired. Adam, the director of the international negotiations sector, for whom you are an assistant, asked you to bring all the documents of the process and remain in the meeting. It was about an international multi who wanted to buy some equipment from Godfrey Industries, but who were working hard to try to close deals at a lower price.

As you handed a copy of the negotiation to each sector director in that room, you felt a pair of eyes burning the back of your neck the whole time, like your shadow. The caustic sensation ruffled all the hair on the back of your neck, snaking from head to toe and made you search the environment behind the author.

That's when you finding him.

Roman had the green irises stuck to you like a tattoo on your skin. As if unraveling all your secrets, your sins, virtues and all your thoughts. It was intense, magnetic... dangerous.

You felt the white walls of that room were embraced by a black and dark shadow, and the air became thin. Then he smiled. A smug and arrogant little smile. The kind who won a battle.

It had been the beginning of a sequence of events. Roman began to request and make sure that you were present at all meetings, negotiations, cases, even when your presence added much more to your professional knowledge than to contribute to the resolution of company problems. At that time the order was still not directed at you, Adam just told you that Godfrey wanted you at meetings.

It was strange, atypical, almost surreal. You used to go into the conference room and look directly at Roman, frowning in silent questioning at him. But he never gave you an answer. He just gave that smug smile and turned his attention to the big screen in the living room.

This happened five times before Roman sent to tell you that he wanted to see you in his office.

“But why?!" You frowned at Adam.

The man looked at you for a second before shrugging.

“Your work has been impeccable, I think he just wants to give you more things to do.” Adam kept his eyes on the documents themselves.

"But you are my boss.” Sometimes you had a habit of saying what you thought without considering the consequences.

Your mother and your friends said that you had a total inability to hide what you felt, to be someone reserved or shy. You were almost always the person who said everything you felt.

Adam laughed softly, already used to your personality and turned his eyes to you.

“And he is my boss."

You restrained yourself from rolling your eyes. The truth was, you didn't want to find him. Roman puzzled you, messed with your system. And after those 5 meetings without explaining why you were there, you started to want to avoid his presence.

But apparently the universe was not on your side this time.

You got up and excused yourself, listening to your own heels echoing down the hall before entering the elevator and pressing the last button. Going to Godfrey's office.

Anxiety coursed through your veins like overwhelming electricity, making you sway on your heels and stir your fingers.

What did he want with you? Had you done something? Was he crazy?

You sucked in the air hard, shrugging your shoulders to relax when the door opened up. You walked for a while before stopping at Roman's office and knocking on the door with your finger.

“Come in." The voice made your heart skip a few beats.

You walked in, closing the door behind you and laying your eyes on the tall, slender figure who was sitting behind the table, dressed in black pieces and a small smile.

“Did you want to see me, Mr.Godfrey ?"

Maybe it was your imagination or your nervousness that was seeing things in between lines, but you could have sworn that Roman breathed harder after you said his last name.

You stopped in front of his desk, too agitated to sit on the chair.

“Yes, Darling.” He stood up, getting much bigger than you, even though your feet were in a 10 cm heel.

Roman fished a file on the table itself, bypassing the table and coming menacingly close to you. He stood in front of you again, his hip against the table and leaning there, holding out the file for you. You took seconds longer than you would like to pick up the papers, Roman's left leg was dangerously close to yours, the knee almost brushing your thigh covered by the black skirt.

“I need it ready by night."

That's when you came out of the trance, picking up the folder and staring at the amount of stuff there. It was a process about an agreement with a company in Asia, and it was so bureaucratic that it would take up your entire time. And you already had a million things for do.

“But...” You were about to start talking, but Roman moved away from the edge of the table, his chest hovering over yours.

You have never felt so small, so fragile and so vulnerable in your life. You had to lift your chin to face him straight.

“You are going to be a good girl and bring me this tonight.” It was not a request. “You will, right?”

Your common sense or decorum had gone somewhere. Maybe was lost in your own stupidity. The oxygen evaporated from your lungs. And before you could think of something diplomatic and good to say. Because you were not dumb. You heard yourself say:

“Yes, Mr. Godfrey.”

Fucking hell!

“Great.” He gave you a rewarding smile.

From that moment on events like this became routine. In fact, you tried to mask that you liked it, that it wasn't extremely unprofessional, that he was not only your boss, but also the owner of the entire company. Over time you learned to deal with him too, Roman was never brazen or touched you, he would drop some ‘Dear’ or ‘Pretty’ over and over here for you, but, truth be told, you didn’t get uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was your feminine vanity. You didn't want to be selfish, but having a man like Roman Godfrey praise you did wonders for your feminine vanity. You felt absurdly beautiful. He made you feel like the personification of the Female Fatal, and you liked that. So you would roll your eyes at him and give him some jokes smiles in his direction whenever these things happened.

You did not deny it, but you also do not return any praise.

Over the months you had practically become more of an assistant to Roman than to Adam. He kept you getting bogged down with things to do and telling Adam to pass on your old duties to any other goddamn person.

“They accept to close if they have had 30% of the profits.” You put your cell phone down to talk to Roman, who had his hip against the desk work and an open file in his hands.

“They must be stupid” he rolled his eyes “10% and I will still be being generous.”

You went back to your call, your eyes fixed on the top view of the city as you settled the deal.

“I can get them to close by 15% if we send the equipment by tomorrow.” You said to Roman again, plugging the cell phone microphone with your other hand “But it has to be send until the morning. Not next.”

Roman smiled broadly and satisfied, nodding his head in ‘Yes’ as you turned your attention to the city view and finished the negotiation. You were getting the details right when you felt a presence behind you, the heat radiating for your back and making you lose your breath for a second. You swallowed and tried to ignore something vibrating in your core, disconnecting the call as soon as you closed the deal.

“What would I do without you?” Roman's voice blew at the top of your ear, his ghostly touch fanning your skin.

You laughed to try to hide how much your core pulsed, turning around enough to face his completely.

"I don't know, you would have already lost four contracts.” You tried to joke, but he was absurdly close.

The scent of a man and an expensive cologne swallowed you like a wave and dragged you into the sea, drowning you. The emerald green eyes were fixed on you, as if they swallowed you.

“You could work for me.” Godfrey let go, taking another step closer to you.

Instinctively, you took a step back, your back finding the cold glass behind you and trapping you between the cold sensation and the absurd warmth of the man.

"I already work for you.” You said it as if it were obvious, letting out a nervous laugh and trying to clean up how much your uterus vibrated now.

“No, you work more with Adam.” He rolled his eyes, his hand now resting on your hip, rising to your waist like a snake “I speak of you being my assistant, being here when I arrive, spending the all days with me.”

Your heart screamed, your pussy throbbed so hard that if Roman hadn't paid attention to you, you would have bitten your lip.

“Are you flirting with me?”

"You finally noticed?"

There was no way to deny to yourself that you had already reached your share of perverted dreams with Roman Godfrey. He was like an addiction! It was unbearable how present he was always in your head, playing with your sanity, making you think of how those absurdly long fingers would fuck you so well, how those impeccable clothes hid a maddening body.

And that was exactly why you couldn't be him assistant.

If it was already overwhelmingly difficult to occasionally remain in him presence without diverting your thoughts, every day would be impossible. All the time. You would end up having to resign your job after, because any involvement between you would not result in a happy ending. Aside from being extremely unethical, it would end up destroying your heart, and God, you needed the job!

"M-Mr Godfrey." You tried to speak, touching his chest with the palm of your hand with the intention of gently pushing him away.

But the shot backfired. He was cold. Absurdly cold. Cold that makes you want to warm up, an addictive, that intoxicates you. Suddenly, you are already wondering if other parts of it would be cold too.

Would the kiss contain the beauty and temperature of the snow? When Roman entered you, would he be consumed by the heat of your needy walls? He Would it stick to you like a private sun?

“Pretty.” Godfrey sighed against your cheek, dangerously lowering his lips in your direction. “Why not stay with me? Where can I fuck you every day? ”

This time you moaned, a low moan that gave up all of your game. It lit a dangerous, vital fire in Roman's eyes, and him hand, which once touched you softly, now snaked into your waist, pulling you close.

“Do you like to hear that? That I want to fuck you until you scream?” You closed your fingers on him black dress shirt, closing your lip between your teeth to contain a groan.

Roman's mouth went to your neck, pouring wet, surprisingly hot kisses onto your skin.

"Would you like to know that I have imagined fucking you hard for a long time?” His hands went to the hem of your skirt. “That I want to tag you with my cum until you're just mine?"

“Mr.Go-Godfrey!” You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your head go back and lean against the glass wall.

“Tell me, Pretty.” He lifted his lips to hover over yours “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

You frantically ascended your head, letting a 'Yes' leave with a low sob.

Thereafter Roman wasted no time. He pulled you onto his lap by your thighs, placing you under his desk and throwing all objects on the table with one arm. He kissed you. Furiously. He kissed you as if you were his property, as if you were the answer to all his prayers, his divinity. Your mouth opened to get air and Roman took the opportunity to invade with his tongue, hunting you.

You groaned, or he, or both.

"I'm going to show you what a real fucking is." Roman snarled against your mouth, not considering any consequences before popping all the buttons on your shirt with a two-handed tug, making you gasp.

That seemed to bring you back to Earth.

You pulled your chest away from him, and Roman looked up at you with a questioning expression.

“Ro-Roman, this is wrong.” you said.

“You have no idea how much I don’t give a fuck.” He leaned over to kiss you again, extremely excited by the sight of you in a lacy bra, but you averted your face by placing your hands on him chest.

You said. “I'm going to have to resign this job later if I do it, and I need the job.”

Romam snorted, straightening up again.

“Who says you need to resign? Did you forget that I am the owner of this crap?” He brought his lips to your neck once more, and you sighed softly “Be mine. Be mine."

“I don’t know.”

Romam held your face in his hands, in a gentle touch, which clashed absurdly with the lush fire in his eyes.

“I don't want to fuck you because you work here, but because I think you're fucking beautiful.” He said “Be mine, and if you don't want anything to do with me afterwards, that's okay, let's keep working normally.” Roman moved closer, his voice hitting your mouth “Let me fuck this hot pussy, I'm sure you'll want more later. And I will give you everything you want.”

So you gave in. You kissed him fiercely, spreading your legs wider and settling them between them, letting the skirt roll to pile on your hips and exposing lace panties. Roman reaching down to your back and removing your bra, dropping your mouth over your left breast when it was exposed.

You moaned loudly, throwing your head back, curling your fingers in his hair and sighing when Godfrey moved his fingers down the middle of your legs. You whimpered, rummaging around in his hand for some friction, needy and needy.

Roman laughed arrogantly against your breast: “Such a needy little thing, aren't you?” He took a bite out of your left beak as he walked away to remove his belt.

You groaned, your eyes on fire, your body hot and needy. And that's when Roman looked at you. A hot fucking woman half naked at his table, so beautiful and perfect that it was almost a sin. He wanted to be able to record that scene forever. You were perfect. He thought you were extraordinarily perfect.

Then he rushed ferociously at you again, his hands wrapped around your hot body as he moaned on your lips: "Where have you been all my life?"

You gasped, finishing the job of his belt and pants, fighting a battle with his tongue.

“Waiting for this moment.” You provoked it with a sensual chuckle, nibbling on his lower lip.

Roman shared your sly smile, tearing at your panties and holding his own dick in your direction. You moaned louder this time, in need, lowering your hands to his hips and rolling around his waist, trying to get closer.

Roman laughed, sinking his mouth into yours and also plunging his dick into yours smooth folds.

You screamed out loud, clasping your body to his while Roman put an arm around your waist, gluing your body to his and hitting the stick at the end of the well, drawing out a loud groan from both of you. The environment was filled with moaning and pornographic sounds, the table rattling beneath you as the things that were left on top now fell completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clenching your nails at the back of your neck as you wrapped your legs around Roman's hips, pulling him further into you and swallowing him completely.

“Holy fuck!” He snarled, lowering his mouth to meet your neck and shoulder, closing his teeth there as he demanded more force in his movements.

Godfrey beat without mercy, without pause, conquering and proclaiming his every piece of your body as his own. You could no longer control your moans, all the sensations exploded inside you like nuclear bombs and pleasure and pain curved all your lines of reasoning. You laid your back on the table, your breasts jumping with the speed and strength of him movements, while Roman clasped his hands on your waist and set a brighter pace as he pulled you onto his dick and propelled your hips at you.

“So fuck hot slut!” He growled, never stopping the pace.

You shouted something that looked like him name, and threw your head back when the orgasm invaded your system, shaking your legs and pulling him deeper. Roman moaned loudly, squeezing your flesh so tightly that it would leave marks tomorrow, while he cum inside you, spilling all the hot liquid on your barriers.

You were sweaty and panting, but Roman didn't give you a second to breathe and process the situation until he leaned over to you, still inside your core, and kissed your right breast, dropping one:

“Dinner at my place tomorrow?”

You laughed, still very airy, and agreed, overcome by tiredness.

“Okay, Godfrey.” Roman gave you another lunge of teasing, making your laugh mix with a groan.

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #Roman Godfrey x you #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #Roman Godfrey x y/n #hemlock grove #Hemlock Grove x reader #bill skarsgård imagine #roman godfrey imagine #Roman Godfrey icons #smut #Hemlock Grove smut #willard russell

[shemarmooresfedora]

Sugary Sweet Apologies

Summary: You and Reid never really got along but when he saves your life, you decide to be the bigger person and thank him and hopefully start over. Unfortunately, it isn’t that easy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: light to mild angst with fluffy ending, swearing, spencer reid being an annoying bitch, brief mentions of case stuff (if you watch cm, you should be fine)

A/N: this is for @willowrose99 ‘s 1 year anniversary on tumblr writing challenge!! congrats! i literally wrote and edited this whole thing in less than one day because i got so excited, anyways i hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.8k

“Reid and Y/L/N, go to David Whitney’s house. He was the therapist of two of the three victims. He could have some insight into the victimology and know of any overlap between them. He has no criminal record of past aggressive behavior but we can’t rule him out as a suspect entirely,” Hotch stated.

“Hotch, you stuck me with her yesterday for the geographical profiling. Send Prentiss with her instead,” Spencer whined.

“I don’t mind going with Y/L/N. She is a great partner in the field,” Emily glared at Spencer.

“No. Reid, go with Y/L/N or be taken off this case. I’m a unit chief, not an elementary school teacher. I don’t have time for temper tantrums,” Hotch chided.

“Fine,” Spencer grumbled as you grabbed the keys to an SUV.

You don’t know what it was but ever since you started at the BAU four months ago, Spencer had never liked you which resulted in you disliking him as well. Everyone else on the team was super friendly and welcoming but Reid always was jabbing snarky remarks your way like “I don’t have time to explain it to you” or “This was in the FBI handbook. God, you need more training.”

Luckily, the others were quick to defend you. Once Garcia even heard him snip at you over the phone and as soon as you all got off the elevator after the case, Reid was being dragged by his ear into Garcia’s lair with him going “ow ow ow” behind her. So, you didn’t really pay much mind to him because you could deal with one annoying know-it-all to have such an amazing job with great coworkers minus the one.

“Look, I’m not happy about this either,” you said as you climbed into the driver’s side of the SUV, “But at least I’m not being a whiny bitch about it and being rude to the other person’s face.”

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry that I hurt your feelings,” Spencer mocked.

“Fuck you, Reid,” you shook your head.

-

David Whitney was on edge the second you arrived and showed him your badges. He was bouncing his leg up and down, he couldn’t sit still, and he kept avoiding eye contact.

He knew way too much about the other victim that wasn’t even one of his clients but you didn’t have anything solid on him. His house seemed very neat so you doubted he kept anything incriminating here. Organized offenders usually have a secondary location. So, you decided to push his buttons a little.

“I mean blitz attacks, leaving the bodies on the side of dirt roads,” you combed through the crime scene photos, “This guy was a real coward.”

Spencer picked up on what you were trying to do and his eyes widened, he was subtly shaking his head and mouthing “no”.

“Excuse me?” David asked.

“Well, I’m just saying a real man wouldn’t cower in the bushes and blindside a woman. He must not be very strong,” you stated, “He probably can’t even get it up.”

Before you even had time to react, David pulled out a switchblade knife from inside the couch cushions and put you in a chokehold, pressing the cool metal up to your throat. You closed your eyes tightly.

“David, you don’t have to do this,” Spencer stood with his gun pointed at you both.

