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finelinevogue · 3 years

Text

he’s so vogue

Description - you are the journalist for the new Harry Styles December Vogue Issue

A/N - how is everyone doing? hope you enjoy! if you have any requests please feel free to ask. love you all and have a lovely rest of the week!

warnings: swearing

[masterlist]

Being a journalist for Vogue was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

After 3 years of studying English Literature at Surrey University, you never thought, only a year after, you'd be working as an apprentice at Vogue UK. If it weren't for your Aunty, who worked in the fashion design section at Vogue HQ, then you'd no doubt still be a broke-ass, single, lonely student. Ok, lonely you still were but your job was so full-on that you didn't have time for a relationship.

Two years into your apprenticeship you were promoted to an official member of the team, and then another two years later you got promoted to team leader in your department of journalism, and editing; The Media - or as you like to call it - "The Celeb Goss". You were beyond happy with your job and found such passion in every article your wrote. Whether it be about a new celebrity romance or the collapse of one, you found a way to story-tell in such a meditated way that everyone loved your pieces.

That's why the Harry Styles had requested you to be the one to interview him.

Of course you'd written about A-list celebrities in the past, producing articles on pregnancy rumours, or engagements, or breakups, but you'd never met them before authoring an article. You'd met plenty of D-list celebrities who thought they were mega famous, but if you mentioned their names people would turn around and ask "who?".

This is why interviewing Harry Styles was a massive thing for you.

Not very often did you get to do work out in the field, especially in these covid infested days, but nevertheless it was your favourite part of the job. Getting to meet the people you were writing about was completely refreshing, allowing you to obtain a clearer outlook on which direction to take on your journal piece.

You were asked to go to Stonehenge, where the photoshoot was being filmed, as your office of interview. Even though you'd lived in the UK all your life, you'd never actually been to Stonehenge. It wasn't really on your bucket-list, but it was a pleasure to get to see it all the same.

Being the prepared interviewer you were, you'd prepared an array of questions that you were set on asking Harry. You'd never met him before, but after much googling and youtubing of him prior to meeting him today you would already be confident in saying he's the most brilliant man to ever exist. You were really nervous that you were going to screw this interview up and make a terrible mess in front of Harry Styles.

"Lisa! What if I accidentally say something I shouldn't?" You ran your stressed hands through your hair.

This whole morning had been frantic. It had started off by you waking up late, no thanks to Lisa, your best-friend and co-worker, pressing snooze on the alarm. You wanted to look professional today so you'd put on your best shirt - only to spill coffee down it ten minutes later. So now, you smelt of coffee and were wearing what was left in your wardrobe - and it wasn't much. The only things left clean were a pair of pink corduroy flares and some, pastel coloured, graphic t-shirt to go with it.

"You won't. Stop being so negative." Lisa rolled her eyes, probably fed up with the amount of winging she'd heard from you this morning - and you'd only been awake an hour.

"My outfit is hardly professional either." You huffed, pouring the rest of your, second, coffee down the drain.

"Well I think you look gorgeous." Lisa stated, whilst putting her breakfast bar wrapper in the bin.

You and Lisa were back and forth about you stressing, and such, for about half an hour before you had to leave. You had a great panic about losing your glasses too. You could see without them up close, but for long distance viewing and reading you were practically blind. You were taking Lisa's car, since she didn't think you were emotionally stable enough to drive. Lisa was the creative director on the set, and thank goodness she was so you could at least ramble to someone.

After a two hour drive up from London, you arrived at Stonehenge and it was freezing. Although the sun was out, it did nothing to keep your body heated. The journey up had been nice because you sat in your nicely heated car, chatting away with Lisa and blasting some Harry Styles out of the speaker. You'd made it through the first album, and the second one up to Canyon Moon before reaching your destination.

Upon arriving you could just about, without glasses, make out about 15 other cars, arranged at the bottom of a hill. There was an array of Audis and BMWs, a few Range Rovers, which you placed your bets on one was Harrys, and a green, vintage, Jaguar which was most likely belonging to the fashion editor or something. There was also a modern barn, perched at the foot of the hill, which was where Harry would be getting changed in to his various different outfits.

It took you a moment to register that Lisa had parked and was already clambering out of the car, making you look a little idiotic still blankly staring at the beautiful scenes in front, and around, of you.

But it was still bloody freezing.

You jogged a little to the boot and whipped out your white cardigan. Originally you'd thought that this would've been enough to keep you warm, but now you were starting to think otherwise.

The atmosphere here was amazing. People were rushing around left, right and centre loading, and unloading, various pieces of equipment and clothes. You caught sight of brightly coloured fabrics being carried to and from various places. There were the camera crew, and presumably director, all chatting amongst themselves. The smell of the very fresh air was so lush that you'd forgotten what it smelt like - especially after years in London.

You grabbed your bag from the boot, which had your notes, recording kit and laptop stuffed inside, before locking the car and following Lisa in to the barn.

It was lovely and warm inside - a completely different climate to than the outside. It was as if it was Bali inside and Antarctica outside. Better Bali than Antarctica though.

"Ok. Let's put our stuff down over here and then go find people we need to meet and such." Lisa instructed, you still too in awe of the place to fully comprehend what was going on.

You followed Lisa and you two ended up dropping off your stuff next to some other bags. You took a liking to the purse next to your stuff. Next to your bag, it made yours seem ancient - like it was worth nothing more than a penny. It was luscious and a beautiful baby blue colour. You softly ran your hands over it, finding satisfaction in how smooth and subtle it was.

"Hope you're not planning on stealing that, love." A manly voice appeared from behind you. You whipped around to see who's bag you'd been messing with, and it was just your luck that it was to be Harry Styles'. Of all the people's it could've been it had to be his.

Perfect.

He looked dashing. He was in black flares and his iconic 'But daddy i love him', t-shirt, along with a huge green anorak. His hair was prettily clipped back with a pink clip, presumably placed there to gave his curls greater volume. In his hand he had a pink toothbrush and you guessed he'd come back over to put it away in his bag - only to find you caressing it instead.

"Oh - no, no. Not at all. I - uh - I just thought it was beautiful." You stammered over your words, choosing them carefully to try and make you look less like an active criminal.

"Mhm." Harry nodded whilst looking you up and down, most likely judging why a peasant like you, in comparison to him, was touching his expensive property. "Well, I love your flares darlin'." Harry looked down at your trousers, his compliment making you blush a little.

"Thank you. That wasn't professional, and neither is my outfit, I know, and I apologise." You added, because you knew that if your boss knew you turned up today the way you did she would give you a right bollocking - and potentially even fire you.

"Never apologise for flares. You look amazing." Gemma perked up, making you feel more self conscious surrounded by all these other beautiful women. Gemma was in a slouchy, knitted, jumper and basic jeans - no doubt all from shops beyond your budget - and yet she looked like a model fit for the runway for Vogue.

"Okay, sorry." You apologised again, to which you, creepily, got the exact same, stern, look from the Styles siblings at the same time.

"My stylist, Harry, introduced me to big pants. He offered whether I wanted to try a pair of flares, and I was like, 'Flares? That's fucking crazy'!" Harry laughed as he told his story, earning a laugh out of you too. "Now they're my favourite item of clothing. Have a whole wardrobe dedicated to them."

"I wish he was joking." Gemma laughed at her brother and his flare obsession.

"Well you do look handsome in them, so I understand why." Your words rolls off your tongue before you could even comprehend what you were saying. Only after you finished your sentence did you completely intake what you'd just said.

"Good start." Lisa giggled to you, before turning to walk over to the coffee station. It was a help-yourself coffee bar and you knew that you were going to bed at least five cups to get over the last five minutes alone. You'd probably drain the station before letting anyone else have any.