“This bitch insulted me,” he snarled.

“She insults me too. That doesn’t make you any less of a man,” Spencer spoke carefully, “Just put the knife down and I’ll escort you out.”

David sighed, dropping the knife to the floor and releasing you.

Spencer put David in handcuffs and walked him outside as reinforcements came running in.

“Are you okay, Y/L/N?” Hotch asked.

“Yep, a little shaken up but fine. Thank you,” you stood.

“Let’s get you to the medics,” Morgan grabbed your arm to support you as you walked over to the ambulance.

Spencer never checked on you.

-

You knew your decision in the field was a little rash and you wanted to thank Spencer for essentially saving your life.

However, there was no way in hell you could verbally get out an apology while staring at his smug face, but you could bake. You settled on a note tucked inside a tupperware container of your Grandma’s special recipe of chocolate chip cookies. It was a good peace offering, maybe even a chance to start fresh.

During your lunch break, you took the tupperware from your desk drawer and approached the break room where Reid had entered about 5 minutes ago.

“I’m just saying I could not have been more clear in my message to her that it was too dangerous but of course, Y/L/N didn’t listen cause Y/L/N is going to do whatever she feels like,” Spencer stirred his coffee.

No one had noticed you standing in the doorway yet.

“Reid, you’ve got to be nicer to her. She earned her spot here just like the rest of us,” Emily defended you.

“Did she though? How much do we really know about her? She couldn’t even tell me how many pages the FBI protocol manual was,” Spencer said.

“That’s not a normal thing people know,” Morgan retorted.

“Well, I’m just saying the team was perfectly fine before her and it would probably be better off if she left,” Reid finished.

Garcia looked up from her yogurt to see you standing there, “Oh, Y/N”.

Spencer turned around in his chair as you angrily stormed up to him.

“Here’s your cookies, asshole,” you seethed, grabbing the note from inside and crumpling it up into a little ball and tossing it into the trash.

“Y/N!” Emily called after you but you were already gone.

The whole team glared at Spencer and picked up their lunches, leaving him alone at the table.

Spencer retrieved the balled up paper from the trash, having to fish through Rossi’s week old pasta and Anderson’s half eaten tuna fish sandwich.

Dear Reid,

Thank you for saving my life, I guess. These are my Grandma’s secret recipe for chocolate chip cookies so I hope you enjoy. I think we got off on the wrong foot and I would like to start over. I think cases would be a lot less miserable for everyone if we got along.

Thanks again,

Y/L/N

Spencer, you’re such an idiot, he thought to himself.

You never came back after your lunch break ended and Derek made Spencer go tell Hotch why it’s his fault you were missing the rest of the day.

He tried to call you multiple times but they always rang out before going to voicemail.

Spencer hesitantly knocked on Penelope’s door at the end of the day.

“Is she okay?” he asked softly.

“You don’t get to ask that as the person who hurt her in the first place. Also, she told me to tell you that don’t you dare go to her apartment to ‘check on her’. I’m headed over there myself actually,” Penelope collected her things and shut off her monitors.

“Will you at least tell her I’m really sorry?” Spencer followed her to the elevator.

“Absolutely not. I’m not doing any apologizing on your behalf,” Penelope huffed as the elevators shut.

-

You came in the next morning, keeping your head down. You grabbed a pen from your cup holder and the first folder on your stack before getting to work.

You were on the second page of the file when your clean, empty tupperware was placed in front of you plus another baking dish with aluminum foil over the top.

You glanced up to see Spencer guiltily looking down at you and you returned your eyes back to the file.

“I-I made you cinnamon rolls,” Spencer broke the silence.

“Are they poisoned?” you asked, not sparing him another glance.

“No, they’re not poisoned,” he assured you.

“I’m just saying how can I trust you as you have made it very apparent you would like me off this team.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Spencer was quick to reply.

“Then why the hell did you say it, Reid?” you slammed your pen down.

You grabbed your empty coffee mug and briskly walked to the break room but unfortunately, Spencer was right behind you.

“I didn’t eat any of your cookies by the way. Not that I didn’t want to but I felt like I didn’t deserve them so I handed them out to everyone else.”

“Oh how kind, taking credit for my work,” you tried to close the door in his face.

“I told them that they were from you,” Spencer insisted.

You rolled your eyes as Spencer grabbed the coffee pot before you could get to it, pouring your mug of coffee for you.

“What do you want from me, Reid?” you asked defeatedly.

“I want you to try a cinnamon roll and let me explain.”

“Fine but only because I didn’t have breakfast yet and I want to critique your baking skills,” you huffed, walking back to your desk.

Spencer gingerly placed one of the sticky frosting-coated rolls on a napkin and pushed it towards you. You tentatively bit into it. Damn it, it was actually delicious.

“It’s okay,” you understated.

You knew Spencer hardly ever used his kitchen let alone be up baking all night. He even chose a recipe that required more time and effort because the yeast dough would have to rise for a few hours.

“That’s good. The first batch didn’t come out as great...or the second,” he smiled softly.

“Well, the floor is all yours, Reid. Please explain to me why you talk shit about me to my co-workers when I’m in the other room,” you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms.

Spencer muttered something incoherent.

“I have to hear the apology, you know,” you said, enjoying watching him uncomfortable.

“You’re intimidating to me because you’re intelligent, beautiful, and courageous. I think I was a little jealous that my spotlight as the ‘kid’ of the BAU was coming to an end so I said some harsh, completely untrue things and I’m sincerely sorry.”

“Oh my god,” you smirked, “Hotch was right, you are an elementary school kid.”

“In what way?” he curiously asked.

“You like me like like like me. You don’t know how to talk to the girl so you pull her pigtails on the playground,” you giggled.

“I take it back. You’re a horrible profiler,” Spencer was getting up from his seat, completely flustered.

“Awww,” you were laughing at Spencer’s bright red face as he went to go to the break room to fill his coffee mug.

When he got back to his desk, a sticky note was placed front and center.

In typical elementary school fashion…

Will you go get coffee with me?

Check:

Yes

or

No

Spencer smiled before picking up his pen and checking one of the boxes, crumpling the sticky note up into a ball and throwing it over to your desk.

“Good choice. See you Saturday at 9 at the cafe down the street,” you grinned.

“It’s a date,” he smiled.

#willsannievent #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #cm fanfic #criminal minds

[mandos-sluts]

The Visit

This is Part One of a three-part series

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, dubious consent, fingering, dirty talk, mentions of sex work

Summary: You are Luke Skywalker’s Padawan, training directly under him at his Jedi Academy. Din Djarin is staying at the compound for a few days to visit Grogu.

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!! Also we love feedback <3

“What does he look like?”

“He’s a Mandalorian. Big silver shiny armor. Can’t miss him.”

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

Boy was he right. You spot Din as soon as you step into the cantina. He’s standing at the bar, leaning over it slightly. His visor catches your eye from across the room, and he stares at you for a while, looking you up and down, before turning his head back to the bar. He’s never seen someone so beautiful in this parsec before.

Your Master, Luke Skywalker, told you to meet Din at the cantina and escort him to the Jedi Academy. Luke had similarly informed Din that he was sending his Padawan to rendezvous.

You know all about Din Djarin. You know his whole deal with Grogu and the Darksaber, and his run-ins with the Empire and the Guild. The story of his miraculous rescue of Grogu made its way around the school after Luke brought the child back to the Academy.

The cantina that you’re at is located in the town that lies right outside the Jedi Academy compound. It’s a place that many students go to blow off steam and hang out.

You find yourself surprisingly nervous as you walk up to the tall intimating Mandalorian. “Excuse me.” You say.

“Not interested.” He says shortly without even looking at you.

”What?” You asked, confused.

“I said I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in what?”

”Your services.”

”My services?” You don’t understand. Is he wanting to travel to the grounds by himself? That’s not an option....he wouldn’t be permitted on the estate without an escort. Didn’t Luke tell him of this arrangement?

Din exhales, clearly annoyed, and finally turns to look at you. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not looking for a whore.”

You stand there, completely dumbfounded, your mouth slightly open from shock. A whore? What the fuck?!!

In his defense, you are wearing a rather skimpy-looking outfit. You have on what is essentially a tennis skirt and a bandeau; it’s the hot season on the planet. Even so, this guy is an asshole.

You take a breath and put a fake smile on your face. “My apologies….Din Djarin.” You say in a suggestive manner. Turning around to leave, Din whips around and grabs your upper arm tightly, yanking you closer to him.

“How do you know that name?” Din loudly whispers in a demanding, low voice.

You’re not stupid, you know that his name is known only by a few. “My industry has very skilled people.” You respond, hoping he will get the hint that you are in fact not a sex worker, but actually the person he’s supposed be meeting.

”Are you telling me your brothel somehow got a hold of my name?” Din is pretty pissed. Is this what he gets from doing dealings with Jedi? His name gets leaked to brothels?

You let out a sigh as your eyes roll. You snatch your arm out of his grasp and move swiftly out the door into the street. What a jerk. This guy can find his own way to the compound.

Din tries to follow you, needing to know how a random whore got his name, but the streets are pretty crowded.

”Oh, Mr. Djarin!” Din hears someone say. He looks over his shoulder and sees Luke Skywalker approaching him.

“H-hi, Master Skywalker.” Din says, deciding to give up on his pursuit of you, after all, that’s not the reason he’s here.

“I’m surprised to see you here, did my Padawan not pick you up?” Luke asks.

“No. He never showed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Let me take you to the Jedi Temple.”

************************************* You hear your Master’s voice and footsteps nearing the empty lounge you’re sitting in. It’s a pretty big, dark lit room. There’s a conference table on one end, and an arrangement of couches and chairs spread across the place. It’s always empty, and you often use the area to meditate or exercise or just hang out. You pretend to look busy, eager for what’s about to occur.

“It is strange that my Padawan did not show up to greet you.” You hear Luke say behind the wall. He pokes his head around the door. “Ah, here she is.” He says walking into the lounge.

She? Din walks a few feet behind Luke. He turns the corner and walks through the door, freezing in his footsteps as soon as he lays eyes on you. There you are, the woman who approached him at the cantina….Luke’s Padawan.

You stare into his visor with a smug half smile on your face and slowly rise from your seat. You’re reveling in how taken aback he clearly is.

“Y/n, this is Din Djarin. I thought we discussed that you’d meet him at the cantina and escort him to the Academy? He says you didn’t show.” Luke says innocently as he stands between you and Din.

“Oh. I did go to the cantina. I guess I missed you.” You say slowly with your eyes locked on his helmet. “My apologies, Din Djarin.”

Din clears his throat. “Um n-no worries at all.” He chokes out. Shit! Din can’t believe he called you a whore. How did he not see the laser sword on your hip?

“Alright, well I’m gonna get to my meeting. Y/n, show Din around, alright?” Luke says.

“Of course Master.” You say with a slight bow of your head. You plant your gaze back on Din’s helmet as it rotates to watch Luke exit.

He slowly turns his look back to you, staring at him confidently with your hands on your hips.

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly through his modulator.

“For being such an asshole?” You say tilting your head.

“Yes. And assuming you were a prostitute.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex workers. I’m not offended that you mistook me for one.” You say. But….why does it kind of turn you on that he thought you were a whore? Ugh and why does it turn you on that he is such a jerk??

There’s an awkward pause as you both stand there examining each other.

“So, you’re also a…Pawa-don?” Din asks, trying to fill the quiet. He has never been uncomfortable with silence before, in fact, he more often than not preferred it. But right now for some reason he feels different.

“Padawan.” You correct him. “And yes.”

“So are you doing the same training as the kid?” He further probes.

“Kind of. Grogu is more in the elementary stages of training. His focus is mainly on developing and fine-tuning his sensation with the Force. Most of my training nowadays centers around my lightsaber mastery and combat.” You inform him.

“Hm. Wonder when you’ll be good enough to battle me.” Din says casually as he takes a breath.

“What?” You ask.

“I said I wonder when you’ll be good enough in combat to put up a fight against me.”

Is he serious? Is he trying to provoke you? Even after the predicament he just found himself in with you? “Ha….um….I was good enough to fight you years ago.” You declare

Din looks at you for a moment. “I’m a Mandalorian.” He says simply.

“.....”

“The Mandalorian who wields the Darksaber. So you’re either overestimating your own ability or underestimating mine.”

You take a deep breath and take a step closer to him. “I know most people think that Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy, but that’s because they don’t know of the Jedi Order. My connection with the force gives me strength that you will never know, that you will never be able to comprehend.”

Din takes a step closer to you. “That may be, but I have decades of combat experience that is simply unmatched by you, not to mention the most imperishable armour in the galaxy.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you would like to duel.” You say as you remove your saber from its holster and activate its blade. It’s a light lavender color, thin and sleek.

“That’s cute.” Din says. “Just a reminder, little girl. You were given that light saber. I won mine in battle.” He proclaims as he detaches his saber from his belt. *see gif*

“I made it. But fair point. Now enough talk, Mandalorian, are you ready to duel or what?” You say as you get into a battle stance.

Din holds his hand out. “If, by some miracle, you do happen to overpower me, don’t touch the saber. Bo-Katan is already mad enough that I have it, I can’t imagine what she’d do if a non-Mandalorian gets their hands on it again.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m well aware of the bizarre way that the ruler of Mandalore is chosen.”

“Alright then, princess, I won’t hold back.”

You feel heat rush through your core at those words. Princess. He won’t hold back. Uggh... focus! This guy has been demeaning you since the moment you met him, show him how powerful you are!

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

You and Din battle for a good seven minutes, the two of you are pretty evenly matched, neither one of you gains the upper hand for very long. Just as you’re feeling your strength falter, you’re able to knock his saber out of his hands, and you push him onto the ground. Din tries to get up and reach for his saber but you plant yourself on top of him, straddling him. He looks up at you in defeat.

He takes a deep breath as you stare down at him. That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. You’re sitting on his legs so that his bulge is right above your crotch.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins from your victory and a smile stretches across your face. “I have another quality that puts me at an advantage that I forgot to mention: your attraction to me and your primal desire to fuck me.” You say as you slowly place your hand on top of his clothed erection. You lean down and bring your face close to his helmet. “I bet your face is just bright red underneath this helmet of yours. Not only did you lose the battle, but your urges got the best of you.” You say in a condescending tone.

Din stares up at you, his chest moving up and down as he breathes.

“That’s where you and I differ.” You say. “A real warrior has self-control and self-restraint.”

Din moves his hands to your thighs and runs them up to your hips. “Who said I was trying to restrain myself?” He says in a raspy voice.

You’re a little caught off guard. You were teasing him, and this was not the reaction you were expecting. You thought he’d be embarrassed, you thought he’d want to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

“Face it.” You say after a pause. “You can’t repress your arousal, and your lack of self-control is a disadvantage to you.”

Din’s hands are still on your hips, and he pulls you up his body ever so slightly. “So since you have such great self-control, your panties wouldn’t happen to be wet right now, would they?” He inquires in a low, sultry voice.

You’re taken aback at his shameless words. “O-of course not.” You stutter as your confidence recedes.

“Let me see.” He demands flatly.

“What?” Did you hear him right? Your heart beat is pounding, you can’t tell if he’s joking around with you or not like you were doing with him.

“I said let me see.” Din says moving his gloved hands to the bottom of your skirt. “C’mon, pull this short little skirt up just a tad more and show me that your panties are dry.”

“N-no I–”

“Fine.” Din cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.” He says as he removes one of his gloves. He then moves his bare hand under your skirt up to your pussy, easily pushing the thin panties you're wearing aside and planting two fingers inside your sopping wet folds.

You jerk at the contact of his soft skin on your sensitive pussy. “Din!” You exclaim. You grab his hand, but don’t move it.

Din chuckles. “Looks like you don’t have as much self-discipline as you claim.” He brings his other hand and cups your cheek. “Awwww, your face is just bright red right now.” Din mocks.

“W-whatever, you still lost.” You say out as you’re overcome with humiliation.

“Mmmmm. Congratulations.” Din says lazily as he removes his hand from your cunt and grabs your hips once again. “So, y/n. You showed me how Jedi fight. Let me show you how Mandalorians fuck.” He says as he pulls your hips and grinds you against his bulge.

Your panties are still pulled aside and the friction of his clothed erection against your clit makes you whimper.

“You– you wanna fuck me?” You ask hesitantly.