"Oh god." You awkwardly mumbled, not daring to see how weirdly Harry would be looking at you, before walking off outside.

You had spent less than 10 minutes here and yet you'd never felt like a bigger clown. Joining the circus had never been so easy.

The outside wind hit you like a powerful leaf blower, and your hair blew around like crazy - most likely compiling into a birds nest on the top of your head.

Today was supposed to be the start of something great. Your hopes were set on a promotion from your written masterpiece, whilst enjoying the company of one of the most handsome, most lovely, most talented men of this century. Those hopes seemed a little too distant now. They seemed to mock you, as if to laugh at how you ever thought you were going to be any more successful. You'd completely, in more ways than one, made a fool of yourself in front of your interviewee, you were so underdressed, you were caught fondling his Gucci purse and you were still bloody cold.

It all felt too unprofessional for a job where professional was practically the driving force of the company.

You leaned against the barn, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You were a master in over-thinking, but unfortunately that wasn't something you could add to your resumé. You let your eyes close and the other senses come alive for a few moments. The sounds of distant sheep and the smell of the cold wind were just two of the senses that allowed you to take a step back for a minute, and breathe.

"Thank you." A voice interrupted you from your attempt of quick meditation. You looked to your left and noticed Harry standing there, still in the same outfit as before.

"I'm sorry?" You asked confused, taking a step away from the barn to considerately pay more attention to him.

"Thank you - for saying I look handsome in flares." He repeated, smirking when he added the second part.

"Oh." Was all you could respond, feeling too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. "I should—" You pointed back to the barn, using it as an excuse to leave before yet screwed up anymore.

"Lisa told me you're the interviewer." Harry added, and it only occurred to you that you'd never actually introduced yourself. "So it's lovely to finally meet you Y/N." He stuck out his hand for your to shake, which you did willingly. His hands were a lot softer than you'd expected.

"Ho... You know my name?" You asked surprised.

"Of course. I also know you're the best writer in Vogue right now." He flattered you, which made you blush. You had a feeling he'd make you do that a lot today.

"Sure." You rolled your eyes as you spoke sarcastically.

"Well I chose you for a reason, didn't I?" He rhetorically asked.

"I mean.. I, well.. I don't know?" You stumbled over your words, making yourself look like a larger fool than you did already. Today was just turning out to be exactly what you didn't want it to be. "Sorry."

"Stop apologising. You do it too often." He told you, nearly making you apologise again but he gave you a jokingly stern look, as if he knew what you were going to say, and so you decided otherwise.

"Harry!" You both turned to see there was a man waving towards you both, but specifically to Harry. "Come get changed!" The same man shouted. Harry lifted his thumbs up, as if to signal he'd be there shortly.

Harry turned back to you and noticed you shiver a little.

"I'll start the interview after I come back from the dressing rooms, yeah?" Harry asked, taking off his, khaki green, trench-coat in the process. He handed it to you before you could oblige against it.

"Wait what?" You confusedly looked down at the coat and back up to Harry.

"Gives me a piece of mind knowing my interviewer isn't going to die of hypothermia before actually interviewing me." He smiled, obviously attempting to crack a joke and you have to admit you did laugh.

"Thank you." You say, before he runs off to where he's being called to.

••••

You'd been sat inside for a little while, waiting for Harry to come back. It gave you time to perfect your questions though.

Thinking up questions to ask Harry had been a challenging task, but one that you'd been fully invested in. You loved creating questions to ask him that were going to get to understand him on a deeper level. He was a very private man, and you completely respected that. If you crossed any boundaries, with the questions you'd ask, you would write them out of the interview. You liked to think you hadn't thought up a question that would make him feel uncomfortable though.

Pissing off Harry would be on another level of shame.

"Coat kept you warm?" Harrys voice disengaged you from your notebook.

"Hm?" You asked then replayed what he'd just asked in your mind. "Oh, yes. Thank you very much." You stood up, from where you'd been perched on the floor, picking up your nearly finished green tea as you did so.

Only when you stood up did it come to your realisation that Harry was now in costume. He was dressed in luxury. Each item looked like it cost more than your rent, and that was saddening. He looked rich and luxurious. To be quite honest, you were finding it rather difficult to take your eyes off him.

"You think the outfit is Vogue enough?" Harry asked, striking a few poses, which made you laugh. It was refreshing to see him act so relaxed and carefree, rather than a stuck-up-prick you knew some celebrities to be.

"Completely. I love it!" You exclaimed, appreciating the twirl he did for you.

He was wearing a kilt-like skirt and he looked beyond beautiful in it. Fuck toxic masculinity. Fuck being a manly man - like what does that even mean? Harry was embracing gender fluidity and experimenting the ways in which there was no definitive line between men and women's clothes anymore, and you thought it was marvellous. Revolutionary, for times as politically and socially troubled as these.

You started removing the coat in attempt to give it back to him, but he refrained you from doing so by holding on to your forearm.

"Keep it. I thought we could go outside to start the interview, so you'll be needing that." Harry told you, and you agreed - however reluctantly that was. You couldn't really complain though, because the coat did kept you warm and, what's better, it smelt divine - just like you'd imagine Harry to smell.

"Okay. Thank you. Do you want to go now?" You asked hesitantly, not knowing whether he was busy for someone else right now.

"Whenever you're ready, love." He answered, making you feel more relaxed. He was going at your pace and was making you feel settled - he was even more of a gentleman than people described him to be.

The two of you had walked around the backside of the barn in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. Well, at least you were. It was a blessing no one was back here. It was just you, Harry and the scenery that surrounded Stonehenge.

You approached a bench and you plopped yourself down on one end, whilst Harry sat on the other. He respected the fact that there was a pandemic going on, and didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way. You still had your mask on, so Harry had taken that as you were very conscious about the virus - which he admired.

You pulled out your glasses, from the depths of one of the coat pockets, and placed them on your face, probably making yourself look even geekier than you already felt. Today was just one of those days you wished you had good eyes...

You opened your spent notebook, musty pages practically falling apart, and turned to the section of questions you needed for that interview. You were so nervous already and you hadn't even asked anything yet, all because of the previous interactions with Harry today. Your shaky hands shuffled through the pages and you cursed under your breath when you struggled to find what you needed.

"Shoot. Come on." You mumbled quietly under your breath, hoping it would make this terrible situation end faster. You mustn't have been as quiet as you thought though.

"Y/N." Harry's name broke through your clouded mind of self-disappointment.

You looked up at him to see him softly smiling at you, blowing all worries away from you away with the wind. "Yes?" You timidly asked, pushing your wind-swept hair out of glasses - where it'd gotten caught.

"You’re alright, love. You don't have to be professional around me, alright? We're just two strangers having a conversation, to get to know each other, okay?" If his words didn't calm you enough, the soothing sound of his husky voice certainly did.

"But that would mean you asking me stuff too?" You replied, confused at his implications of the phrasing 'getting to know each other'.

"Mhm." Harry nodded his head.

"Oh I don't know Mr Styles, i'm not a very interesting person." You answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose from where they'd fallen.

"I refuse to believe that." Harry chuckled, making a quick smile appear on your face. "And please call me Harry. Just Harry." He begged, obviously finding it weird you calling him by his professional title. All you wanted, ever, was for your interviewee's to feel comfortable and safe, so if Harry wanted you to call him Harry then so be it.

"Ok, Harry," you sarcastically said, earning a shake of the head on his behalf, "you can ask me a few questions throughout the day." You told him, but you knew he'd struggle to find even two questions when he realises how bland you are.

"Does that mean you only get to ask me a few as well?" Harry smirked, already knowing the answer to that question. Unlike Harry, you had to write an article about today when you got home and so he knew that you'd have to dig as much dirt as possible from him.