“Ha. Of course I wanna fuck you. Look at you.” He says as he lifts you off of him to stand up. Standing tall, he towers over you and brings his non-gloved hand to your chin, pulling it up gently to meet his gaze.

The unexpected and prompt shift in the power dynamic has you all turned around. Just moments ago, your confidence was through the roof. You were giddy claiming your victory against him, making fun of him for getting a boner during a duel. But the tone between the two of you has completely changed. He has you weak and timid, he’s looking down at your wide doe eyes as if you’re his prey.

“Come on, little Padawan. Practicing self-control is great, but let me show you what it’s like to lose all control over yourself.” Mando says as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. “Cuz I would just love to tie you up and have my way with you.” He mutters. Dins hands slide down to your butt as he gropes your flesh, pulling you flat against him. “Let down your guard for just a moment and let me show you how rewarding it can be.” Din slips his bare hand back under your skirt to find your cunt even wetter than before. You let out a whimper and bat your eyes at him.

He starts slowly circling your clit, and moves his other hand up to caress your cheek softly. “Come on.” He whispers in your ear. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

High-pitched breaths are escaping your lips as he gently runs his thumb up and down your cheek bone.

“Can– can you not–” you breathe, sliding your hands up his chest.

“What. What is it?”

You pause for a moment. “Can you not be so gentle with me?” You say with slight embarrassment.

Din scoffs, “Oh baby girl, you’re gonna regret saying that.” He says as he grabs a fist full of your hair and roughly pulls your head back, exposing your delicate neck to him.

This harsh action sends shocks to your pussy. “Didn’t you say something about tying me up?” You purr with a slight smile, looking up into his visor.

“So I was right about you being a filthy fuckin whore.” Din spits as he shoves a finger inside of you, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Y-yeah, but only for you.” You whine as your eyes fall closed and high-pitched moans begin escaping your lips.

“Ohh that’s right baby.” Din praises. He’s so turned on by the way you’re speaking and responding to his touch, and he loves the impact he has on you. How you so quickly went from a confident fighter when he lost to you, to a shy little girl when he started teasing you, to a dirty slut once he got his hands in your panties.

He starts pumping his finger faster and you can hear the lewd noises your obscenely wet pussy is making. Your mouth opens even more with your moans becoming more pronounced and your back arches. You’re standing pressed flat up against him, he’s basically holding you up on your toes with one arm as his other hand drives into your cunt.

You can feel your orgasm just beginning to climb when you suddenly hear a beep on your watch’s intercom. It jolts you back to reality.

“Y/n, are you at the lounge? I’m heading back there now.” Your Master says through the intercom.

“Shit.” You say as you push Din’s chest, pulling yourself off of him. “I should have shown you to your accommodation by now.” You say as you frantically start looking around your feet for your saber. By the time you grab it and look up for Din, he has already made his way out the back exit.

You attach your saber to your hip as you try to steady your breathing, disoriented from the abrupt conclusion of whatever it was you were doing with Din. You hear Luke’s footsteps approaching as you quickly try to put your panties back in place, growling at how soaked they are. You’re praying that your Master doesn’t notice the wetness that has been smudged on your inner thighs.

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

You cannot believe what you did with Din. No one has ever done anything like that to you before. You get hit on all the time— you’re gorgeous— but you are almost never interested enough to give them the time of day. But Din? He had his fingers in your pussy after knowing you for ten minutes. How did he do that!?

It’s the early evening. You lie in your bed visualizing the events over and over again, heat pooling in your core as you replay the dirty things he said to you.

While it fuels your arousal, you also feel uneasy about the interaction. He left so quickly, and he left without saying a word to you, almost like nothing had happened. You hope that Din doesn’t think less of you, that he doesn’t think you’re some hussy who is easily persuaded into letting guys she just met finger fuck her.

You are pulled away from your anxious thoughts when you hear your intercom going off. It’s your friends talking about what they’re doing tonight. You don’t really care to pay attention, but you sit straight up in your bed when you hear something about that “Mandalorian who’s visiting the Academy,” and how he’s “at the cantina in town.”

You jump out of bed and without even thinking, you grab a sweater and head toward the parlor.

Your heart is beating on the chilly walk there. You hope he’s surprised to see you, you hope he’s excited to see you. You’re gonna act casual, yeah, like you didn’t even know he was there. No big deal! You’re just going to the cantina to hang with your friends. And then you see eachother, and bing bang boom, you guys are back in your room fucking while he calls you his little slut. Yes. This is gonna go great.

It’s a Friday night and the cantina is bustling. People are dancing, drinking, and gambling. It’s so loud that you can barely hear yourself think. As you make your way through the rowdy crowd, you spot Din’s helmet over the hordes of people. He is sitting in a somewhat secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant.

You proceed a few steps forward, lightly pushing people to get through the crowd, and then, your heart drops. He’s not sitting alone. There’s a girl, a woman, a sex worker, wrapped in his arm.

You stand there for a moment as everything goes quiet, you stare at Din and the beautiful woman in a tight short dress sitting beside him. She’s talking to him, saying things into the side of his helmet as he sits there looking forward with his arm casually draped around her, man spreading and all.

Din’s head turns and that’s when he notices you, standing there among the crowd of people in that same short high waisted skirt and a cropped sweater of the same color.

You feel something fall deep in your chest as you realize that he sees you. You blink a few times as the rest of your senses come back, humiliation and embarrassment overcoming you as you quickly turn around and stumble out of the bar.

You make your way into the dark street and take a few deep breaths before running back to the Academy. You're fighting off tears as you feel the cold air pinching every bit of your exposed skin.

You can’t believe that you let yourself become smitten by someone who was such an asshole. He mistook you for a whore, he insulted your combat skills, he pressed you to let him fuck you! You should have expected this.

A tear rolls down your cheek. Why did you think he liked you? He didn’t. He didn’t like you. And he didn’t want to fuck you, he just wanted to fuck someone, and you were the closest one to him. You let him use you. He must do this kind of shit all the time with women, you were nothing special.

You get back to your room and bury yourself under your covers, wanting to escape so badly from this reality.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

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

Masterlist

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

Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425 @beskarboobs @beskarboobs @smutslutz @princess-djarinn @spideysimpossiblegirl @riot-rotten

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars smut #mando x reader #pedro pascal smut #mandalorian smut #star wars fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #star wars x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian #mandalorian #pedro pascal #Star Wars smut #dubcon warning

[missblissy]

Human Alastor x reader playing Bowling? (Idk i just like that type of date hhaha) Maybe just them or maybe with friends

((>W>.............................. js I hate bowling. But I love you nonny, so for you..... I made this. ENJOY!! Sorry for the wait *cries*))

How goes bowling these days? Is that even still a thing? And why would anyone want to go bowling other than to drink? But no one drinks have the time... people just go for the pin and balls. Maybe it had to do with long and round phallic objects and balls rolling around. Regardless, your friends had dragged you to go bowling for whatever reason. And you decided to drag Alastor along because if you had to suffer, so did your boyfriend. It was also a bonus that he got along with your friends as well... some of them at least.

It was Charlie's idea mostly. She was someone who always wanted to go out and try new things. It was something she lived by apparently because this week's new activity was bowling at one of those dark neon allies with an arcade built-in. Charlie managed to talk her girlfriend, Vaggie, into coming too. Angel came because he also assumed there would be drinks but found out there wasn't a damn bar inside. You honestly had no idea how or why Husk was even there because he was completely and entirely miserable. If you had to guess it had something to do with you forcing Alastor to come.

Anyways, you and your little group of friends had found themselves staring down an alley with those silly little shoes on. Angel wouldn't wear his though, he wouldn't let their piss shade of yellow clash with his outfit.

You were sitting in plastic chairs next to Angel as you watched Charlie and Alastor go up next. You had two lanes so they went together. Angel sat next to you, he grabbed an arm behind you on the back of your chair and leaned in, "Five bucks says Allie gets the gutter," He whispered loud enough for Alastor to hear. You giggled as you saw your boyfriend's brow twitch and ignore the comment.

There was a second there that you were tempted to say something back to Angel but you were interrupted by the loud clash and computer saying "Strike!" You looked up and saw that Charlie was still holding her bowling ball. But walking away with a smirk on his face, Alastor's smug pride gleamed off him. The shock on everyone's face only made him boast to himself even more. When did Alastor find the time to get good at bowling.

As he sat down next to you, he threw Angel's arm away from you and replaced it with his own, though he was sure to wrap his fingers around your shoulder and bring you closer to him. He never liked Angel, and he was always so overly protective when it came to you anyways, so it wasn't welcomed that the boy was so close to you. Even if he was a guy. Competition is competition, it doesn't matter who they are, Alastor didn't like sharing you. Period.

"How... Did you do that?" You asked him.

Alastor shrugged and watched as Charlie threw her bowling ball right into the gutter, "I'm perfect at everything I do, dear." That was supposed to be satire.

Angel rolled his eyes and with a huff, he crossed his arms, "You can't fuck." He deadpanned.

Instincts kicked in and you ducked seconds before Alastor nearly climbed over you and punched Angel in the face. He missed and got him in the shoulder instead.

"Leave Alastor and his fuckless life alone," Husk said as he got up from his seat, "Some people are just better than the rest of us sexual deviants," He took his turn bowling soon after saying that. Vaggie went next as well. She choose to keep her mouth shut on all this.

But even Charlie had something to say, "Come on guys," She awkwardly waved her hands, trying to calm everyone down, "If you're going to fight take it outside this time. I don't want to get kicked out of another place of business..."

"He won't fight me, he'd know I'd deck him in the head and give 'em a one-two combo real quick like last time." Angel reminded everyone, and you all collectively remembered Angel clocked Alastor in the face at a bar after a heated argument. Alastor went out like a light and broke his nose on the way down. You looked at him and saw the little kink in his nose from that night.

You sighed and reached down into your pocket and pulled out your wallet. You grabbed a random twenty and handed it to Angel, "I'll give you this and two cigs if you go outside for ten minutes."

Angel gave you a snotty look, somewhat offended that you'd even offer such a thing. But he knitted his brows, snatched your twenty-dollar bill, and stole two cigarettes from the pack you left laying next to you on your seat, "I'm gonna find a bar on this fucking street- I'll be back later, losers."

You could still feel the rage simmer off Alastor even after Angel left. Though you didn't have time to say anything to him. It was your turn to go up. And now that Angel was gone, you didn't want to go up there and make a fool of yourself alone... Half your plan was to have Angel bowl next to you so that no one would notice how bad you were.

"Um-" You said as everyone waited for you to go, "I'd...uh... Um. I don't know hooow-" You were cut off as Alastor quickly got up and pulled you up with him.

He dragged you to the lane and got a bowling ball for you, "Hold this," He said. You noticed his anger from before had all but melted away. Alastor gave you a charming smile and stood beside you, "Copy me. Like when we dance."

You blinked at him a few times then did was he said. He held his hand up, pretending he had a ball. You copied him and did the same. He brought his hands to his chest, stepped forward, swung his arm back then forward again. You smiled at him and did the same, but you actually threw a ball. It rumbled down the lane and crashed into a couple pins. At least you didn't get the gutter.

"See? That easy," Alastor smiled at you. He place a hand on your arm and pressed a kiss on your cheek. He grabbed your hand in his and asked, "Do you want to see if they have any vending machines in the arcade? We can get some snacks?" Which was code for do you want to sneak away for a second?

"Sure," You quickly agreed while locking your fingers with his. The two of you scurried off with him. The second you were out of eyesight and safe behind a wall, Alastor gave you a more proper kiss.

He pulled away and asked, "Why did we come again?"

You shrugged, "Charlie asked." You simply said.

Alastor let out a huff then started walking with you towards the vending machines, "You can't really say no to someone like her..."

As you pulled out a few loose coins from your pocket and slipped them into the machine you laughed, "No, you can't." You both dearly loved your friendship with Charlie... But she could be a bit bossy sometimes.

The two of you collected an arm full of snacks and started walking back together, "Well, I say when we get home, we have a proper date."

You laughed and even lost a few snacks. You picked them up quickly and said, "You mean you cook us dinner and we watch a movie? That's not a proper date either, ya know."

Alastor smirked at you then nudged his arm into yours with a grin, "It is too because it'll be just us. Alone."

You rolled your eyes but still chuckled to yourself, "Alright, alright," You said, "What do you want to watch?"

He shrugged, "Don't care. I just want to make fried rice tonight."

You let out a huff of a laugh and passed out a snack to each of your friends while Alastor gave them a drink of some kind, "Fine. But I'm picking a TV show then because I just started watching something on Netflix."

"Aw, are you guys leaving?" Charlie asked with way too much sadness on her face.

"No, no-" You waved a hand slightly, "Alastor just doesn't think this is a proper date, so he has to make one up at home."

"What do you mean this isn't a proper date?" Vaggie threw a hand in the air, "All of us brought our partners! I mean- Angel left... So Husk is more like a third wheel at this point. This definitely counts as a group date or whatever."

"Call me old-fashioned, but you don't bring your friends on a date and there is no such thing as a group date," Alastor said as he cracked open a can of cola.

"What about a double date?" Husk asked from his seat while he tore open a bag of chips.

"This isn't a double date and even then those aren't real dates either. You're supposed to be somewhere nice, havea nice meal, share a few drinks. Share some stories and laughs with the one person you're interested in courting, then call it a night, done!" Alastor smiled to himself while everyone else collectively sighed. He was old-fashioned. (But you liked that about him.)

"This isn't 1955, Al. You can go on a date anywhere. Like here. What about going to the zoo? Could that be a date?" Vaggie asked.

Alastor thought about it, tapped a finger to his chin then gleefully said, "Nope! That's an outing!" Several people groaned but no one went on to feed into his banter.

You did hear Husk grumble under his breath "You need to go out to go on a date," But Alastor must have not heard it or choose to not say anything.

The rest of your night there wasn't that bad either. Angel did end up coming back, but not without his arms full of booze bottles of all kinds. They didn't serve drinks here but at least Angel was wise enough to buy some solo cups too. No one was really paying attention to the bowling anymore either. (You lost, not that you cared or anything.... You did.) Instead, you and your friends had gathered around in the arcade, drinking, laughing, playing games, and picking on each other harmlessly. You enjoyed every second of it, much to your surprise. Alastor did as well, though... He still insisted on his proper date once you got home.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #reader insert #alastor / you #alastor x you #alastor / reader #modern!au #human!alastor #human!cast #human!reader #ask #anon #nonny #answered

[butterfliesluke]

Ex trouble:

Request: Y/n and Luke are married. Luke's ex Sierra keeps bothering them tho even tho Y/n is pregnant. It goes as far as that they have to call the police.

Requested by: emmyb.allen1 (this is for a request no hate towards Sierra)

A/N: Sure thing! Enjoy!

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Y/n's POV:

The light breeze of summer air was hitting my face. My body sprawled out on the bed.

My back against Luke's warm chest as my eyes fluttered open. A smile on my lips as I felt warmth curled up against my belly.

Little paws pushed against it. Petunia has been always attached to me since the day I moved in with my at the time boyfriend.

Now Husband. But since I got pregnant she was practically guard dog.

I scratched her head smiling before turning around slightly. Luke's eyes shut closed.

His eyelashes laying against his cheeks. His hair messy against the pillows.

My finger went up to poke his cheek with a cheeky smile.

A groan leaving his lips as he opened his ocean blue eyes with a glare.

,,Just cause you are carrying my child doesn't mean you can be cheeky darling." He mumbled making me giggle.

A sudden ping interrupting my planned sassy remark.

His phone lighting up on his nightstand. I huffed annoyed.

Since Luke's ex found out about my pregnancy she apparently noticed how much she still loves him.

Don't understand me wrong. I always had respect for Sierra. But this is going to far.

,,If it's her again I will actually give birth and then jump out if the window." I laughed making Lu chuckle.

,,Don't stress about it love. It's bad for our little bean." He whispered against my lips before pressing a kiss against them.

He sat up grabbing his phone. Before slandering into the bathroom.

I sighed before turning to piggy who was now sitting up next to me.

,,Goodmorning pup!" I whispered smiling.

After we got ready for the day Luke and I decided to go out for lunch with the boys.

We all sat in the back of the little diner.

,,I'll have..the chicken Alfredo with garlic bread..but could I get the garlic bread on a different plate? I don't like my food touching." Michael murmured.

The waited giving him a side eye meaning he will definitely spit in our food after that.

Crystal shaking her head with a smile.