"No, sorry. I don't particularly want to lose my job." You paused to look down at your notes, squinting a little as you did to see better. "Okay. Tell me your experience with corona virus."

"Sorry I didn't quite catch that, love." Harry apologised, leaning in slightly to see if he could hear you a second time around.

"Sorry." You looked down to fiddle with your fingers - a habit you'd undertaken when you're embarrassed. "Um..," you cleared your throat, "would you mind if I took off my mask?"

Your timid voice sent tingle down Harrys spine. He didn't think anyone could ever be this sweet. "Not at all, ‘course you can." He replied, again, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

You hesitantly took off your face mask, feeling like you were in some dramatic movie where they face revealed someone. You kind of liked having the mask on, because, for one, it kept you warm, and for two, you were a little self conscious with how you looked compared to all the other women here today. You shoved the mask in your pocket, with trembling fingers, before looking back down to your notes.

"Woah." You heard Harrys voice being mumbled under the wind. You eyes shot up to his and you noticed him staring right back at you.

"W-what? Is my acne playing up? I knew I should've—" You self-consciously run your hands over the areas you know you got acne. The masks really didn't help when it came to skin care.

"Hey, stop. No. You just... You look beautiful." Harry complimented you, and a roaring blush arose on to your cheeks. You'd never been called beautiful before, and so you were taking the compliment like such a 13-year old.

"Oh, uh, thank you." You awkwardly answered, not really having any other words come to mind in that moment. Harry chuckled under his breath, still keeping eyes on you for some reason.

"Would you mind repeating your last question, I didn't quite catch it?" Harry asked politely.

"Sure. Um, tell me how you've experienced corona virus." You repeated for him, gripping ahold of your pen to start copying what he says and pressing start on your recording device in case you needed it later.

"Well, it's been tedious that's for sure. However, I just want people to be safe and for life to return back to normal, so therefore i've been very MIA for a lot of the time. Keeping to myself mostly. I only went out for hikes or bike rides. All my meetings were online, so it's been very lonely." Harry kept eye contact with your figure the entire time, and if it weren't for you concentrating on writing what he was saying then you'd probably melt away under his gaze.

For such soft eyes he sure was intimidating.

"I presume the loneliness sent you crazy at times." You laughed, because you sure felt that way through lockdown. Curse being single.

"You have no idea." Harry laughed along with you, making you, slowly, feel more at ease.

"Actually, you'd be surprised." You looked at him unsure, before returning down to your notebook.

"Okay then, first question from me," Harrys words made your head shoot up, "How can someone as amazing as yourself be lonely?" He asked and you made a mental tally of how many questions he'd asked.

"Could ask you the very same question, Harry." You slyly replied, avoiding the question by answering with another question. It was a tactic you'd learnt, throughout your years of journalism, when you wanted to dismiss something .

"That's cheating." Harry pointed at you and raised his eyebrows, but you couldn't take your eyes off the big, cheeky, smile perched on his face. You shrugged you're shoulders in defence and returned to your questions. "But you did just call me amazing, so I think i'll let it slide this one time." You blushed, again, when you understood what he meant.

He was amazing though - that was the truth.

"You were in L.A. for the majority of quarantine, am I right to say?" You already knew the answer but your manager had just wanted confirmation.

"Yeah, but L.A. feels like holiday, whereas London feels like home." He answered, which you appreciated. He hasn't got lost in the way that Hollywood could let people. He'd stayed grounded.

"So what did you entertain yourself with during quarantine?" You asked curiously, slightly side-tracking from your pre-written questions - just because you were intrigued (nosey).

"Not much, not to be boring. I ate a lot of bread. I worked out pretty much every day. I wrote quite a bit actually." He used his fingers to pinch his bottom lip, something you'd noticed he did in interviews.

"Does that mean a new album on the way?" Your inner fangirl was screaming at the thought of HS3.

"Can neither confirm nor deny." Harry smirked to himself, like the cheeky bugger he is.

"That's a yes then." You joked, pretending to write it down in your notes.

"You're impossible, you." Harry laughed and shook his head. It made you feel all funny the way you could make him smile like that. You were the source of his happiness for just that moment, and that was enough to make you feel happy for a lifetime - not that he felt the same.

"Next question," you stated, moving swiftly on because you knew you had limited time, "How's your experience with Vogue been so far?"

"Wonderful. Everyone has been so welcoming and that makes it so much easier for me to have fun. It's daunting going at things alone, but i'm getting slowly used to it now." Harry sniffled a little, probably due to the freezing cold weather here.

"Must be strange, not having four best friends around you, all the time, anymore." You stated rather than asked him, sure that he was missing his bandmates. I mean, you were - so he definitely would be.

"Brothers." Harry replied, making you look up at him confused.

"I'm sorry?" You asked, giving him your full attention.

"You said four best friends. Well, actually they're my brothers." His words actually caused a rift in your heart. You could feel it being pulled apart and torn in to two. If you wrote this in to the magazine the fans would have a worldwide passing-away-party.

"Harry." You said softly, slightly tearing up at his words. "God, I swear i'm not normally this emotional." You chest your throat and try to establish your dignity - however there wasn't that much left anymore.

"Oh shut up." Harry looked away obviously trying to hide the fact that he was tearing up too. You laughed at him but didn't draw any more attention to it than you guessed he would've wanted.

"They mean a lot to you then?" You asked, hopefully not treading on any unwanted territories.

"Much more than a lot, yeah." Harry nodded his head, turning it back to face you. He could tell this conversation was now off-the-record because of your closed notebook, your undivided attention towards him and the fact you’d turned off the recording device. He liked being able to look at you, rather than the top of your head. He swore you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

"You still see them often?"

"Not as often as i'd like. Niall did come around the other week to drop off some old guitars he didn't want anymore, and then we ended up playing around with some music for a bit." He admitted, which stitched your heart back together.

"So does that mean a Narry collab?" You teased, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

"Narry? You so are a directioner." He laughed along with you.

"And you just avoided my question, therefore there is a song out there written only by you and Niall." You concluded, which shut him up.

This conversation was going a lot better than expected. Certainly a lot better than earlier. You will be permanently scarred by the way you spoke to him and handled his belongings. It was going to haunt you forever - and yet he'd forget about it by tomorrow. Or maybe he wouldn't, which is why you felt the need to apologise.

"Harry?" You asked, clearly indicating this was still a conversation away from the interview.

"Yes Y/N?" He watched you intently, listening to your every word.

"I, um, just wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I was just really nervous to meet you, and to be honest still am. I didn't mean to touch your stuff without your consent and I certainly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with any of my comments. So, i'm sorry. I can only imagine the awful, yet true, things you must think of me." You rambled really quickly, that you were uncertain whether Harry even caught one word of what you'd says.

"Do you know why I asked for you to interview me Y/N?" Harry asked, which wasn't the first thing you expected him to say after your apology.

"No. I...well Lisa told me it was because I can write well or something." You suggested, not wanting to sound egotistical.

"I mean you do write perfectly, but no." You were intrigued now. "I asked for you because I, and this is not for your magazine, have a secret - but not-so-secret - crush on you." This time it was Harrys turn to blush.

"Harry... you don't have to say that to—"

"I'm not saying it for anything. I sincerely think you are the most delightful, most prettiest, most fucking sweetest person i've ever met." Harry exclaimed, which you were taken aback by. Never, ever, did you think that Harry Styles would proclaim his likeness towards you. Ever.

"Harry don't mess with me, please." You shyly spoke, tilting your head down in disbelief that the Harry Styles was smitten about you.

He shuffled along the bench, stopping a little way from you but close enough to reach out for you. Your heartbeat increased when you noticed his hand move closer towards you. It didn't stop till he reached your face. He took his time, courteously, pushing your hair behind your ear before removing you of your glasses. He held the right-eye frame and slowly pulled the glasses off your face.

Once he'd successfully taken them off he folded them up and placed them alongside your closed notebook.

"Can see those pretty eyes now." He whispered quietly, but loud enough for you to hear.

"Don't lie. They're so dull." You mumbled, lifting your head up slightly. His face was still away from you.

"Not to me they're not." He retaliated, looking deep into your eyes as you did his. "I hate this corona virus."

"Why?" His words were so out of the blue sometimes, it gave you whiplash.

"Because I can't be as near to you as I want to be." Harry told you. And yeah, you hated corona too. It was getting a little laborious now.

"Smooth, Styles." You chuckled. You wondered how many new and weird pick-up lines could be made from covid.

"I know." He winked, which honestly would have made you throw up if it were any other man on the planet. Somehow, though, Harry just made it seem attractive - along with every other thing that man ever did. "After this, would you like to come back to my house for a cuppa tea?" He asked sweetly, like a five year old asking whether you wanted to play together.

"Okay. Lisa was my ride though." You said more to yourself than anything else, debating on how you'd even get to Harrys. Uber? Taxi? Lisa? Walk?

"I'll drive us, it's fine. I have to drop Gem off, but i'd be more than happy to chauffeur you." Harry kindly offered, to which you were internally screaming about. You were literally, and metaphorically, having a field-day with all this Harry content and interview.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden." You question politely, not wanting to overstep any boundaries - especially in these covid infested times.

"Of course. I wouldn't have offered otherwise." He protested, waving his hand at if to say it was no bother. You were already trying to work out, in your head, how much petrol money you were going to owe him.

"Then i'd be honoured to have a brew with you Harry." You giggled at how cringe you were being, even if this was just your normal self speaking.

"Great." Harry genuinely smiled, teeth and all. "My shoot should take a couple of hours, but feel free to continue to write and journal. I'm looking forward to reading this particular article." He winked at you before standing up.

"Wonder why?" You sarcastically asked, knowing full-well it was due to his exposure of his own feelings towards you. Even though you'd never says anything back you were quite in agreement on how you felt about him, like he did you. He would be a narcissist to say he knew you liked him the same, out loud, but he knew. And you knew that he knew.

"Wonder why indeed." He gave you one last smile before he'd disappeared for the rest of the afternoon, leaving you to digest and relive the past half an hour or so.

Being Harry Styles' crush was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

••••

After Harry had finished up his shoot he was quick to come find you again.

You'd watched parts of his shoot and he looked magnificent. There wasn't a good enough word to describe how amazing he looked. Harry, his stylist, was probably the best stylist out there. His fashion choices were unmatched and you wanted him to be yours. You were not rich enough nor fashionable enough, ironic for working in a a fashion company, to hire a stylist, but you would if you could.

You were so proud to see what he was achieving now as the person that he was. Harry was just being Harry, without the devilish control of shitty managements or ridiculous amounts of PR stunts. Harry was more free than ever, and it definitely showed just how much he was enjoying it.

You were certain that this Vogue magazine would break the internet - his fans were good at doing that. This could be a turning point for many people, with their outdated and ignorant views. There was no room for people with racist or homophobic or transphobic or xenophobic - and the list does go on - views anymore.

You were waiting by the front door of the barn, to catch Harry as he walked past. You caught sight of him in a white robe, presumably to get changed back into his everyday clothes. He looked really pretty in the robe - very domestic actually.

Today had been a good day.

Harry asked you to send over the more specific Vogue questions to him via email, so he could devote more time in to answering them in a lot more depth. You thought he meant you'd be sending them to some PA in his team, but you were shocked to understand he'd given you his personal email.

People were walking back to their cars and packing away the filming kit. You saw Lisa and the director talking to one another, no doubt discussing some in-work gossip.

"You ready?" Harrys voice reminded you that you'd been waiting for him. You looked to see he was back in the same clothes as this morning, only this time without his coat.

"Here?" You offered, having him over the coat once again but he declined.

"Looks better on you anyways." He winked at you, before walking through the car park and to his car. You were very surprised when you found out Harry was the one to own the green Jaguar. You assumed all celebrities drove the Range Rover, but no. The vintage car added to Harrys immaculate vibe and just made him that little bit more hot.

Harry properly introduced you to Gemma, who was equally as lovely as Harry. They were both amazing people and they were crazily alike. From the way they looked, down to the way they phrased their words, they were mistakingly twins. Gemma explained how Anne, their mum, didn't know they were doing this photoshoot and that it was going to be a surprise, which you thought was so cute.

Gemma spilt a lot of gossip on Harry, to which he got very embarrassed over. You learnt that Harrys first word was Cat. You learnt that Harry is godfather to multiple children, which you found heartwarming. You learnt Harry used to be a baker - which was something he elaborated on for a good half an hour. Harry was just a fountain of memories and Gemma was the one sharing them all with you.

The drive back to London was relaxed. You sat in the back, listening to Harry and Gemma pointlessly argue whilst an Arctic Monkeys album played in the background. You forgot that people like Harry drove, and listened to music, just like other regular people. You often misplaced celebrities in society, thinking they had everything done for them but in reality that (often) wasn't the case - at least not for Harry.

Gemma was dropped off quickly before Harry drove to his. It was no surprise that the Styles siblings didn't live too far away from each other. Harrys house was beautiful. Bigger than anything you could ever dream of buying. It was a palace compared to your cupboard-sized house. You were unbelievably jealous. He gave you the tour of the house, showing you where the toilets were, and even his panic room if necessary.

You migrated to the kitchen for a bit, talking about anything and everything. Getting to know the minuscule pieces of information that no-one else was trusted with, made you feel special. Harry made you feel special - even if he weren't meaning to.

Every moment held a spark. Every touch set off a firework. Every laugh was an electric burst. He made you feel so alive.

"We can go to the living room after this has boiled." Harry said, pointing towards the streaming kettle. He wanted to show off his fancy tea collection he had, and let you have a try if you wanted to. Harry was boring and chose the basic green tea, but, after much deliberation, you chose the cranberry green tea. It intrigued you and it sounded delicious.

"Why the extensive tea collection?" Not even you, a certified caffeine addict, had this much tea in your house. Coffee was a different story and one in which you didn't want to talk about.

"They help me with my meditation." He took the teabags and placed them in his glass mugs. They had a delicate Gucci stamp on them, and you just imagined that they probably worth the same amount as your daily salary.

"You meditate?" You were slightly surprised that he did.

"I try to yeah." Harry nodded, focusing on pouring in the boiling water into the mugs. "I've got very tight hamstrings and so it helps if I meditate twice a day."

Harry finished making the tea, in the light-filled kitchen, before showing you around to the open-lounge area. Everything was modern and chic. It was exactly how you imagined it, but better. The open, red-brick, wall was a beautiful feature and one that you were a whore for! It reminded you of New York and the memories you'd made there one summer.

The sofa was a beautiful velvet, green, sofa. It was soft and gentle, a lot like Harry when you thought about it. The whole house was an architectural masterpiece and you'd be lying if you said you weren't jealous. You sat on one end and Harry went to go and sit on the other end.

"I don't bite you know?" You joked, self-consciously wondering whether he didn't want to be sat near you.

"I know, I just don't want to step on any of your covid boundaries - which is perfectly fine by the way." He added, apprehensively taking the spot next to you.

"No, not at all." You ushered him to sit next to you, as you took a sip from your steaming hot cup of fruity tea. "If I smell though, do tell me!"

"Yeah, you smell bloody awful!" Harry sarcastically remarked, but laughing afterwards to assure you he was joking. The atmosphere went quiet for a minute, only the sounds of passing cars and deep breaths being heard.

"Y/N can I ask you something?" Harry turned the tone of the conversation. It sounded like he wanted to be more serious than you two were being beforehand.