,,Ofcourse..I'll be back with your drinks." She sighed and turned around.

,,Why is she making such a fuss? It's literally her job!" I laughed as Luke wrapped his hand around my shoulder.

,,I don't know! Don't worry Mike." Ashton smiled patting his frowning friends back.

Whose eyes then went wide while looking behind me matching everyone's who was sitting opposite us.

,,Yall look like you saw a ghost!" Luke exclaimed turning around to.

A small curse leaving his lips making me and Calum turn around too.

,,Oh fuck no.." I spat as I watched the one person I least wanted to see walk in the diner.

Sierra. Today is not my day.

,,What the fuck is she doing here?" Kay asked confused as she walked up to our table with an annoying grin.

Luke grabbing my thighs and whispering calm words in my ear.

That didn't help my boiling self tho.

,,What a pleasant surprise! 5sos and their girls! And the one night stand that got pregnant." She teased with an smug pout.

A gasp leaving Crystal's lips.

,,Oh fuck no girl. You are not ruining our day." Luke laughed standing up.

,,Oh Luke..don't get so worked up! We both know she's just a phase." She scoffed.

What the hell. Everyone is looking at us.

,,Sierra I am literally married to him you you blind chicken." I giggled shaking my head.

,,Deaton. Leave before I fucking call the police." Calum threatened also standing up.

Suddenly a glas off tap water being placed infront of me making me realize the waiter is back.

Sierra eyeing the orange juice infront of Luke and the sprite infront of Kay.

Her grabbing them both and with a swing I felt it splash against my shirt and pants and a slap against my cheek.

A yell leaving my body as I looked at her with stunned eyes.

,,Babe! Omg was it something hot? Did it hit your stomach!? Someone call the police right now! " Luke ranted before cupping my face.

His eyes filled with worry and pain.

,,I'm alright lu. It's okay.." I reassured standing up.

,, You guys take a taxi home. We'll handle this from here." Michael spat looking at Sierra.

I nodded standing up with Luke guiding me outside.

I guess this is what it's like being married to a celebrity.

Ex trouble part 2:

Request: Can I Have a Part two where Sierra feels so Guilty

Requested by: emmyb.allen1

A/N:Ofcourse! I tried my best! Hope yall like it was very requested by all of you♥️

THIS IS JUST AN IMAGINE. THE MENTIONED TOPIC DOES NOT APPLY TO SIERRA IN REAL LIFE. WE LOVE HER (no really. I am practically obsessed with her.)

Luke's POV:

It's been a week since the drama all happened.

And I'm still worked up about it. What is the liquid would have been hot? It would have burned her skin.

No matter how much I used to love Sierra. This has gone too far.

The constant stalking, messages, drama.

I'm married for God sakes. The moment she got physical the line got overstepped.

,,What are you still fuming about?" A sweet voice asked making me turn around.

Y/n waddled into the kitchen. Her belly looked like it could explode any second.

Her signature dimply smile flashing across her face.

,,The Sierra thing..." I murmured as she sat down next to me.

Her head falling on my shoulder as her perfume went up my nostrils.

My heart beating faster by the second.

,,Oh Lu. Stop stressing. It turned out fine. She won't bother is anymore." She whispered as I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Management has finally decided to do something about this mess allowing me to be able to never let Sierra near us again.

,,I know...but-"

My sentence got interrupted by the door bell.

Y/n furrowing her eyebrows. ,,Are the boys coming over?" She asked making me shake my head.

,,Mhm maybe it's Crys." She shrugged pressing a kiss to my cheek and standing up.

Running to the door as best she could. A grin on my face. I'm so madly in love.

My day dreaming cut off once I heard a loud ,,LUKE!!" from the hallway.

The Luke that mostly comes when either she is upset with me or she needs me instantly.

My mind running a mile per hour. Did I order something stupid again?

Oh God what did I do?

Jumping up I quickly ran to the door.

My eyes widening as I saw who stood infront of the door.

,,Yeah no. What are you doing here?" I asked crossing my arms, standing next to the shocked Y/n.

Sierras guilty face dropping some more.

I know that face. She really felt bad for something.

,,Luke.. Y/n..I don't know what got into me to be honest. I was hoping I could apologize and maybe explain myself." She muttered.

Her gaze fixed to the ground.

,,There's nothing to ex-" ,,Hush! Sierra this is the last chance. If you try to pull a thing like that again I don't wanna see you again." Y/n, miss sometimes too kind hearted, said.

Sierra had a small smile on her lips before nodding. Us stepping aside and walking into the living room.

,,She better have a good reason." I grumbled making Y/n push me slightly.

,,Negative Nelly.." she spat shaking her allowing me to roll my eyes.

We sat down on the couch. Si taking a huge breath before starting to speak.

,,Firstly..I wanted to say how truly sorry I am. I should not have lashed out on you especially since you are carrying a Child." She said.

Her eyes screaming -I really mean it this time-

A small nod coming from Y/n.

,,And Luke. I really do care about you. I'm sorry for hanging on you even tho you are married." She explained.

My dark eyes turning a shade lighter as I nodded too.

,,The thing is..when I found out your pregnant...my heart shattered." She admitted.

Unexpectedly her eyes filling with fresh tears.

Y/n's face dropping as if she knew something.

,,I-I can't have kids. I found out two months ago." She cried out.

Y/n's eyes filling with tears aswell as I gasped. Even tho she practically turned my life upside down..I was still in love with her a while ago.

,,Oh my..Sierra I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed as Y/n put her hand on hers.

,,I got so jealous and I'm sorry!" She sobbed making our heart shatter.

,,oh shh it's okay..I can't imagine how you feel." Y/n cooed rubbing her shoulder.

My arm coming around Y/n's shoulder as I placed my hand on Sierra's thigh.

Y/n was my everything. My whole world. And her allowing me to have a child is the best gift in the world.

But I can tell the excitement on her face when we talk about welcoming our baby into the world.

She will be an amazing mother and her love for our child is already so huge.

So passionate.

I can't imagine how it is for a woman to find out that she will never be able to have children.

Pulling her into a hug we all stayed close to her.

And in the end...our little girl and Sierra got along so well.

#5 seconds of summer #5sauce #5sos fluff #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin imagines #fanfic #reading #romance #writing #writers on tumblr #luke hemming imagines #luke 5sos #luke hemmings #michael clifford imagine #michael 5sos #michael clifford #calum hood x y/n #calum hood imagine #calumthomashood #ashton irwin #relationship

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

#anna writes #this prompt rly sent me into a tailspin of emotion #Anonymous

[henqtic]

𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘦 𝘈 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader 

word count: 2.3k

summary: Draco Malfoy. His name was registered in your mind as your enemy, plain and simple. A platinum blonde idiot who you’d find much more likable if he’s just shut up everyone in a while. But what would happen if your parents arranged for you both to attend the yule ball together- would some hidden feeling shine their way out? 

warnings: mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of feeling anxious, feelings of self doubt, kissing, angry love confession, crying, a little angst, please contact me if theres more !

a/n: Also this is an au where the yuleball is in seventh year and no Voldemort <3

masterlist.  // gif creds // taglist form.

When Dumbledore announced the yule ball to the school in the middle of the dinner, you were a bit excited. Excited at the idea that you’d have the chance to be asked to the dance by some nice boy and that could potentially lead to a relationship.

But being born into a family like yours, you couldn’t hope for much. Not even a week after they got the news, your mother and father made an arrangement with the Malfoy’s that you would have to attend the ball with their son Draco.

You could've sworn they had been trying to set you both up for some kind of arranged marriage. Maybe them pushing you together was a way to soften a blow when it finally happened? But still, out of any one they just had to choose him.

You had grown up with him, Draco, and if you hadn't already known— he was what you called a... bitch boy. He’d tattle about small things, throw a few temper tantrums, and cry to get his way. This is why even though your families had been so closely connected for years, centuries even— he was your enemy and nothing could change that.

That fact wasn’t hidden from your parents, not in the slightest. They saw the numerous dirty looks you’d throw at each other when you thought no one looking, not to mention the childish pulling of hairs and elbowing with shoulders.

But they also saw the good things about your relationship, how'd you do little things for each other that made a bigger impact than you thought, like it was second nature.

Like whenever another dinner party would come up where there were random families of investors, business owners or, just more snooty rich people— Draco would always make sure you were seated right next to him in the case that both of you had to show up.

It honestly wasn’t that much of a big deal from his view point. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that you found yourself uncomfortable around new people and him saving you a seat was just common decency.

And there was always little moments where they’d find you both curled into each other after one of the tense meetings you had to attend seeing as you’d be graduating soon and still had the responsibility of up keeping your family names once you were adults.

Draco would be there tenderly playing with your hands and venting. Because while he did come off as confident about everything in his life, how he had both the Malfoy and Black fortuned to fall back onto, you could tell he was still scared of the future— of growing up.

That fear is also what led to the very rushed apology he had offered to the golden trio for his past behavior. You did have to physically push him into them and he did choke up on the words of kindness that were supposed to make the apology sincere but he still did it.

They hadn't forgiven him of course, they just sort of stared like some one had cast an unforgivable curse on the boy seconds before, but at least they were now, they were civil towards each other.

And even though you did do those things for him, that didn’t stop you from not wanting to do this and neither did it stop you from impatiently waiting outside of the great hall doors.

Your dress was made out of nothing less of the finest fabrics and silks you could get your hands onto. You knew it wouldn't make a single dent into your families Gringotts account but you felt that the purchase would make some sort of statement.

“You’re five minutes late,” you seethed, watching as a head of white-blonde hair finally round the corner. His hands brushed his jacket in a smug manor, getting rid of the invisible dust particles.

It really wasn’t that much time, many other students could still be found wither waiting for their dates or just standing around to show up ‘fashionably late’.

But you knew Draco had spent those minutes staring at himself in the mirror and fixing his oh so perfect hair.

“Some of us like to look good when showing up to these things,” he sneered before eyeing you in disgust.

“Oh please, this dress cost more than the gel you have piled in your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you along with a scrunch of his nose as he offered you the junction between his folded arm to lead you down the steps.  

The night had gone pretty well so far, both of you somehow never finding the right time to leave the others side as you had planned. It seemed as if your friends had all decided to hide themselves away from you both— like they were planning something. Of course, they were.

Blaise fucking Zabini

That idiot talked Professor Flitwick into playing a slow song, one that every couple had to join in on. And while that did sound good at eye view, you had to sign a paper at the begging saying if you coming as a couple or single. And the only people who had signed single to not face embarrassment were the staff—not counting Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Was this real, you being the living cliche of dancing with your enemy?

“If you step on my shoes one more time, I’ll leave you,” he growled into your, tightening his grip on your waist. Yeah, it was.

“What do you think I’ll do? Cry?” You asked in a mocking tone, sticking out your stuck your bottom lip out in a pout to taunt him even further.

Suddenly your front was pressed up against his back— your attention had been else where. Else where being reaching the goal of getting on his last nerve so when a husky voice whispered in your ear, you were shocked.

“Oh don’t act like I haven’t made you cry before.” He turned you back around swiftly, the only thing indicating what had just happened being the proud smirk on his face.

“Says you. Weren’t you the one who cried over a guy asking me out in fifth year?” You challenged, bringing up the incident that happened two years ago.

He hadn’t cried but he might as well have and you just needed something to tick him off for the moment. Whatever he had just did caused something to happened within you, and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet.

It was a situation that the blonde deeply wanted to regret—George Weasley asking you out. You and Draco had been finishing up on your work in the courtyard when he had invited himself to sit in between you and Draco and then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

Draco hadn't given you the chance to answer, a new found jealously fueling him to gather both of your things and drag you away from the scene.

He knew the chances were slim that you would reject the boy, and deep down tucked inside of him, Draco knew that the Weasleys were better than him— in some aspects.

Over the years Draco had found himself growing into a separate person from his parents, a person who had could think on their own and didn’t have to rely solely on his parents' truths.

And through that process, he realized that maybe his ideals were not the best out there. Including the way he treated many of his pears even if he was too proud to say it out loud.

That being said, he always stayed up wondering while you stayed. Why’d you even stick with him in the first place. And that’s what Brough him to find out his second greatest fear, loosing you.

Yes, you were insufferable at times, but you were still you. Someone that he liked having around and talking too. And someone that listened to him even if it was something as stupid as why gingers exist and why they shouldn't.

Yes that was an actual conversation that you had. In conclusion, you were a person he loved. But he never did think to tell you that because, why risk losing you over something that was most likely unrequited.

“I was protecting your future y/n. Would you like for your children to come out as gingers,” he spat as if what he had just made complete sense.

“Draco I was fifteen and he was sixteen at the time and we barely ever talked before that because you were always bad-mouthing his family.”

Now that you think of it, he had always been this way about you and boys. It was an ongoing thing where it didn't matter what blood type, what house, which people they associated themselves with, they were always ‘below you and you could find better’.

“Why do you always meddle in my relationships?” You were irritated. Maybe it was the close proximity of your bodies or maybe it was how oblivious he was.

“Meddle? You’ve never even been in a relationship,” he snorted making your point clearer than day.

“Exactly. Why are you so jealous of me wanting to break out of whatever shell we have enclosed over each other? What if I want to branch out and you know, talk to new people?”

Ouch.

It didn’t hurt that you considered him to be somewhat of an enemy, it was your thing—but you didn’t even consider him to be a friend?

“Alright then when about Pansy? I tried to break out of our ‘shell’ as you call it when I started talking to her.”

“Parkinson was not good for you then and now even more. We both know that.”

You weren’t a person who used the word hate. In most times it was used out of anger and would be regretted later on. But Pansy Parkinson? She was very deserving of the title of someone that you hated.

Commenting on someone else’s hair when she had been walking around with a bowl cut for the last last five years? It didn’t make sense to you how she always found a way to put her input in places where it truly wasn’t needed.

“Yeah alright. Then who is good enough for me y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know me,” you mumbled under your breath not expecting him to hear it— but he did.

That’s how you found yourself once again getting dragged away. But this time it was form the great hall to a more private place where none of the ears of Hogwarts could hear you both.

“What do you mean you’re good enough for me?” He asked with more disgust in his tone than wanted, and it crushed you.

You scoffed before going on, “Well I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Would it be so horrible to consider me good enough for you?” You asked watching as some emotion flickered past his eyes.

“I mean I know so many dumb things about you like how you hate the feeling of those sweaters that your mother always buys you and you turn them inside out. And then when she ask if you're wearing them you aren't lying to her face. Do you know how cute that is, that you don’t even harbor the ability to lie to your mum about something as small as that?”

Cute?

“And don’t get me started on how your favorite food is not that ridiculously priced stake that you try convincing people- even me. I know that it’s that tomato soup that your mum makes when you’re sick because it reminds you of being a kid. And guess what? I don’t even let the house elves make it for you when I say that they do—”

“Then who does y/n?” He asked softly while slowly bringing you to be trapped between his arms by one of the thick walls. He always had the suspicion be never thought you’d actually—

“Well I uh- I do it myself because I want it to have the same feeling of home as it always does and I sort of asked your mum the exact details on how to cook it like she does,” you explained peering up to look into his eyes.

“You hate the smell of tomatoes,” he said with a light laugh, it wasn’t out of amusement but pure adoration. Never did he think that you’d actually do that for him— of course, you were there when he was sick but it was more of making fun of his ‘weak immune system’ and throwing tissues at him.

“Well I love you more and don’t pretend like you don’t slip those house elves thank you letter—” You were once again cut off but instead it was by his hand reaching the side of your jaw to look up at him fully.

“Repeat that,” he whispered with a small smirk.

oh no

Tears started to cloud your vision, the realization hitting that you had may just ruin your relationship with your childhood- enemy- friend- frenemy?

“Don’t cry I’m not- I’m not mad at you. I’m happy, unbelievably so. I just need you to repeat exactly what you just said to me,” he said moving both hands to cup your face giving his thumbs access to wipe the liquid from under your eyes.

“I love you Draco and I’m sorry that I ruined this. We could honestly just forget it if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to forget anything. Would it be a surprise if I told you that I loved you back and that I have for a long time?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he serious, or was this some sort of sick joke?

Noticing the worries floating around in your head, he gave you a look, one that wordlessly asked that if the next move he was going to make was the right one and that you would both be fine after.

And it was

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[uhgoodmoni]

I’ll Sleep on the Floor | JJK

Summary: Eunjae (oc) and Jungkook aren’t really friends. Like, at all. Actually Eunjae hates Jungkook’s guts. The real issue is that they both are best friends with Seokjin, who wishes that they would just get over their seemingly petty hatred for one another. So to try and solve that Jin invites them to a trip in Greece. Should be fun in paradise? But paradise turns to disaster when a flight gets delayed... they need a hotel and... There’s only ONE bed??

Warnings: Angst cause I always have angst, some fluff ig, idk this ones pretty chill tbh, implied anxiety 

(14,286 words) 

Ao3 | Wattpad

~

 With my suitcase trailing behind me, wheels scoring the tiles, I walk towards my gate. The first flight was easy up until the end. I napped restfully the entire time but as we came to Tbilisi International Airport in Georgia, the captain had announced that the descent would have rough turbulence because of the storm that was starting. Rough turbulence indeed, a few storage bins had opened up, allowing passengers belongings to fall to the cabin floor. My items were safe, luckily, but the woman seated in front of me had gotten a book to the face. We landed safely and that really was the only thing to be concerned about. Thunder echoed throughout the airport, the flash of lightning shining through the windows. This was bad, very bad. The second flight I would take, Tbilisi air to Athens air. Would it get delayed? I pray not as I walked towards the gate.

Seokjin and I had planned the trip to the T, the next departure an hour and a half after the time we’d land in Tbilisi. A shame we even had to have a layover but our last minute planning had cursed us with that. 

I feel like calling Jin now that I have service. Or wifi anyway. So I pull out my phone as I continue my stroll. The airport here is not as busy as Incheon, but still bustling with more people than expected at 8pm. 

“Did you make it?” I smile at Jin’s voice coming through the speaker of my phone, only seventy percent. I should charge it before the next flight. 

“No, the plane crashed in a fiery accident and I’m calling from my deathbed.” I glance around, looking for a map, or a guide or something that would tell me if I was headed in the right direction. 

“Ah, good to know. The beach is waiting here for you. The sun is setting now.”

I look out the window, “I’ve got bad news.” 

“What?” He asks, his voice changing to worry after hearing the change in my own tone. “Has Jungkook’s flight not landed yet?” 

I shake my head, “No, no. I don’t know where he is. I haven’t even got to my gate yet.” Looking for Jungkook? As if I could care if his plane landed or not. Hopefully it hasn’t and I can fly the final stretch to Greece alone. “There's a storm, it's thundering and I’m not sure if it is going to stick around or not. I haven't checked if our flight is on time.”

He hums, “Well figure it out and let me know.” I nod, seeing the flight list a little further down, just small enough in my vision not to see it yet. Jin stays on the line as I walk.

I glare up at the lit up sign. “Isn’t it supposed to be clear weather here.” I groan, red sign in Georgian, and next to it in English. Delayed. 

“That doesn’t sound good? Delayed?”

I sigh, “Yeah.” I look towards where I think my gate is and see the correct number. A few attendants were talking to passengers. “I’m gonna go find out how long. I’ll call you back.” 

He hums and hangs up first, he’s probably upset, he’d already been in Greece the whole day alone. He’d just have to wait. It’s not like I have any other choice. 

The passengers are complaining of course, their nags getting to my ears before I am close to the desk. Their questions were “How long really is it?” and “you’re joking right?” But some of the other’s I didn’t understand because they weren’t speaking English or Korean. 

I look around the gate, seeing that dreaded face sitting in the waiting area. He smiles at me, but only because he knows I’m unhappy to see him. I try not to let him get to me, and I walk towards him instead of the desk. Surely he already knows. Which I’m sure he does because his face turns to a frown as I get closer. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” he mutters as I reach him, standing up to face me. “But the flight is delayed.”

I shake my head. Yeah I already know that. “How long?” 

He shrugs, “They haven’t said how long yet.” 

“What?” I flip to the attendant at the desk. “How do they not know?”

Jungkook smirks, “It’s nice to see you by the way. And you look just great.” He says, and he’s being sarcastic. I glare and then remember to soften my face because I was sure I looked like a bitch to the poor attendant behind the desk who was already surrounded by Karens. 

“Seriously?” I take a deep breath, holding in my feelings that are already about to explode. Fifteen minutes in the airport and only one minute in his presence and I was ready to punch him. 

“All I said was that you look great and it’s nice to see you.” He shrugs, that smug grin never leaving his face. “And all you have to say is seriously? Can’t even greet me back?”

I ignore him, seeing an open opportunity to speak with the attendant and slip between the shoulders of two others. “Hi excuse me, this flight is delayed right?”

The person nods, “Yes I am so sorry.” But they don’t say anything else. 

“Is it possible you could tell me when it’s going to take off?” I pursue further, but the attendant looks dejected, making me think Jungkook was right. 

“Georgia isn’t a country where storms this bad come in. This is probably the worst storm they’ve seen this summer. We just don’t have an exact time right now.” 

“You’re joking right?” I sigh to myself, and then cringe realizing I sound like everyone else who is surrounding them. “I’m sorry, actually is there any information that you can give me?”

The attendant frowns, speaking to all of us now. “It’s likely that this flight will be canceled within the hour.” They pull out a map of the airport from under the desk. “For rescheduling you’ll want to go here. They point to a dot on the far end, “It should be easy to get one within the next day or so.” My eyes widen. Day or so? I look back to Jungkook who looks equally as worried.

I thank the attendant and return to my luggage and Jungkook at the benches. “What do we do?”

He glances at the hoard of people heading away from the gate, “Try and get on a flight that’s open I guess.” He sighs, pulling up his phone and dialing for Jin.

I bite my lip, glancing and seeing that the people were all heading off to do the same thing. Our stress-free flight that was planned to the T was no longer in sight. And now the line of those trying to do the same thing as us, would make it take even longer.

“Hey…” I turn to Jungkook who sits back down in the chair. “They are advising us to find another flight. Something for tomorrow or the next day…” He’s talking to Jin, whose voice I hear on the other end. Much more upset than he was earlier. I try and listen in as I sit next to Jungkook, the nagging feeling that I should go get us a spot in line urging me to bite at the inside of my mouth even more. But the line would be long whether I went now or waited with Jungkook. 

“Yeah I know… I’m really sorry Jin.” Jungkook says and then faintly I hear an ‘its not your fault’ and then an ‘room service here is good’ I smile at this, hoping that Jin would make the best of our late comings. “We are going to wait until they cancel it and then I guess see what kind of flights there are. I’ll call you then okay?”

I shake my head. He decided for the both of us. I open my mouth as he finally hangs up the phone but he speaks before I can. 

“Listen Eunjae, before you get all gripey with me, I think we should wait because if we go and buy new tickets just to find out that this attendant was wrong and the flight doesn’t get canceled that would fucking suck.” My mouth shuts and Jungkook grins. For now I would listen to him. 

Twenty minutes later the sign changed to cancel. Jungkooks defeat, not that it brings me joy. But if anything is going to make me smile in this situation it would be that Jungkook is wrong. 

“What if they only have one seat?” I grin at the thought of this. “Can I buy the first flight out?” Jungkook rolls his eyes. 

“Jin might despise you.” He retorts, dragging along one more smaller suitcase than me. I know he was right and stop thinking about the idea. Jin would be furious. Maybe more than Jungkook knew. 

Before we had planned the trip Jin had come to me very angry, (as angry as he lets himself get) and very sad that his two best friends hate each other's guts. He had said it made him anxious and he wasn’t sure if either of us would stick around him because of the other. 

Which had never crossed my mind. Of course I hate everytime Jin tells me Jungkook would be at an event or would be tagging along with us but I didn’t think that it bothered Jin. To be honest it looked like it stressed him out more than Jungkook and I. Which I understand. It is hard to be the middleman. 

No, I never thought about not hanging out with Jin because of Jungkook. Well maybe I was lying. But it was never a permanent thought in my head. Rather it was fleeting in moments that I found out Jungkook would be coming and I didn’t want to go that night anymore. I always told Jin that there were ways to schedule us around eachother, and he’d pretend to listen. Which genuinely upset me, because Jungkook is an asshole. An asshole who I hate, and Jin should listen to how I feel too. But I never tell him that. Instead I agreed to go to Greece with the two of them. Jungkook completely unaware that this is basically a bonding experiment. 

“The earliest flight I can put you both on together is tomorrow evening at 5 pm” Which is extremely disappointing. Regardless, we don’t have another choice, so we laid out some money for the flight. Now another decision would have to be made. To stay in the airport and sleep on the floor, waiting hours and hours on end, or to get a hotel just outside of the airport. “With or without you I am getting out of this place.” Jungkook groans, and for once I agree with him and in silence we find our way to the exit. “I called a hotel that’s pretty close.” I say putting the phone down, exhausted as we had just gone through security. “They said we are lucky there are two rooms open so last minute.” Jungkook only grunts in response, hailing a cab for us. I sigh, which is the most either of us lets out the entire car ride to the hotel except to thank and pay the driver. 

Neither of us speak when we exit either, heading into the hotel side by side but far apart. Despite the silence so obviously caused by resentment towards each other, I don’t try to fix it. I’ll save my energy for the rest of the trip, while in Seokjin’s presence. 

We check in, and pay our own separate ways. A two hundred dollar expense that I wasn’t expecting to pay, but because it’s so last minute the prices for just one night were high. 

“Heres your key cards. Hope you enjoy your stay.” The receptionist has a small smile and ushers us along. We aren’t the only people checking in.

I finally break the silence. “I think my room is in the other direction…” I announce and he looks back at me with a curt nod. 

“Well if you need anything you have my number.” He says before turning around. “Be safe.” is barely heard as I turn around too. I don’t mutter ‘you too’ back because he’s already walking off. 

As I walk off towards my room I let out a deep breath of relief. Glad that the silence wasn’t forced anymore. I seriously don’t know what Jin was thinking. A week trip with just the three of us? It is going to suck, and probably for all of us. Maybe that’s why Jin’s destination is Greece, a place we could try and relax amongst agonizing company. Jin’s trying at least and, since he cares so much I’ll put in my effort. Or at least try to. 

I text Jin that we finally got to a hotel and that I would message him before our flight tomorrow. He responds with a smiley and a goodnight. I smile, hoping that he was having a good night too.

By the time I get to my hotel room I am giddy with the idea of jumping in bed. My arm is tired from dragging my suitcase and my back hurts from the airplane seats. Not to mention my aching brain from the practically pointless conversations with Jungkook. Seriously did he not even care to at least make some small talk? He spoke things of such little importance. ‘You look great’ He could have asked some questions about how I was doing or something worth conversation. Or at least make it genuine. However, would it have been worse to hear him speak more? 

I pull the card up against the slot, a beep and then a red light blinking. Red is never a good sign. And what do you know the door doesn’t unlock. What a joke. I look down at my stuff debating whether to leave it by the door or take it all the way back to the lobby with me. Then I decide that leaving everything on my person in a foreign country is stupid and I pull the luggage back. 

“Hi what can I help you with?” It’s a different attendant this time, and I slide the card to them 

“Hi, um I’m in room 128 and my key wont work.” 

They nod a few times, taking the key and inserting it somewhere. She types up some things on the computer and then. “Mr Hamira?”

I shake my head. “No it should be under Ha, Ha Eunjae” They seem confused and double check. They shake their head. 

“I’m sorry we…” they purse their lips, typing in something else. “I’m sorry one moment.” So I stand there wondering if the earlier receptionist was wrong. There weren't two rooms, and instead had given me a room that someone else was in. Fuck I hope not. 

“Well, you’re name is there. I have your receipt here… but someone else already has this booked out as well…” I swallow. Damnit. I nod. “Are you sure?”

They frown and then reach for the phone. “I’ll call the room to see if anyone is in it.” So she dials it up and a moment later an answer. My heart drops. I’ll have to find another room? And if they don’t have one? Then I’d call another hotel. I don’t want to think about what I would do if there aren’t any open hotels for the night. Why’s it so damn busy at this hotel? “Sorry sir for waking you, we just wanted to check…” I open my phone googling a nearby hotel. “Is there any other rooms?”

The receptionist puts the phone down shaking her head. “Not tonight I’m afraid. I’m so sorry, do you remember the name of the person who sold you this room?” I shake my head, not really caring for them to get reprimanded. “I will refund your money right now.”  I bite my lip. Damn, what was I going to do?

“Okay.” I mutter dialing the phone to the next closest hotel. They answer but no good news, they were booked out for the rest of the week. 

“We have a festival going on nearby that’s why.” She frowns, “I’m sorry…”

I don’t really care, it’s not her fault, but as I call the next hotel and the next and the next all within an hours radius I realize there’s no hope. I could travel the two hours to the next hotel but… I find myself seated in the lobby head pressed against my suitcase. I feel like throwing up, crying and screaming all simultaneously. 

Jin crosses my mind and for a moment I think about calling him, but I decide not to bother him. It is my own problem to deal with. Though I can imagine him saying something like “your problems are mine and vice versa.” Blah blah, he cares too much. I frown, thinking about how bad the trip is going to be. I wonder if Jin dreads it as much as me. Does Jungkook dread hanging out with me as much as I do him? He must. After all he thinks that ‘I’m a stuck up cunt’ and many other things I don’t feel like replaying. I frown, how misogynistic and cruel. But I don’t linger on his past words and instead his most recent flutter into my thoughts. 

Well if you need anything you have my number.

So because I have no other ideas, I pull open my phone and search him up. There was nothing.

Fuck. Of course not, I never saved his number. I hate his guts. For a moment I hate my own guts. How stupid could I be, not saving his number? Any number of emergencies could have occurred where I might need to contact him. 

I cave, realizing who I need to ask, and open our text messages.

‘you’re really asking for his number’

‘yes dont ask i just rlly need it oki???’

‘mhm, why don’t you ask him yourself ;)’

‘jin give me his number’

I roll my eyes, but another text comes and it's a phone number. I stare at it for a moment. Do I text or call? And then I think about doing neither, I could just bear with the two hour drive. I close the message. Honestly getting a cab for two hours would be expensive. But not more expensive than the time I’ll be stuck with Jungkook. Plus I’ll have to sleep on the floor. It would be rude to ask to take the bed… Fuck. 

So I call a cab, the line ringing and my head buzzing with regret. How expensive would this ride be? Not to mention I’d have to get another cab back to the airport tomorrow? My teeth tear into the skin in my mouth, this time the taste of iron filling at my tongue. 

“What are you doing out here?” I jump at the sound of his voice, turning to see Jungkook standing with his wallet in hand. 

I don’t know how to explain but settle with “They sold me a room they don't have.”I stutter thinking how stupid I must look still sitting in the lobby with all my stuff. I was sure to look a mess, almost crying. He looks over to the receptionist who is speaking to someone else. I look at the clock on my phone, still waiting for an answer. It is almost eleven. 

“Is there another hotel?” He mutters not even looking back at me. 

“No, well. There is one but it’s two hours away.” 

His eyes widen as he opens his wallet. “Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t be joking.” I say, my voice raising. I am not in the mood right now. He doesn’t respond. “I’m trying to call a cab.” I take the phone away from my ear as it goes to voice mail. The message is in a language I don’t know. “Fuck.” I hang up. Putting my phone on my lap.

“Did you already rent a room at the other hotel?” He asks, looking longingly to the vending machines. 

My jaw clenches. “No.” I spit at him, “They won’t fucking take my money over the phone, because of this damn.” I choke, “This.. Damn festival.” I sniff, pressing my hands against my cheeks that were now rosy and warm. 

“What kind of festival?” 

I blink, a tear falling from my eye. “I don’t fucking know.” I almost yell, the receptionist looking over. A few more tears drip down my cheeks. I wipe them hastily away. 

Jungkook takes a seat next to me. “I’m sorry… I didn’t ask to piss you off..” he sighs, “I wasn’t thinking.” he presses his lips together looking anywhere but me, “you’re not going anywhere, that’s stupid.” I wipe away more stupid tears as he continues. “It’s just one night you can come to my room…” He sighs, eyes falling to his hands. 

“Really?” I sniff.

He glares at me even though I was really asking. “Yeah don’t ask again or your calling that cab.”

My smile is small while I stand with him, awkwardly following him to the vending machines and watching as he glanced over his options. He finally just chose a water bottle and some m and ms. 

“Do you want anything?” He asks me, and I shake my head softly. Still a foggy mind from the anxiety attack I narrowly dodged.