"Anything." You encouraged him to continue. You placed the cup of tea down on the table, deciding it was too hot to drink right now, and gave him your full attention.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Harry questioned. You didn't think you'd be having a conversation this intense - especially if you had different opinions - on your first day of knowing each other, but here you were.

"I believe you can love someone at first sight. I don't believe you can be in love with someone at first sight. Why?" You were curious as to how his brain had journeyed to this particular topic. You'd never really had this conversation with anyone before, mainly because you were unaware of the true power, and meaning, of love.

"It uh... It doesn't matter." Harry shook his head and you could tell by his body language that he was shutting you out. Maybe you'd made him uncomfortable.

"Sorry I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. Please don't apologise. It's just - I like you a lot more than you may think." Harry shyly told you, which made you all soft inside. He was being vulnerable and that was something you admired in a partner. You didn't just need love, affection and trust in a relationship. No. You needed vulnerability and heartbreak too, and Harry was revealing that part of him to you.

"I like you a lot more than you think too." You repeated, not because you felt bad for him but because you truly did like him a whole lot. Love was a weird yet wonderful thing, and if you were to hazard a guess you'd say you loved Harry.

You couldn't wait to be in love with him.

"Does that mean I get to crown you my girlfriend?" Harry excitedly asked. Harry happy was something that should be made a constant, and you were more than happy to be in control of that.

"At least take me out first." You bargained, wishing for nothing more than to go on a date with Harry. Where you'd go, you had no idea. Everything was closed right now and there was still the chance of becoming sick with corona, but no doubt Harry would think of something not only clever, but special.

Of course you'd love to be Harrys girlfriend. However, you wanted one more, official, opportunity to really get to know him - unprofessionally. You wanted to make sure that you knew, and he knew, that you wanted to be with him because he was the charming Harry you've come to love, not because he was Harry Styles.

"So you're allowing me to take you on a date?" Harry smirked like a little child, your heart fluttering at how excited he was to be able to treat you to dinner.

"Yes, Harry. Yes I am." You answered sweetly, offering him the cutest smile you could.

You can't believe what a turn of events today has been. You've gone from nearly writing yourself on Harrys enemy list to writing yourself on to his 'people he's dated' list. Who knows what the future would offer you. At the start of the day you had wished this whole day to end and for the ground to just swallow you up, now you never wanted it to end. It was too perfect to be true and yet it was.

Harry was the most wonderful human to exist and you were beyond surprised to be the one to catch his attention. You didn't understand why you were so special, but it was nice to feel like this for a change. It was nice to feel wanted.

••••

A few months later and you were officially Harrys girlfriend.

It had been such a crazy few months. Harry religiously took you out on dates every week. Whether it be to grab a hotdog at a local diner, a coffee from a quaint cafe, a walk in Hyde Park or a late-night drive around London - which normally ended up with you falling asleep before you could make it back to yours. On sleepless jet-lagged nights he'll still drive through London's quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way, just as an excuse to spend time with you.

Harry often stayed over at yours. Even though you looked like you lived in a shoebox compared to Harry, he liked it. He liked the subtly and normality of it all. He wanted your life to remain as normal as possible and, apart from the occasional paparazzi incident, it did. You never had anything to complain about. Of course the online bullying created emotional wounds, at the start of your relationship, but it was nothing that Harry couldn't repair with a bit of love.

Lisa has nominated herself to be maid-of-honour when the day comes - if the day comes. Harry has already pinky sworn that you are it for him. The one, as some may say. You were utterly flattered, but you certainly unsure of what the future help for you both.

You loved Harry, you do love Harry and you will forever always love Harry.

It was ridiculous to think that all this stemmed from you working at Vogue. From you studying English Literature in a city away from London. From you dedicating you extra hours gaining work experience and money to be able get in and afford university. So many moments in life have you stopped and said 'i wish i hadn't have done that', but now you were convinced that they were the best things to have happened to you - because they lead you, all, to Harry.

And, being Harry Styles girlfriend was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: filthy rich [1/3] Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: romance, major angst ahead ,fluff, yandere!au-ish

Synopsis: Your luck had just run out when you realized that you flirted with danger. [400 followers special]

Warnings: language and none...yet….[although i will put a trigger warning that is a controlling, abusive, and kind of a yandere relationship] Notes:

Happy 460 followers i- look, i know i promised a long kita fanfic but i got more inspired to finish this and write this one because djjdjdjd ,,, anyways this was originally a kpop fanfic i wrote years ago and i switched it up to an omi fanfic. I don’t condone this type of relationship, if ya see this shit on your partner, please run (i beg of you)

also eheh the remaining two requests will be posted soon so uwu

next || series masterlist || taglist

“Hey Y/N.”

You look up from your medical textbook to find your aunt standing there with an expensive freshly pressed suit on her hand wrapped in plastic, you had been living with her along with her two younger kids in Tokyo after your parents decided to become humanitarian doctors. Wanting to explore and get out of your comfort zone, you ended up living in the big city along with your mother’s closest friend.

“Oh, hey obaasan.” you greeted, “What’s up?”

“Ah, you see, Shoyo is out now and no one will be able to deliver the suit to Sakusa-san, would you mind doing me a favor and delivering it for me?”

You shut your textbook and stood up from your chair, “Sure, uh- could I have his address?” you ask as you took the suit in plastic carefully from her hands, not wanting to damage something that cost as expensive as your tuition in med school. After saying goodbye to your aunt and carefully placing the suit at the back of your car, you drove your way to the upstate part of the city.

Your second hand car stood out like a sore thumb in the lane of expensive and flashy cars, you wanted to waltz in and out of here quickly. Following your aunt’s instruction’s, you march up to the front desk to hand the suit over to the receptionist, “I’m here to drop the laundry for Sakusa-sa-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she snatched it away from your grasp. You narrow your eyes at her rather uncouth attitude, “Oh, cool...thanks…” you murmur, not wanting to cause a scene or pick a fight with the rude woman, you made a b-line towards the exit. Away from the judging and prying eyes of the people who were very much above you in terms of class and wealth.

The moment you step out though, you watch in horror as your car is being towed away, “Hey!” you exclaimed, hurriedly going to the worker who was writing something down on his clipboard, “Hey, wait! Please, excuse me?”

The worker turned to you with a questioning gaze as you immediately started to explain that you were in and out of the place and that you were just delivering some laundry but all you got was a shake in the head and the words, “It’s not up to me, that guy called us in.” He points his ballpen towards the man in a suit and paired with a surgical white mask on the phone, “...The parking here is for residents only and clearly you’re not one of them.”

Your eyes almost widened at his explanation, just what was wrong with people who lived here?

You fumingly grab the piece of paper he hands to you and stuff it in your pocket as you march up to the stranger on the phone, “Hey, excuse me!” you proclaimed, there were a few on-lookers but you ignored them, you were seeing red with the treatment you’ve been receiving here. The raven-haired stranger ignores you, still on his phone so you call him out again and when you do, the darkest pair of obsidian eyes are on you.

You clenched your fists tightly as the quote ‘eat the rich’ comes into your head.

“There must be some mistake.” You began slowly, trying to put your anger at bay because you didn’t want the whole thing to escalate in public, “I’m in and out here, all i did was deliver and I didn't know-”

“Your ignorance doesn’t excuse you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignorance of the law excuses no one.” He simply states, “Also the car was on the way in my space and not even a parking spot.”

You let out a loud, sardonic laugh, “I’d be gone in two minutes if you waited.”

“You would’ve wasted my two minutes.”

You clenched your fist tightly and as you were about to bite back on his snide remark, the receptionist from before intervenes, “Excuse me, he’s right. You aren’t allowed to park here.” she tries to look professional but you know she’s just siding with this idiot since he had the money.