He buys another water and hands it to me. We quietly walk back towards his room. The receptionist was staring, probably conjuring what kind of person would pick a stranger to stay in their hotel room. Little does she know, we actually know each other.

As we got to his room and he taps the key on the door, I will myself to speak again. “you didn’t have to…” but I only mumble the words.

He pops a chocolate in his mouth and looks down at me. “What? It’s just water.”

“No…” I frown as he kicks open the door. “letting me stay with you.” 

He shrugs as we enter the hotel room. “I said don’t mention it, otherwise you’re back on the street.” Despite sounding serious I can tell that he’s not. I shuffle to the side of the room leaving my suitcase on the side. 

“I can sleep on the floor…” 

“Ew what? No, that's disgusting.” He shakes his head, and unzips his suitcase. He stands there a moment before pulling out some clothes. I stand there idle as he walks around me, closing himself off into the bathroom. 

He is right, that is gross. But I don’t want to take his bed? Would he sleep on the floor? How annoying, I know that if it were the other way around I’d be pissed. I should have just gotten the other hotel. I could have napped on the drive and been fine. Although I wouldn’t want to be alone with some driver for two hours. It would probably be a man, and he might be creepy. 

“Eunjae are you okay?” Jungkook has come out in sweats and a tshirt. I stare at him a second, but not for any reason other than he spoke to me.

“Oh, yeah.” I realize I’ve been standing in the same place since I got in the room and so I decide that I’ll follow in his footsteps, taking out a pair of shorts and a tshirt I had packed for pajamas. 

He squints at me, walking around back to the other side of the room. “You’re being weird…” 

“Sorry.” I mutter going into the bathroom to change. Although I knew I would look tired, when I found myself in the mirror I looked worse than I thought. My eyes are red and puffy from fatigue as well as crying. I roll my eyes at myself. It was a stupid reason to cry. I try not to think about the day that had gone wrong so I distract myself by changing. It is in the past now so it doesn’t really matter. But still, I don’t want to be on another flight tomorrow and I don’t want to be in this room, but I don’t want to be anywhere else either. I just want to be in Greece already. Drinking and sitting on the beach with Jin. 

After changing I brush my teeth and wash my face. I am ready to pass out. I come back out to the room and Jungkook is playing some videos on his phone. He is laid out on the left side of the bed, already under the covers. Two pillows separate the two sides of the bed. It is only a queen sized bed, and Jungkook isn’t small so there is only just enough space for me.

“What?” He glares at me. And it bothers me because I’ve done absolutely nothing to him. 

“N-nothing.” I say, plugging my phone in and stepping to the bed. Really I never did anything to him the entire time we had known each other. And yet he is such an asshole. I take a seat, but really I don’t want to get in the bed. It’s weird. 

I hear Jungkook sigh as I stare at my phone. “We aren’t twelve you know.”

“I am aware Jungkook. That doesn’t mean I want to sleep in the same bed as you.” I shoot, back to my regular self.

He huffs, “For one night only. You’ll never get the chance again.” He winks when I turn staring daggers at him. 

I ignore this and pull myself under the covers. If I ever am going to fall asleep tonight in the presence of that demon I will have to start getting comfortable now. 

We both fall into a silence. The only sounds being the rain hitting the window, the air conditioner, and the tiktoks he's scrolling through. The light is still on so I don’t close my eyes yet. Instead I think about what Jin had asked of me. He won’t want me to fake it. No fake smiles, or being a bitch back to Jungkook after he’s been an asshole. I will have to genuinely be nice to him. How can I do that when he’s only being an ass to me all time? Be honest with my feelings? Hey Jungkook, that hurt my feelings. Ha, he’ll laugh in my face and then do it again… right? 

I have never tried that before… and earlier when I had very obviously almost had a breakdown he actually apologized. I think it was genuine. I think that might have been the first time he had ever seen me cry. 

“Jungkook.” I hated myself the moment his name came out of my mouth. Why had I spoken?

He rolls over slightly as he had been facing opposite me. “What?” He sounds annoyed, rightfully so. 

I stare at the ceiling. “Why do you hate me?” And after I ask the question I bite my lip because it sounds stupid.

He scoffs, “Who told you I hated you?”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean? At the very least you dislike me highly. When have you ever shown any ounce of kindness to me?” Silence, and that sounds even more dumb because he had by letting me stay in his room “Y-you know what I mean.” I squint, realizing I am being a bitch and failing at even one step of pleasing Jin. 

“I only treat you the same way you treat me.” He states blankly, my anger immediately blowing over. 

“What?” I push myself up on one arm, Jungkook raising a brow at me. “Are you fucking joking? You’ve only ever been an asshole to me. I never did anything but deal with your shit.”

He blinks. “That’s not true.” My mouth falls open at his unwillingness to admit that he had done something wrong. “I only don’t like you because you don’t like me. No other reason.” He sits up, “You started whatever this is.” He scrunches up his face, “and don’t act like you didn’t because from the very beginning of our relationship, you acted like I didn’t exist…” 

He shakes his head, hands clenching tightly against his phone, continuing; “and everytime I came into the room you’d look at me like I was some disgusting animal and then whisper to your friends. Do you know how that makes someone feel? All I ever did was say hi and you were so fake I could feel the bitchiness radiating off you. I didn’t do anything and you treated me like shit.” He looks me over. “You were awful.”

I wish I could have interrupted his stupid speech. He really believes that I am in the wrong? Does he really have no recollection? 

“Liar.” I growl. “Don’t act like you dont know.” I sniff, “I only ignored you because you thought you had me figured out from the get go.” My frown becomes prominent and that feeling from earlier returns along with the redness in my cheeks and the water in my eyes. “You had met me one time Jungkook. One fucking time and had the nerve to assume you knew anything about me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He has a stupid look on his face, one that makes me even more angry.

“How can you not remember your great first impression of me Jungkook?” I feel a tear slip down my cheeks but it's more out of anger than sadness. “Eunjae seems like a pretentious cunt, I don’t know why Jin is friends with someone like that-” the tears fall freely now, “a- a whore and…” I clasp a hand over my mouth, stopping a sob. There isn’t really a point in continuing. That should refresh his memory enough. a whore and a gold digging bitch. Only friends with Jin for his money. None of which was true. Well maybe the pretentious part, only sometimes. The tears are dripping onto the sheets of the bed, embarrassing. So I push the covers off of me. 

“I-” He shakes his head, shakes and shakes. “I didn’t say that. I never said that.” But I am not listening, I stand up and walk into the bathroom, unable to hear whatever it is he’s saying. I shut the door and sit on the edge of the tub, tearing at the tissue to blow my nose. 

I had only told a few of my friends why I hated Jungkook. Only the ones that weren’t mutual with him. Even Jin always wondered. Why would I tell him that the young man he looks so highly of is a total douchebag? It only felt right to keep it to myself, I was sure, no, am sure that Jungkook had relayed that impression of me to all our friends. After all it was my friend who had told me she overheard him telling these things to Taehyung. I had met Taehyung that night and after that I thought I saw a tinge of disdain everytime we spoke. At present it is gone, but did he still sometimes agree? Does he think I am a whore? Do Namjoon or Yoongi think I am a golddigger? I am sure Jungkook thinks those things all of the time. Because he has always been an asshole. Always.

There is a knock at the front door, which I hear Jungkook answer. The door opens and I wondered what it is. It shuts again a moment later. Maybe Jungkook left. After gaining my bearings I rinse off my face and go to open the door. How am I meant to stay here after that?

Jungkook is standing across from the door, “There was a noise complaint.” He spoke quietly, scratching the back of his neck. I don’t respond, only try to walk past him back to the bed. “Eunjae, I never said that.” I close my eyes not really wanting to hear it. “I swear to you, I never said that.”

I pout, looking up at him, barely whispering. “I don’t believe you.”

“I- I really didn’t. I don’t know how to prove to you I didn’t. Why would I? I never have thought those things about you. I really would never say those things.” He stutters a few times and then gets annoyed. “Who told you I said that?”

I clench my teeth, “P-Park Iseul.” 

He looks defeated, “I- I don’t even know who that is…”

He can’t defend himself which is enough for me. “You said all those things about me, to Tae…”

“No Jae… listen.” I scoff, “Really gonna try using a nickname on me now? You’re really-”

“Eunjae, I’m sorry.” He’s holding back his annoyance with me, “Why don’t you ask Tae then? Mhm?” He purses his lips, “I have never lied to you. Have I?” And I think for a moment. I can’t recollect a time when he had lied, but I’m sure there had to be at least one. “I didn’t say those things about you. In fact I thought you were really cool. Whoever may have said those things really is an asshole and they're wrong.” He flicks his hands up, “But it wasn’t me.”

“Then- then why have you been so mean to me?” Is all I could manage. At this point I’m not sure whether I believe him or not. This whole time of thinking that he had said those things only to be wrong? 

“I told you. You made me feel like I was a parasite. Like I didn’t belong. I’ve been wondering why you’ve hated me for years, and figured that there was just something wrong with me.” 

My frown is stuck to my face. I never wanted him to feel that way. No, I did, but only because he made me feel the same way. Because he is evil. But if that isn’t true and he never had been evil in the first place, then it was I who had been the evil one. 

“I’m sorry.” I say softly, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his face, “I’m sorry too.” However, if he is telling the truth then there is no real reason for him to apologize. I had thought that Jungkook was reigning terror over me the whole time I had known him but it had actually been the other way around. I am the bitch he thinks I am. 

“No really.” I wish I had grabbed a few more tissues because my eyes are leaking again, “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so mean.” He doesn’t say anything. “I really thought that-”

“It’s okay.” He sighs, leaning against the wall. “If it had been the other way around, I might have done the same thing.” But something tells me he wouldn’t have. Despite despising him, the years and years of being around each other I knew Jungkook fairly well. The only person he acts like this around is me, and it is all my fault. 

I fold my hands together, sniffing. “Jungkook I’m so so so sorry. I really am. I wish I could take it all back.” 

He pushes himself off of the wall. “Please, it’s fine I promise you. If you apologize again I’m making you sleep on the floor.” He walks around back to the bed. “I wish I could take it back too, but it’s just the past.” He sits down. “And now we know it was a dumb miscommunication.” A miscommunication and an assumption on my part. And now I feel awful. And as if reading my mind he speaks again, “Don’t apologize again, really.”

“But I-” He shoots me a glare that stops me. 

“Eunjae, I know you’re sorry. I think I know you well enough to know now that you mean it genuinely.” Which only made me feel worse knowing that I never have truly apologized for any of the mean things I’ve said to him. I wonder how often I made him feel sad. He didn’t really show it, instead he’d shoot some sarcastic thing back at me. 

“I want to apologize for everything… anything I’ve ever said-” I continue… and he sighs. 

“Well don’t. Just pretend that we were teasing each other. Most of it was teasing anyway.” 

But he is wrong, “For you maybe. You teased me. I was just awful. I can’t imagine how you felt. I-”

“Yes you can imagine, because you felt the same way about all the things I said to you. So we’ll call it even.” He pulls the covers over himself. “Now let's forget about it and sleep. It's already midnight.” I stand in my place for a moment, before admitting defeat and going back to bed. After pulling the covers up to my shoulders, Jungkook switches off the last light, the whole room going dark as well as silent. The patter of rain on the window lulls me to fatigue but my brain doesn’t want to stop churning. Eventually my thoughts calm themselves and I’m able to fall asleep. 

~

It was an awkward morning. Both of us were quiet as we tiptoed around each other, getting ready to head back to the airport. Showered, and freshened up for another 5 hour flight. We had slept in but still were tired, and my back still ached. There were almost six hours till our flight but checkout was at 11 and it was 10:45. I was hungry the last meal I had was back in Korea, and last night I hadn’t even thought about eating. We would hopefully pick up something on the way. 

“Do you want to eat?” Jungkook asks as he gives the attendant his keycard. “I’m starving.”

It was the first thing he had said that morning and it felt weird. Our conversation from last night had ended abruptly. At least to me it had. There was so much left unsaid. I wanted to apologize again, in a moment where we were not in the heat of the moment. A real apology. 

“Me too.” I say, and I try to smile. “We could go through the drive through with an uber?”

So that’s what we did. A quick sandwich place where the food was cheap and easy. The driver allowed us to eat in the car as long as we didn’t make a mess. The drive to the airport took longer than expected. There was traffic from the event the attendant spoke of last night, but thankfully the driver played music as Jungkook wasn’t talking much. What was he thinking? 

He was probably thinking about how much he hated airport security. At least that was what I was thinking as we made our way through the airport. Conversation was the last thing on my mind while I walked through the metal detectors. By the time we were set free by the employees and back around to our new gate it was 1pm with four hours to kill. 

“What do you think Jin is doing right now?” I spoke to him for the first time in what might have been an hour of waiting. Now we are sitting together on a bench, with several other passengers. It's not like we have much else to do. I can at least try to kill the awkward with conversation. 

He sighs, “Probably eating a five star lunch with a view of the beach…” He leans back against the chair, stretching his neck, and pushing his hair back. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. His chest rising and falling softly. I look away and think back to Jin. 

“I wish…” I pull out my phone, he is probably wondering what we are doing too. I dial his number, looking away from Jungkook. 

He answers almost right away. “Hey Jinnie….”

“Hey are you at the airport?” He sounds more cheerful than he was last night. He is just as excited as we are that we’ll finally be in Greece with him. 

“Yup, still got a while to wait though.” I say frowning, looking at the clock. “We are just sitting here… waiting. Waiting. Waiting.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry…” He sighs and then mumbles to someone off the phone. “I can't wait to see you… In like eight hours…”

I shake my head… “It’ll be late then, you should sleep.” He shouldn’t wait for us. It’s not like we are alone. We’ll be able to find our way to the hotel with eachothers help. I glance to Jungkook who looks like he could be asleep. His lashes were quite long. Just as long as mine, how unfair. He had such a pretty face. 

“No, no it sucks that you guys got stuck and I want to meet you there. Don’t need you getting lost.” And I smile at this. He’s always like this. Caring for others. It sucks even more that he is alone though. Is Jungkook asleep? That same soft rise and fall of his chest. No he isn’t, His thumbs twiddle with the tag on his luggage. 

“Alright… Then I’ll see you in eight hours… try and save doing the fun stuff with Jungkook and I. I think I have severe FOMO.” I laugh, picking at my fingers. I was a patient person but god this is a long time to wait.

“Me too.” Jungkook huffs, not opening his eyes “What’s he eating? How’s the food?” He groans, “I wanna be there and not here.”

I relay Jungkook's questions which Jin happily answers. “Oh you will love it. Everything is delicious. I don’t want to stop eating. It's so good.”

I smile, barely holding back my anticipation. “We can’t wait to be there.”

For a moment he’s quiet, “You’ve sounded weird… What happened? Did you guys argue or something?” He sighs, “Why am I even asking of course you argued.”

“What?” I purse my lips together. How’d he figure that out so easily? Am I that easy to read? Did I really say something that made it obvious? I didn’t think so. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being suspicious. What happened?” 

 I frown. What does he mean? Am I really being suspicious… No. “You’re suspicious… When do we not…” I look at Jungkook who’s still not paying attention. “seriously? When has there ever been a time where we didn’t…” I avoid saying the word fight. I don’t want Jungkook to know that we are talking about him.

“Well I asked you not to.” I can just see him crossing his arms, The way his voice has sped up, of course he's upset.  “Man I can't handle this, if you guys are going to hate each other the whole trip. Seriously you can’t suck it up and have a good time? Once? Literally that’s all I’m asking is for this one time…”

I clench my phone tighter, “Jin. To be honest you’re a liar.” I try to speak in a cool tone, still not wanting Jungkook to be paying me any mind. “One time? really? No it’s been the whole time, all the times. Fuck.” I take a deep breath. “What about what I asked of you? Mhm? Yeah you didn’t listen to that.”

“Well I’m older than you so…”

“It doesn’t matter anyway because nothing happened anyways, Well, nothing like usual so you can keep your assumptions to yourself. Bye I’ll see you in Greece.” I hung up the phone.

“So what was it that you asked of him?” I look over to Jungkook who’s staring down at me. I blink, why was he eavesdropping? I am a fool to think he wasn’t paying attention. “You know you’re sitting right next to me and it’s not like Iphone speakers are very quiet. So what was it that you asked of him?” He crosses his arms, an eyebrow raised. 

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” I lean back in my chair, “it was before we figured out it was a misunderstanding.”

“I still want to know.” He’s acting like a child. 

“Really? Why? We’ve already spent all day in silence and I’d rather you not hate me again.”

“We already covered that I never hated you in the first place.”

“Really Jungkook?” I roll my eyes. “Plus you’re the one who wanted to stop talking about it? So why are you asking now?”

He shrugs. “I wanna know.” A short breath comes from my nose while I contemplate what to tell him. It was cruel now in hindsight. But it was genuinely how I felt at the time. 

I shake my head , “I asked him to make sure I never saw you again.” I almost laugh cause it sounds so stupid. “Like, literally all the time I used to ask that, but a few months ago I genuinely asked him to stop inviting me if you were going to be there. And that’s when he planned this trip. One last big event before I boycotted you.” He stares at me, “Does that make you feel better?” I grind my teeth. “Not that you probably didn’t feel the same way.”

His eyes fell to the floor, his face softening. “Sorry.”

I squint, looking him over. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who’s being a bitch… again.”

His eyes roll over to me. “No, I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t hang out with your best friend.” He frowns, brows furrowed as he contemplates what to say. “That sucks”

“I’m sure you felt the same way…”

He shakes his head. “Not really. So, I’m sorry.” His eyes haven't left mine, and it’s making me uncomfortable. 

“I-If I can’t apologize.” I swallow, sitting back in my seat, avoiding that burning eye contact. “Then neither can you.” 

“I don’t think I did last night, so I-” he folds his hands together. “I’m really sorry for e-”

“No. You did apologize, so no more apologizing.” I pull out my headphones, “I forgive you so it’s fine.” And I plug them into my phone, shutting him out. 

He blinks, shaking his head and turning away from me. Doing whatever. While I sit here and wait. 

~

“Hey, we are boarding.” I blink, waking to Jungkook shaking my shoulder lightly. I yawn, grateful that I had managed some sleep, but knowing that I’d regret it on the plane ride. Planes are so awfully uncomfortable. We board slowly, waiting in line behind other people. I should have grabbed a coffee before we boarded, because now I feel so groggy. But maybe I would manage to fall back asleep. Four hours would be awfully boring if I didn’t. I guess I did download those movies though. 

“Do you want the aisle seat?” He asks as we scoot down the aisle. I shrug as we reach our seats. We couldn’t get an outside seat, so we are stuck in the middle aisle. “It doesn’t really matter to me.” He mutters, reaching up and sticking his bag in the overhead storage. 

“You’re taller, and wider.” I smile. “It’s fine I’ll take the middle.” He grins, “Who ever could have thought you could actually be nice to me.”

“I’m just being considerate.” I mutter, pushing my extra stuff into the storage as well. 

He squeezes past me, “Well so am I.” He takes the seat over, some guy already in the other seat. I squint, wondering if he’s being considerate or petty just to keep me from being nice. Or am I being petty too? 

I take my seat anyways, turning my phone onto airplane mode as the attendants go through the safety briefings. “But are you going to have to go to the bathroom?” 

He shakes his head, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Nope, I’ve got a strong bladder.” 

I take the hoodie as a sign he no longer wants to talk so I plug in my headphones and press on the horror movie I downloaded and brace myself for takeoff. 

Halfway through the flight I notice that Jungkook was asleep. It had taken him a little while, likely because of the uncomfortable seat. Or the random stranger that is sitting next to him and their loud chewing. Or that he is in a hoodie and it is really hot. 

Earlier in the flight I could tell he wanted to take it off, but for the sake of not bothering other people he left it on. For a while he watched an anime, but now he is sleeping. 

His hair is in his face, his breath hitting one strand that flutteres over his lips. I feel like waking him up as he is about to be leaning on the random stranger, but that feels wrong. He is really peaceful when he sleeps. Those same pretty lashes resting over his cheeks. 

The strings of a sharp violin jump up in my ear, making me jump and look back to my screen. I take a deep breath. What am I doing? I pause the movie. Maybe I can try and sleep too. I close my eyes, tucking my phone into my pocket. Ignoring whatever that was.

~

“Sorry, excuse me.” I open my eyes, Jungkook standing and attempting to squeeze between me and the chair. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, his tattooed arm reaching over my head. I furrow my brows, trying to press myself against the chair and out of his way. 

He had taken off his hoodie now, a tight button up shirt that fit around his muscles very nicely. Why would he wear that under a hoodie?

“You look very beautiful.” My eyes scrunch up as I glare at him. Is he being sarcastic? What a weird comment to make? “No really. I mean it.” 

I blush, why’s he saying this? On the airplane? While he’s hovering over all sexy like? What the fuck?

“Can I kiss you?” I stare at him, hands clenching the sides of my seat. What does he mean? I look over to the stranger who is surely as uncomfortable as me, but he is gone, as are all of the other passengers. It is just me and Jungkook. 

I flinch upon his hand at my cheek. “I asked you a question…” he smirks, my heart skipping a beat. 

I shake my head. “No, Jungkook? What the fuck?” I push him off.

“What the fuck? What’s that for?” I blink, seeing Jungkook still over me, back in his hoodie, the stranger sitting next to us staring. I look around, a couple of eyes staring at me. “I’m trying to go to the bathroom.”

I try to collect myself, was it a dream? I look up, catching Jungkook’s glare. “I’m sorry I-” He scoots out of the aisle. “I had a- a bad dream.” He looks at me in confusion before turning his head and heading down towards the bathroom. I sigh checking the time. So I managed to fall asleep… There is about thirty minutes of the flight left. What a relief. I pull the movie back out and decide the time will go by faster that way. Jungkook returns in no time, scooting back to his seat.

“So what kinda bad dream was it?” I turn my head to him, “You were pushing me pretty violently. Something traumatic happen to you that I should know about?”

I laugh light heartedly to hide my anxiety. To be honest or not? “Uh…”

Jungkook turns his eyes to slits, staring intently with a horrid grin. “You said my name. Ring any bells?”

I blink, “I- well. You tried to kiss me.” He laughs at this. 

“Really? And it was that bad?” He crosses his arms. “I mean damn you really shoved me into the chair of the person in front of you. It was that bad?” He teases. 

My mouth falls open, void of speech for a moment. “It’s awkward… It was weird.” I cover my face. “Wouldn’t it be weird if you had a dream where I tried to kiss you?” 

He ponders this for a moment, “You know… I think I’d let you.” He smirks, “Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?” I lean over, trying to maintain my whisper voice, I had already drawn too much attention to myself. “Thats-”

He shrugs, “It’s not like it’s real. No big deal.” He looks at me, expecting an answer. 

I fall back into my chair, “Well it felt pretty real so-” I fiddle with my shirt. “It’s not like you would know if it was real or not in the dream.”

“I guess you’re right.” He glances at his phone, the clock ticking oh so slow. He doesn’t say anything more. Leaving me wondering. Would he still let me? Why was that even a question in my mind? I press play on my movie, hoping for it to distract me. 

The plane lands and it’s extremely dark outside, the city lights blinking around us. Now that we finally landed I was feeling giddy, excited not only to be there but also to see Jin. 

The airport this time around was a lot harder to get around. Our baggage claim took twenty minutes in itself, poor Jin texting me from outside. But we were on our way out, needing to stretch and get some fresh uncirculated air. 

“Hey!” I look up seeing Jin waiting for us with an Uber. “Welcome to Athens!” He stretches out his arms, me rushing to be the first to greet him. 

“Jinniaahh.” I embrace him, missing his bear hugs. I reluctantly let go, giving Jungkook his turn as well. 

“How was the flight here? Not considering the fact that it wasn’t the original one you were meant to take.”

Jungkook beats me to an answer, “It was good aside from the fact that Eunjae tried to claim I assaulted her.” 

“No I-”

“It was embarrassing, everyone was staring.” He giggles, looking at me with a smile, and it isn’t meant to be conniving. He is only teasing.

I try to loosen up, not expecting him to be teasing so light-heartedly. He isn’t trying to be mean this time. Would I have to remind myself of that everytime he speaks? I smile, “Yeah it was embarrassing for me to.” I elbow him. “Everyone really was staring.” I pout at Jin, “I felt really bad.” 

“Did you now?” Jungkook’s lips curl to one side. “Can we get coffee?”

“Coffee?” I look at the clock, “Are you crazy? It’s almost two in the morning.” 

Jin looks at both of us, “What’s going on? Is this playful banter? Are you playing a prank on me?” 

I look at him, “What’s wrong with playful banter?” I tease Seokjin, “Isn’t it everything you ever wanted?” The uber driver helps us get our luggage into the trunk.

Jin glares at me, holding the door open for me. “I-”

“Everything you ever wanted.” Jungkook winks at him, getting in on the other side. 

Jin gets in the front seat, all of us in the car now. “Now I really think you’re faking it…”

I roll my eyes, turning an air conditioning nozzle towards me. “No Jinnie, just teasing you.” He hums and I can tell he’s not fully convinced. Not that I’m all that convinced either. 

We get to the airbnb by two thirty, and Jin is ready to pass out. Jungkook and I however are pumped, finally out of the plane and ready to explore Athens, it is a shame that we arrived so late. Here's to hoping that our jet lag won't ruin the day tomorrow. 

We pull our luggage into the little house and Jungkook and I are wide eyed. It is really nice, and I am sure it has to have five stars and incredible reviews. It is an open concept, the kitchen, dining, and living room are all connected, stairs at the door leading up to the three bedrooms. 

“Thank god we don’t have to share a bed.” Jungkook says, starting up the stairs with a smile. I shake my head pulling in my suitcase behind me. Not only is the inside open, but it is a full fishbowl style, all the windows open towards the city below. We’re up on a hill, trees surrounding the rest of the house for moderate privacy. But the view is beautiful. I wonder what it will look like at sunrise or sunset. 

“You guys shared a bed?” Jin asks curiously, opening up the fridge where he pulls out a water, tossing it to me and taking out another for himself. 

“Yeah… Was kinda weird. But there was only one room in the hotel we were at. Very very unfortunate.” I huff, “But I guess Jungkook didn’t have to let me stay with him. It was better than being on the street.” I laugh. 

“Mhm, is this why you’re being all buddy buddy?” He crosses his arms, taking a sip of his water. 

I shrug, opening up my own bottle. “I guess you could say that. I don’t know, we resolved some things.” 

“Well that’s a relief…” He sighs, “Why was it that you didn’t like him anyways?” 

I look at the ground. “It was dumb really… I’m sorry Jin.”

“No no, It’s fine. I’m just happy you guys can be civil.”

I nod, “Yeah…” Civil. I still feel awful about it. Jungkook really had done nothing after all. He said it himself: We can pretend that we were teasing each other. Had he been teasing me? Playful banter that I returned with malice. 

“You good?” I blink, Jin is still standing in the kitchen. 

“Yeah… I’m going to try to sleep.” I hike up the stairs, luggage in hand. 

“Goodluck,” He says following, and dipping into a far bedroom. 

I sigh, I will need that luck. Jet lag, and not to mention the fact that I already slept on the plane. It would probably not be a successful night's sleep. Both doors of the other rooms are closed, nice; Jungkook couldn’t have left me a clue to which room he had taken?

I knock on the door, and wait for anything. No sound so I open the door, peering inside. With a sigh of relief I walk inside. Tugging in the luggage after me. The bed looks so comfortable and suddenly the energy I thought I had was gone. 

“I claim this room.” I turn around, Jungkook barging in from behind with his suitcases in tow. I'm speechless as he hops onto the bed. 

“I was here first.” I look back out the door, wondering what is so wrong with the other room that he abandoned it. 

He raises his brows, looking over from the bed, “Well you didn’t claim it… I did.” 

“That’s childish.” I look around, deciding the other room won’t be that bad. “And I’m not so…” I walk out the door so I can take the other room.

“You are childish.” He nags. “Hey, close the door.” To which I ignore him and move on to my room. Which, like I thought, isn’t that much different than the other one. I check the bathroom though, which doesn’t have a shower. I sigh, so that’s why Jungkook must have taken the other one. It’s not like he can stop me from using his, unless he wants me to smell bad. Maybe Jin’s room has a shower too. 

I unpack a little into the small chest of drawers in the room, and plug in my phone. I make sure I have everything in order for tomorrow. What is it that we were doing tomorrow anyway? 

The first day on our itinerary had been ruined by the unforeseen storm in Georgia, but it’s not like it was strict. We could go to so many different museums or historical sites. Hopefully the other two will be just as interested in those as me. Too bad our other friend Joon didn’t come along. He’d love the art. 

Looking at the clock I decide it’s time for bed. I shut out my lights and tuck myself in. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but falling asleep is particularly tricky. What time were we waking up? Should I go ask Jin? No, he might have already fallen asleep. Surely we would sleep in? Jungkook might complain about going straight to the museums instead of something more exciting. What is it that he wants to do again? Surfing, oh yeah. But surely not on our first day after a tiring flight. 

I fluff the pillow that is already too hot. My back hurts from the flight and the bed isn’t proving to be as comfortable as I thought it would be. I wonder if the other bed is more comfy. Why’d Jungkook have to go right ahead and take it from me? He’d probably sleep in later than me too. What if Jin’s bathroom didn't have a shower and we both had to use the one in Jungkook’s room? Surely that would be absurd, Three bathrooms and one shower. No way. Not with five star reviews. There should be a shower in my bathroom too. The architect sucks. Brain shut the fuck up. I sigh into the sheets. They smell good. At least I can be sure that they are clean. I bet the floors are clean. If there was only one bed here, we could sleep on the floor and it would be way less disgusting than that of the hotel floor.

My throat is a little dry. I push myself out of the comforter. Is the ac on or Is it my high level of activity that is making me hot? I flip on my bathroom light just to see around me. Where is the thermostat? Downstairs probably. I pick up my phone and switch my flashlight on, waltzing through the hallway and down the stairs. What a house. A chandelier's crystals glimmer from my phone’s light above the stairs. How much would it cost to live in a place like this?

I don’t consider it, it is far above my salary. The kitchen is grand, meant for entertaining, a bar overlooking the living room below. Wow I’d kill to live here, my simple apartment is half the square footage, and not a speck of glamour shines there. Unless you count the prints of someone’s art I bought off of etsy. 

I scour the kitchen cabinets, finding lots of plates and dishes for serving. Ah yes, my hands find the cups which shine the reflection of my flashlight. The fridge dispenses ice and cool water which I down quickly. I sm more parched than I thought and I refill the cup a second time. Sipping on the second one I think about the bathroom again. Childish indeed. If I were as childish as he, I would have replied. I don’t see your name on it. But I didn’t… Though it was just playful banter. Did he really see it that way? Was he teasing me all those years? Certainly he did it just to spite me. Either way, it was out of spite of my malice when he had done nothing wrong. He didn’t mean all the little things he said? Was he really just joking? I never was… God I feel awful. Maybe I can hope that he thought I was joking. Which is unlikely. 

“Is it hot in here or-” I jump at the sound of his voice, the glass slipping from my hand and onto the floor. It shatters in the dark, pieces glimmering in the light that still shine from my phone. 

“Oh my god Jungkook!” I glare at him, yelling in a whisper, hoping that the sound of glass hitting the floor hadn’t woken Jin. What is his reasoning for creeping up on me in the dark? At almost 3:30 in the morning?

“Oh my god Eunjae.” His eyes widen, “You’re bleeding.” I look down to my foot, a piece of glass lodged into the side of the sole. 

“Oh my god.” I swallow, it is bleeding. Like a lot. “Oh my god…” I feel sick, blood pooling a little under my foot, I hadn’t even felt it at first, but now I do. “Oh-”

“Don’t freak out.” he says, his voice raised from his own panic. He looks around, flipping the lightswitch and blinding both of us. “Oh my god.” He’s spinning around the room, avoiding stepping on any glass. “Where’s a broom?” He says annoyed that he can’t step any closer. 

“Oh my god. Jungkook it’s bleeding all over.” I cry, looking for a towel or something, but I can’t move anyways because little pieces of the cup are scattered over the floor. “Oh fuck.” I look up, avoiding looking at it. How big is the piece? Will it stop bleeding? Will I need stitches? How can this trip get any worse? What if this ruins it? It’s bleeding a lot, the blood sticky under my heel. It hurts so bad, the sharp feeling throbbing as blood seeps out of the wound. “Please help!” I whine and he almost growls at me, searching in an open closet. 