“Right.” you nod, “You know what, fuck it, this blows. All I did was my job and I have to be shitted on because I don’t have money like Mr.fancy-pants over here.” You bellowed,your glare was intense as you turned around, stomping away before you would do anything you’d regret.

The stranger’s eyes towards you do not waver though, how interesting, he thought.

You never wanted to return to that place again, not only did you lose a lot of money to pay your toll fee for your car but you needed to buy a bunch of new books for the new semester. You groan out loud as you also realize that you needed to do a grocery run since all you had were empty packets of instant Ramen and water in your apartment.

Chunking the cue cards to the side, you made your way to the convenience store, the city was definitely alive tonight and amidst that, you look absolutely dead tired. Your eye bags were getting thicker, a few zits had popped out, and you had grown thin in an unhealthy way because of your food consumption.

Man, being in med school and being dumb wasn’t a very good combination.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your aunt calls you again and says you have to do deliveries tonight, “You remember Sakusa-san?” your aunt says on the other line.

You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of the man and the memories of where he lived.

Man, did this Sakusa-san needed new neighbors.

“What does he need a suit for in this unholy hour?” You mentally groaned.

“He needs it for laundry, you can have the money when you pick it up.”

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of cash, you decided to take public transportation since you didn’t want to risk getting your car toll away by that Sakusa guy’s wretched fancy-pants neighbor. Grocery shopping could wait another time, “Stupid rich people.” You muttered under your breath as you pushed open the entrance to find the same man who you despised, sitting there with a laundry basket next to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumbled, sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Sakusa-san?”

“So I was right.” he says, pulling down his mask to reveal his sharp features, “You were the one who delivered my suit that day. It’s usually a young boy with a bike.”

Boy, this man was definitely at his prime, he was probably a good few years older than you and you bet he had the ladies swinging left and right with that face. Too bad he had a shitty attitude though.

“Well, that doesn’t give you an excuse to tow my car away.” you deadpan.

“How much do I owe you for the unfortunate accident then?” his tone was rich and low but you detected no remorse in it, it was as if waving huge chunks of money would help tremendously. The asshole couldn’t even properly say sorry to you because of the hard time you had to go through that time.

“None,” you scoffed, “Just hand me your laundry and pay the fee, we’ll call it even.”

The raven-haired man tilts his head and carefully hands you the laundry bag along with a wad of cash, your eyes immediately widen out of character, “Woah, wait-”

“For the troubles.” He simply replies, “Goodnight.”

You later found out that his full name was Sakusa Kiyoomi and not only was he rich, he was filthy rich. The man used to be a big volleyball player back or something when he was in high school and college but instead of becoming a pro player, he had inherited the family business.

“Huh, so he was a capitalist.” You stare at his picture at the morning paper which was coincidentally an article about him. You decided to forget about it, expecting to not see him after that night since Hinata had no classes or practices these upcoming weeks yet weirdly enough, he started to ask for you to pick up his laundry instead.

So you both fell into a strange routine, you’d pick up his laundry and return it the next day. He was also there to pick up his things and you no longer needed to talk to the rude receptionist. You were suspicious of him yet you decided to just overlook it, he gave good tips and he wasn’t as rude as the first time you met him, in fact, he made small conversations now and you sort of got to know the man.

You had a weird dynamic but strangely enough, it worked.

“L/N-san.”

“Good evening,” You greeted per usual, holding out your hand yet his eyes squinted at the bandage on your hand.

“What happened.” the raven-haired man asked, his gaze zeroing on the wound that you got in one of your classes.

“I’m a med student...I cut myself instead of the cadaver in class.” you shrug nonchalantly as you wiggle your fingers, “It’s alright though, I’m not going to stain your suit that you keep putting back to the laundry for some odd reason.”

“You got hurt.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Sakusa mutters something incoherent under his breath before saying, “I’ll take you to your car.”

“Woah there-”

The man ignores you as he walks ahead of you, this was certainly getting out of character, even for him who always asked for you, “Open it.” He orders as he points to the car door, you begrudgingly obliged and did as he said. He places the laundry inside and turns to you to give you his usual pay, “Take care of yourself next time, L/N-san.”

The very next day, your aunt hands you an expensive package of ointments on your doorstep. Your brows are furrowed together in confusion as she says that they’re from the millionaire himself. You pointedly look at the package in front of you, completely lost as to why someone like him would send something like this to the person who he wasn’t exactly close with.

“Y/N-saaaaan…” Hinata drowns, you snap your gaze from your notes to the young orange-haired boy, “I’ve got news!”

You had stopped working for your aunt since you found a job at your university’s library, not only were the hours more lax but they even minus some of the tuition as long as you worked there. It was definitely a win-win situation for you.

“What’s up, orange?” You asked.

“Remember Sakusa-san?”

You hum a reply, “What about him?”

“I think he likes you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when you heard that, this little brat, why you ought to-

“He looked really disappointed when I said that you didn’t work for us anymore.” Hinata explains, cutting your thoughts short,

“Right.” You drawl, shaking your head, “Maybe you were just hard to look at, that’s why.”

“Hey!” He clenched his fists together and pouted at your tone, “I don’t even know why he likes you!”

You feel a vein pop in his forehead as you hear his insult, you proceeded to chunk a pillow to his direction in which he successfully dodged, “Get your facts straight and I assure you, he doesn’t like me.” you grumbled, returning to your books.

Ultimately, you thought that you’d never see Sakusa Kiyoomi ever again. It was fairly obvious that outside your job, someone of high caliber as him was someone you’d never see again yet you're immediately thrown off guard when you find him standing there around your campus.

Your eyes widen in surprise, well what do you know? it was the devil himself.

“Sakusa-san.”

“L/N-san.”

Man, you may not have seen him for a month or two but despite wearing the mask, you could tell that e still sported the same blank and basic bitch face behind it. Hinata was wrong in all ways, this guy wouldn’t like you, he’d probably deem you too low class for him, “What a surprise, it’s been a while.” You stiffly bowed down.

“You’re acting weird.”

You raise your gaze to meet his and you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re most likely a guest in the university.” You mumbled, scratching your head, “People might come at me if I treated you as casually as before.”

Sakusa raises his brow, “That’s funny coming from someone who was this close to punching me during our first meeting.”

“You were being a dick that time.”

“How you have guts to say that to my face amazes me every time.”

“Oh yeah?” You chortled, amused by his statement, “I’m starting to think you’ve taken a liking on me.”

“Was it not obvious when I kept asking for you from Hinata-san?”

You immediately choke on the coffee you were sipping, burning your tongue in the process, “Okay what the hell, sakusa-san-” you said in between coughs.

Your freeze up when you look at him dead in the eye, his eyes crinkling, was he smiling behind the mask? No way, the Sakusa Kiyoomi was smiling at you? He pulls down his mask and bends down, making you retract your steps and your cheeks flush to a brightly red color, “You’re turning red.” he points out loud and that makes you turn even redder.

“You’re acting weird.”

“You were getting dense.”

“How was I supposed to know...to know that…” You try to stutter out, completely embarrassed.

“To know what?”

“You know what.” You grumbled, standing up a bit straighter and ignoring his teasing tone, “I’m not interested in you.”

“Your red cheeks say otherwise.”

“It’s the cold weather.” You harshly replied, looking away again, trying to avoid his gaze, “I’m not interested in a boyfriend, a flirting partner, or whatever that is. So good day!”

You immediately stomp away, leaving Sakusa Kiyoomi with an amused smirk. How entertaining and adorable, you looked like a bunny. His cute bunny.

A few days had passed from that little interaction and you wanted to hurl yourself out the window whenever you thought about it. Sakusa Kiyoomi? The filthy rich capitalist Sakusa Kiyoomi? Interested in you? What kind of k-drama was this?

You tried to avoid going out much in the campus, Apparently he was around after he donated half a million to the medicine department.

You immediately groaned out loud at the thought, there was in no way that all this was possible!

“L/N-san.”

You immediately jump on the spot and drop your keys, “Holy fucking-” You pause, biting back your tongue, there he stood sporting a casual attire instead of a business suit and his usual face mask, “Sakusa-san?”

“Kiyoomi.” He smoothly corrects.

“Nice. Very nice.” You dryly replied, “Heard you donated half a million and some new equipment to our department. Sweet.”

“You don’t look that happy.”

“I mean you basically confessed that you were interested then decided to donate to my department only.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “You remind me of a sugar daddy.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “You didn’t exactly deny that you wanted one.”

Your brain immediately short-circuits as you try to stutter out a reply, Sakusa looked like he’d been having a field day. Gone was the fiery girl he met a few months ago, he really knew what to say to reduce you to a stuttering mess.

“I’m kidding, L/N-san.” he deadpanned when he realized that you weren’t giving him a straight answer since your mind was jumbled up, “It was purely coincidental, we’ve been eyeing certain medicine departments and yours was performing top-notch. It doesn’t mean that I’m any less interested in taking you out.”

“You do know I’m poor right…” You sweatdrop, “I could easily take advantage of you-”

“One date, L/N-san…” he says, ignoring your very weak argument, “Just one then I’ll let you go.”

You don’t know why but you ended up saying yes that day.

You didn’t know what to expect on your first date and you had your fingers cross the whole time that he wouldn’t take you to an expensive michelin star restaurant since you didn’t have the clothes for the place.

Thankfully, the date was more casual than you expected, it was in his home and he had cooked the meal himself.

“You’re looking oddly relieved.”

“I can’t function well in expensive restaurants.” You sweatdrop, covering your awkwardness with a laugh. You’ve never gone on dates before, the idea of being intimate with someone had made you feel awkward and bothered.

“I’m not a big fan of public areas so I assure you we're not going on those anytime soon.”

“Well aren’t you getting confident.” You raise a brow, teasing him a bit as you start to pick on the beef with your chopsticks.

“Call it a gut feeling, L/N-san.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You asked me to call you Kiyoomi and well,” you turn red once again, “Well it would be awkward if you were all formal with me.”

You saw the small twinkle in his eyes, “Y/N.” your name rolls out of his tongue smoothly and you feel your heart hammering on your chest, “I like that, Y/N…”

It was in that little moment that you realized that you liked it when he called your name.

The dinner went by without a hitch, Sakusa Kiyoomi was not the same arrogant man that the media portrayed him to be. He was quiet, understanding, and soft. Completely the opposite of the first day you met him. He urged you to talk more about yourself, saying how boring and open his life was since the media tailed him a lot.

“Why Tokyo?”

“Why not?” You shrug, swishing the wine before taking a small sip, “It’s a great place, it’s new, and I had someone I knew here. My mom and Obaasan were good friends so I was allowed to move here on my own.”

“Are you coming back to your country if you’re done with your studies?”

You were silent for a moment, “I don’t think so. I wanna be like my parents.”

“A humanitarian doctor, huh?”

“Yeah.” You smile, “A humanitarian doctor. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing interesting.” He glazed, “I’m an open book, Y/N.”

“Open book?” You tilt your head to the side, “You’re usually painted as an asshole by the media…”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“You kinda were when we first met.”

For the first time, you hear his soft chuckle and your heart starts beating fast. You liked that sound, you wanted to hear something like that again, “You always know how to amuse me, Y/N.” he shakes his head, “And for the record, just because I’m not comfortable with touches, public places and whatnot does not make me an asshole...I just am a very private person with interests…”

“What’s your interest now?”

“You.” He replied nonchalantly, making you look away..

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me with a straight face like you mean it!” You choke out, turning red.

“Because I do mean it, Y/N.” He shrugs. “I am interested in you.”

It seemed like that little date you had turned out more successful than you thought, one date led to another and another. This went on for a few months until he asked you to be his partner one night at a very random place, you usually pictured Sakusa Kiyoomi to be the smooth type you were, after all, always the stuttering mess between you two but when he asks you to be his officially, outside the public restroom of all places with his ear tips turning red, your reduced to a heaping pile of giggles.

With men like him, you didn’t exactly expect anything more than the dates.

You should’ve known better that he was too good to be true.

general taglist for the next part is open aye

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa angst #sakusa kiyoomi angst #haikyuu yandere #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #yandere!sakusa #yandere warning!!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #📝📝.Filthy rich series #hostclub.adulting

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort?

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

"I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language.

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

#sebastian zöllner #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zollner x y/n #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zollner #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #ich und kaminski #ich und Kaminski fanfiction #tw: depression #tw: self deprecation

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allegra-writes · 3 years

Text

"Bad together"

Prologue: Benjamin Reilly

Peter Parker x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: none.

"And if I'm dead to you

Why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed"

My tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

"... It's a disaster! Look at her! It's like someone took a look at Black Cat, selected everything that made her sexy and then took it out!"

Black Cat. The name froze the young photographer on his tracks right outside his boss' office. He hadn't heard that name in a long time, the last sighting had been well over a year ago. He would know. After all, it had been him, the very last person to have seen Felicia Hardy, alive or dead.

"What are you talking about? That looks hot af, not to mention badass!" Jade's persuasive voice reached his ears, making him smirk: It was no secret the chief editor had a soft spot for the young intern. And, on her part, the petite brunette was a firecracker. Poor old Jameson didn't stand a chance. "Come on, dad. Single handedly taking down three of the Kingpin's goons? That's impressive. It deserves to be one of the slides!"

"Not if we don't get a higher quality picture. That blurry video is good enough for a thumbnail, but not for a slide" Slides were a big deal, they were the Dailybugle.net's equivalent of a front page, and if J. Jonah Jameson took something seriously, it was his web site. He prided himself in the quality of the "receipts" of his "tea", as if that validated the trashiness of the bullshit articles he posted, more fiction from hyper imaginative wannabe writers than serious work from real reporters.

"Well, then let's get the pictures. Where is that star photographer of yours?"

The photographer rolled his eyes, typical Jade. As if the queen of cool didn't know his name. As if she hadn't graced his bed a handful of times already.

"That's a good question. Dolores, get me Reilly!"

"I'm here, Jonah" Ben finally stepped inside the office, throwing an envelope on Jameson's desk before throwing himself on a chair across it. He could feel Jade's eyes on him, almost like a physical caress, trailing from the long, slick back curls on the top of his head, to the muscles of his arms, threatening to rip open the seams at the sleeves of his white t-shirt, to his jean clad thighs. Still, he didn't turn to look at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

"What do you have for me today, boy?"

Ben gesticulated vaguely with his head in the direction of Jade, and Jameson caught the hint.

"Jade, out!"

"But, dad, my story!" The petulant reply left her mouth before she could stop it, undoubtedly the product of years of habit. But she had the grace to look embarrassed and leave the office without another word, trying to save whatever professionalism she had left.

Once she was gone, Jameson opened the envelope, flipping through the various pictures of a masked figure swinging around New York in a black and red suit.