“I’m fucking looking.” He runs around to the downstairs bathroom, eventually coming around with a broom and a dustpan. “Pick up your foot.” I shake my head, not wanting to move it. It hurts. He looks at me, annoyed and then more gently. “Please pick up your foot so I don’t accidentally touch it.” 

I sit back on a bar stool, my foot coming off the hardwood like a sticker. My stomach churns as blood drips down my toes to the floor. Jungkook sighs, sweeping up the floor around us until no shards are seen glimmering against the lights. 

“Oh my god I’m gonna throw up.” I whine, looking anywhere but my foot. 

Jungkook frowns, “please don’t it’s just blood,” but I can tell he’s not pleased with the look of it either. He takes some paper towels and tosses them on the floor where I had left a bloody outline of my foot. He hands me a rag that’s slightly dampened from the sink. 

“What?” I look at him in horror, “You think that I’m going to touch it?”

Exasperated, he shakes his head, “Do you expect me to? No, no. This is your foot. I’m not touching your foot.” “I- I can’t.” I look down at it, feeling queasy. And I feel hot tears run down my cheeks. “Please…” 

His nose scrunches as he looks at it again, “Man you are such a crybaby.”

“Do you want to have the glass lodged in you!” I threaten, wiping away my tears. “This is your fault anyway.”

With a sigh he takes my hand, pulling up my ankle. “Just press the rag here.” He gently sets my hand at the base of my foot, soaking up any blood that was still dripping down. “You don’t have to touch the glass.” He presses my hand slightly, the sharp edge still cutting me. “Just for a second, I’m going to go look for a first aid kit. Or something.” He pushes his hair back taking a quick breath before leaving me in the kitchen. 

The glass itself doesn’t seem too long. But without knowing how much of it is in my foot, I can’t gauge if I’ll need stitches or not. It is coming up about an inch from the skin. That is pretty long right? And it’s not coming right out if I move. Fuck. What if I can’t go surfing, or swimming or walking around for long periods of time because of this? I can’t forgive myself for ruining the trip not only for myself but for the other two. I’ll just be a burden. 

Jungkook comes back with a smile, “look they actually had stuff!” A wrapping of gauze, medical tape, and some sanitary wipes were in his hands. “I didn’t think they would.” 

I feel my heart racing, blood pumping to my foot, bleeding more and more. If it keeps bleeding it would need stitches. That’s how it works, right?

“You aren’t holding it tight enough.” He scoffs, taking the rag from me, and holding my foot more firmly. 

“Ow,” I wince, wanting to yank my foot away from him. 

“You’re just letting it bleed, dummy.” He frowns looking at it, and then whines, “Why does it have to be me?” He examines the glass, “And before you say anything, yeah I know it’s because I scared you so it’s my fault.”

“Sorry.” I mumble.

“Good you should be, butterfingers.” He reaches down for the glass, making me flinch. 

“Are you taking it out?” I cry, making his shoulders drop. 

“What else is there to do?” He looks annoyed, I’m one hundred percent getting on his nerves. But it’s not my fault. What if the glass is really deep? And what if the bleeding doesn't stop? “What’s wrong?” He asks and my eyes begin to water. 

“There’s a glass in my foot.” I clench my fists. How does he not see what’s wrong?

He huffs, with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m going to take it out. I can tell that you aren’t okay with it and I’m just wondering why.” He tugs on another bar stool, sitting across from me, and setting my foot on his knee. “What would you rather me do?”

“I- I don’t know.” I sniff, wishing I had a tissue. “Just, what if it’s really deep? And it doesn’t stop bleeding and then we have to go to an emergency room and then I’ll need stitches. It’s four in the morning and we’ll have to wake up Jin.” I take a shaky breath. “And then the trip is ruined. Part two.” I grind my teeth together, “I don’t want to ruin the trip…” 

Jungkook shuts his eyes, “God all that anxiety is all up inside you.” He nods, patting my ankle. “Yeah that might happen… but either way we have to take out the glass to find out.” Which is nothing but a fact, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried. “It’s gonna be fine, Eunjae. Things like this happen,” He smiles softly, revealing his little mole under his bottom lip. It had been hiding the majority of the trip, underneath a frown. “plus if the trip does get ruined, then you can blame it on me.” I smile through the pain, “yeah, that would make me feel better.” 

“Figured.” He turns his attention back to the glass. “Now I’m going to take it out, please don’t freak out. Look away or something.” 

I squeeze the counter bracing for the pain, “Don’t like, just rip it out.”

“Relax. I can promise you it’s going to hurt a lot more if you’re tense.” His voice is calming, even though I can tell that he's not exactly at ease himself. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. The glass shifts as his hands take hold. I tense despite him telling me not to. It pulls out fairly quickly and I can feel a gush of blood when it’s out. Jungkook cringes, and presses the rag against it. The sting worsens, and I can feel the throbbing throughout my whole foot. 

“Is it out?” I look down seeing the glass in his hand, slick with my blood. He wraps it in paper towels and throws it out. “How big was it?” 

“Like a third of an inch in there.” He shrugs, “that wasn’t that bad was it?” He holds tightly to my foot, the blood seeping through the rag. He lifts my foot, giving it some more elevation. 

“We’ll see.” I say shakily. 

“I’d say it was worse for me, since I had to touch your foot and take the glass out.” He sticks his tongue out, “feet are gross.” 

I rest my chin on my hand, trying to not pay any attention to my foot. “Yeah they are.”

“Eunjae, will you relax?” He pokes my shin, “You’re stressing me out.” 

“Were you really teasing me the whole time?”

He rolls his head back, “I didn’t want that to be our subject change. Really?” But it’s too late because my mind has been reeling all day. I just want to apologize, even if he doesn’t want me to. 

“Because I wasn’t joking. And if you were… that’s so shitty.” I frown, “And you said, we could pretend that we had teased each other the whole time. Were you doing that already?”

He tilts his head, staring at me. “I don’t know, sometimes.” 

I pout, “I thought you were just being mean.” 

He shrugs, “I mean I wasn’t teasing you to be nice.” 

“But you were teasing!” I look at him, and catch his eyes before looking away again. “I wasn’t. I was being mean to be mean.” 

“This conversation is just going in circles, you know that right?” His hand rests on my shin, and he squeezes it softly. “You were being mean because you thought I was being mean.”

I scoff, “That wasn’t what I should have done. I should have been nice even though I thought you were bad. I should have always been nice and maybe we could have found out that it was a misunderstanding sooner…”

“Well that’s not what happened and it's too late to change it now-”

“I just feel so awful, Jungkook.” My tears are falling again. “And- and I said some horrible things about you and to you… I am just so sorry.” My hand lifts to cover my mouth. Jungkook lets out a deep sigh, his eyes staring off at nothing. “I thought we weren’t apologizing anymore?”

I speak through the tears, “I’m sorry.” 

“Eunjae…” He rolls his eyes. “Come on. You can’t feel bad for the rest of our friendship.” But couldn’t I? “We both did things we shouldn’t have and now it's over. You’ve apologized, like ten times now and I forgive you. So please let’s move on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about how mean I was-”

“Well stop thinking about it because I don’t care.” He doesn’t let me respond and moves back to my foot, uncovering the cloth. I flinch at the fabric sticking to my skin. “Sorry.” he mutters, opening the package to the sanitary wipe. “See the bleeding has already slowed. We’ll just go surfing later in the trip.” 

“How do you not care? Because I care so much… and I don’t know how to stop.” I settle my breathing, “I wish I could take it back.”

He breathes in through his nose. “I care. I just don’t care about the things you said because I know that you wish you could take it back. You would never say those things again would you?”

“No” 

“That’s all I care about. Right now. That’s what matters.” He wipes the sanitary wipe gently around the cut. “I wish I could take things back too, but I can’t and I know that so all there's left to do is watch what I say now.” Carefully he wipes over the cut itself, and I clench my jaw. “So I’m sorry for scaring you earlier, that wasn’t my intention.”

“I know-”

“Let me finish please…” He says quietly, “I am sorry for calling you butterfingers, and stealing the bedroom with the shower.”

I almost laugh, “Really? You don’t have to apologize for that...” He glares at me, but I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “I’m sorry for returning your comments with snide remarks all this time. I should have known that you took them personally.” His face falls, “No, I did know that, I just didn’t care and I should have. So I’m sorry.” He looks up at me. 

“But you didn’t do anything wrong. I shou-”

“Eunjae just let me apologize.” He whines. 

I suck it up, nodding. “I forgive you. I-”

“Good good.” He interrupts, tossing the sanitary wipes away. “We both forgive each other and now we are going to be friends?” 

“I can’t tell if that's a joke or not.” 

He smirks, “I’m being serious.” All his attention goes to wrapping my foot in gauze. It uses up the whole wrap to keep it secure on my foot, he tapes it for the final measure of security, and sits up from his seat. “It’s so late, but I’m not tired at all.” I’m not tired either and it is already 4:30. Time is going by so fast. 

“If we don’t sleep we won’t be able to wake up for tomorrow.” I say, watching as Jungkook cleans up the floor. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wasn’t sure if I could trust you not to throw up.” The clean up is over and I get a new glass of water. “Now I can find the thermostat, I was sweating up there.” On the side of the wall by the fridge it waits for him. “Please don’t change.” The voice he uses to read the note is naggy. “It’s so hot though.”

“Just don’t wear a hoodie or sweatpants.” I mutter, helping myself stand. 

He looks offended, “What and sleep naked?” He shakes his head, turning off the kitchen light. 

“That is not what I said…” I squint. “Why do you have to be wearing such heavy things?” We make a slow trek up the stairs, Jungkook only talking to me who limps up each step. 

“Well normally I don’t really sleep with a lot of clothing on but this is not my own bed so.” 

“Just wear a shirt then…” 

“But hoodies are comfortable.” 

I smile, “yes they are.” 

“If I could I would wear hoodies all the time.”

“What about your tattoos? They would just be covered up all the time.” We finally get up the stairs, whispering as to not bother Jin. 

“Yeah that’s true, I just really think hoodies are comfortable.” 

I shake my head, “yeah I get it, but that doesn’t mean you have to burn up the whole night.” 

He fake pouts, pulling up his hoodie, “Since we can’t change the temp, I guess you’re right.” He lifts it over his head, his shirt going with it up his abs. I roll my eyes. Did he really just have to flash me? “Anyway, here.” He goes into his room for a moment, coming back with a pillow. “Here’s an extra pillow, put a couple under your foot to keep it elevated.”

I take it from him, “Yeah I know…” My lips purse together, and I glance into my room. 

“Try and get some sleep.” He smiles softly. 

“Hey Jungkook.” I breathe through my nose, and he hums. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.” My door creaks as I push it open to leave. 

“No- what?” He steps away from his room and toward me. Oh boy he’ll never let me live this down. 

“It’s humiliating -I” A blush creeps up onto my cheeks out of embarrassment. He gets closer, trying to regain eye contact. “Jungkook.” I look away. 

“Eunjae-” his fingers ghost over my chin, a hesitancy not hidden before his fingers clasp at my jaw. I swallow upon eye contact, his eyes scanning over my face. He winks, “Is this what it was like in your dream?” And then pulls away. 

“J-” my brows furrow. “Why’d you do that?” 

He raises a brow, “What were you going to ask me?” 

I shake my head. “No, no you answer me first, Why’d you do that?” 

He grins, “To tease you of course. Why else?” I glare at him, turning away. Not before he can grab my shoulder and flip me around. “No, what were you going to ask me?” 

I push him away, “No you ruined it. You’ll never know.” His face drops into annoyance. “Goodnight Jungkook.” I smile, limping backwards. 

“Eunjae I wanna know.” He whines as he always does, making me roll my eyes. “Please, I'd like to carry you around or something tomorrow… Just tell me.” He makes puppy dog eyes, hands folded together all prayer like. 

“No you’ve embarrassed me enough.” 

He groans, “I’ll buy your dinner too.” 

I sigh, that is a pretty good deal. “I was gonna ask-” My shoulders drop, and I’m not really believing that I am actually saying it outloud. “I was gonna ask if we could hug.” I glare. “There.”

He stares at me for a second. “That’s what you were going to ask me?” He looks almost amused. 

“See- I didn’t want to tell you.” I groan, my cheeks still flush. How embarrassing, why did I even say it out loud? “It’s stupid.” 

“No really- is that what you were going to ask me?” He softly chuckles, “that’s cute-” I shake my head, turning into my room. “No really Eunjae-” He stops me. “Is that really what you were going to ask?” 

“Yes!” I step backwards, my voice raised. “Why do you keep asking that? I just said it didn’t I?” Why does he have to humiliate me further? 

He sighs, “Stop doing that thing where you misunderstand me and get mad.” He steps towards me again. “You’re yelling and going to wake Jin up.” I look towards the bedroom Jin was staying in. He is right. God he is right. “Yes we can hug that’s a dumb question.” 

I frown, “It’s just- we never have before and-” 

“Yeah I know.” He smiles, pulling me into his chest before I can protest. “It’s because you are so repulsed by me.” His voice vibrates into my hair. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

I shake my head, trapped in his arms. “No I- I wasn’t” I look up at him, brows knitted together. “I’m not.” The guilt is brought back up again. I don’t want him to remember that. 

His eyes shine between those lashes, a grin plastered on his face. “Good.” his breath brushes over my face. “Cause it really sucked when I thought you did.” 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “It’s okay.” His eyes fall on my lips, is he thinking of actually kissing me or is he joking again? I blink, my eyes dropping to his chin. I could hug him tighter and say goodnight and then it would be over. 

But his thumb drags against my cheek, pulling my eyes back up to his. Agonizingly slow, his head tilts to the side, his hair falling over his face. That tattooed hand sits against my back, holding me in his embrace. His heart is beating really fast, but it matches my own. Would he notice that? He takes a long deep breath, pressing his forehead against mine, my heart skipping a beat. Why isn’t he doing anything? Only his eye contact is consistent. I bite my gums, wanting to look away. 

“I just want you to know that this time I’m not fucking around.” He whispers, leaning into my lips. His hand snakes around my neck, pulling me closer. His nose squishes against mine, lips soft and warm. The kiss I had missed in my dream. In an exhale he releases me from his tattooed arm. His eyes scan mine for a reaction. 

I didn’t know what to say. “Good” is what comes from my mouth. Another dumb thing out of my lips. “I- I meant”

He laughs, “Thanks” he pinches my neck making me shrug away. Jungkook's lips meet my cheek. 

“No I meant-” He shuts me up with another kiss, pulling me closer by my waist. 

“Better than in your dream?” He smirks, eyeing me up and down. 

“I meant that it’s-” Another kiss, his hand at the base of my neck, the other at my waist. He doesn’t let go so quickly this time. He smiles into the kiss. “Jungkook…”

“Okay,” he looks down at me, “go on.” 

“I meant that it’s good that you aren’t fucking around.” I sigh, finally getting to breathe as well as speak. “I- why?”

“Why not?” 

“I-”

He ruffles my hair, making me blush again. “I told you: I thought you were really cool. Mhmh. I do think that you’re really cool.” 

“I didn’t think that was code for you wanting to kiss me.” 

“You’re the one who had a dream about it.” he teases, “Now go to sleep, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

The next day:

“God did you guys like fuck last night?” Jin looks disgusted at the two of us. I choke on my orange juice. Looking wildly between the two of them. 

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” I say staring deep into my breakfast. Did he have to make it more awkward? I barely even knew what to do next after last night. What was that? Are we going to date? Is it going to be casual? Will it never happen again? 

Jin squints, “Well, the tension in the room. I’m used to it with you too. But DAMN, it's never been so sexual.” 

Jungkook snickers, swirling around his drink “No. No we did not. Just first base.” He winks and my mouth drops. 

“Jungkook!” I throw a piece of toast at him, he really is going to expose us just like that?

He flinches, smiling. “I’m actually not sure what the bases are…” 

Jin runs his hand through his hair, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

“Good.” I huff, biting into my breakfast. “All you need to know is the directions to the Acropolis.”

~

Like this? This is a one shot from my A Year of Fics with Han series found

here

Happy Jungkook day everyone !! :P

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y’all pls follow me 😭 i’m posting for joons bday as well and then i’m in a fest rn for bts abyss fest which will be on ao3!!

#bts #bts edit #bts fanfiction #bts ff #bts au #angst #fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jjk #jungkook #kim namjoon #namjoon #knj #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #ksj #jjk x oc #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #agustd #myg #jung hoseok #hoseok #hobi #jhope

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au