"Hmmm… these are good" the older man praised, staring at the images of a frustrated robbery at 5th avenue

Ben snifled nocomitically,

"There was a fire at 16th avenue happening at the same time" He offered, "we could use that. Spider-Man forgets his roots and leaves his old neighborhood to fend for itself, running off to save some pretty socialite…"

"Oh, that is excellent! See, this is why I like you, kid. You have initiative. Unlike these snowflakes out there. Oh, but Spider-Man is a hero. Hero, my ass"

"Well, when you watch your so called hero sit back and do nothing as your life gets destroyed" Ben shrugged, "the rose colored glasses tend to fall off…"

Jameson made a face at that,

"Yeah, about that… I'm sorry. For the role the Daily Bugle played on that…"

Ben shook his head,

"You thought you were getting the truth out there. It's not your fault to have been played, along with half the world. Plus," he added, sounding genuinely enthusiastic, "you gave me this job. And now we can really tell the truth"

"Even when our idea of the truth is somehow different" The older man scoffed, flipping around a picture of Spider-Man sat on what appeared to be a hammock of his own webs, eating a hamburger and reading something that looked suspiciously like a comic book, "Still hung up on that high schooler theory of yours?"

"Well, if it talks like a brat and acts like a brat…" Ben took out another envelope, this time containing a few burger king wrappers and, effectively, a spider-man comic book.

"Where did you even get these?"

"Harlem" was Ben's curt reply, and Jameson knew that was as exact a location as he was going to get.

"So you still believe this is a copycat? Some kid playing dress up"

Ben simply shrugged again.

"Well, there seems to be an epidemic of those lately" Jameson admitted, indicating Ben to come closer, passing a tablet to him, "Jade just handled me this, take a look"

Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself, already knowing what he was going to see in it. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but hope to be wrong. To hope the silver haired figure facing three much bigger, stronger looking ones as he pressed play, wasn't the same one he had spent weeks memorizing last summer. Wasn't the body he had found solace in, when everything fell apart, once again, for the hundredth time in his life.

To hope it wasn't you.

But when in his twenty-two or so years of existence, had things ever gone his way?

Ben felt the screen crack under his fingertips.

"I've heard of her" he lied through his teeth, "didn't even think she was real, to be honest. Extremely elusive, and cunning." That much was true, "I don't understand how something as mundane as a security camera managed to catch her…"

Unless you wanted to be caught, that was.

"Well, I don't care if she's the fucking Loch Ness monster, I want an HD picture of her on my desk tomorrow to go with Jade's article. I already have a headline: New Catastrophe Jen wreaks havoc on Hell's Kitchen" Jameson's eyes lit up with glee as he weaved his hands up in the air, like writing on an invisible marquee.

Ben snorted

"Don't you mean Calamity Jane?"

Jameson's face fell, the color rising to his cheeks, characteristic vein popping on his forehead.

"I meant what I meant, boy! Now, what are you still doing here? You have 24 hours to get me that picture"

"I'm going to need 72," came Ben's unphased reply, "and I want twice what you pay me for the spidey pics"

Jameson's vein looked about ready to explode,

"48 hours. And deal."

Ben jumped from his seat and bolted out of the office before his boss could change his mind, not realizing until it was too late that he was on a collision course with a sweet looking short haired blonde girl.

"Watch where you're going! Jeez!"

"Me? You're the one who crashed against me!"

Ben rolled his eyes, but crouched next to the girl anyway, helping her gather the papers that had been sent flying on impact back together.

"Peter? Oh my god, is that you?"

Of course. What an idiot, he should had recognized that annoying, shrilly voice the second he heard it. It had caught him off guard, something he knew he couldn't afford. But how could he had ever imagine he could run into Betty fucking Brant, Yale cum laude, in the freaking dailybugle.net headquarters of all places?

"Sorry, sweetheart. You must confuse me with someone else…" He mumbled, lowering his head even more in a vain attempt to hide his face.

"Of course not!" She insisted, "You're Peter, Peter Parker, we went to Midtown together!"

"Miss, I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Don't be silly, Peter!" She chuckled, completely deft to his tone or the way his whole demeanor had changed the second she had called him by the old name. "How have you been? Oh, just wait until I tell Ned, he's going to be so-"

CRACK.

At last, the tablet that had been in peril ever since Jameson had put it in Ben's hands, the one that contained his assignment, met its demise, both broken halves falling to the ground, along with all the papers he had picked up for Betty. It was several moments before he could get the shaking of his hands under control, before the tar black rage inside him subsided enough for him to be able to move without shifting. But it had.

"Peter Parker is dead." He deadpanned, dark brown eyes finally meeting Betty's stunned blue ones, "Tell Ned that, he'll probably be glad to hear it"

With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving a confused and agitated Betty behind.

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #peter parker imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker x reader smut #tom holland x reader smut #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #venom #venom!peter parker #marvel #black cat #felicia hardy #bad together #arvin russell

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seasonschange-butpeopledont · 3 years

Text

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero.

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea.

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors.

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know.

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work.

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen.

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came.

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation.

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well.

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile.

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours.

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.”

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past.

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.”

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.”

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is.

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…”

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.”

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones.

You didn’t even get his name.

***

You didn’t see him again for a month.

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat.

Okay, maybe you did.

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again.

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself.

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore.

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon.

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone.

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.”

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.”

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead.

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls.

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm.

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible.

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest.

You don’t remember much about the explosion.

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors.

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing.

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled.

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight.

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning.

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious.

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.”

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all.

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte.

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you.

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight.

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off.

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.”

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall.

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while.

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman.

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed.

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months.

Hope, you realized.

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.”

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you.

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you

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maaaaaatryoshka0325 · 3 years

Text

Hurricane - Bang Chan Mafia AU Part 1

Warnings: Violence, language, drugs

A/N: Hey ya’ll, I missed writing these mafia fics so here’s Bang Chan’s :D as for those asking about Inure and AASB, both will be worked on and posted! I have started the next part of both of them, as my motivation is slowly coming back! I can’t wait to be posting more, and I’m BEYOND stoked to be writing a mafia fic again. Here’s the long awaited part 1 of Hurricane!

(Next Part ->)

Your hand stretched out, soft droplets of rain gently splattering in your palm.

Raining again?

The city was plagued with soft thunderstorms all throughout the week, and you believed the cloud of melancholy that was rumbling in your head may have been caused by it. Your life wasn’t necessarily hard, but it lacked something… It lacked excitement. You got up for work every morning, then went home and cooked dinner, watched some movies, then went to sleep. You were beginning to wonder when this boring little life of yours will have meaning, when it’ll give you a reason to want to get up in the morning.

I’m pathetic.

A deep sigh left your lips as you grabbed both of your umbrellas, one a soft matte black, and the other a pattern of greens with Totoro on it. A small gift from a friend of yours when you had left town to work in the city. When you had left to “live your dream.”

A depressed, lonely journalist walking through a rainy city, how ironic. You should’ve been in one of those Kdrama’s, or maybe an 80’s movie. At least your life would have some kind of excitement, some kind of meaning behind it. Hell, you hardly had friends, or even a love interest.

The rain picked up, and so did the wind, causing the rain to move sideways and wet your black cardigan. You stepped under a bus stop for a moment, as you had left for work early that morning. Making a five minute rest stop wouldn’t put a dent in your punctuality.

You looked down at your phone and scrolled through Instagram, seeing a picture of one of your friends that had been left behind in the small town you had moved too for college. She was smiling happily with her now fiancé, and you felt a little jealousy. She didn’t have to leave town to follow her dreams, she didn’t have to leave anyone behind to find love, she didn’t have to give up her everyday life to be happy.

The last time you had talked to her though, she had been upset with you. It’s not like it’s your fault really, but she thinks you had forgotten all about her and your other friends. What were you supposed to do though? Drop the job you had gone to school for/have been trying to get for months? She had always talked about the city, why couldn’t she come see you?

You were interrupted from your thoughts as a man hurried under the bus stop, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He wore a nice, expensive looking leather jacket, but it had no hood. Your eyes glanced up at his face, and he suddenly looked at you. Your cheeks turned red as he had caught you looking at him, but all he did was give a light chuckle.

“Didn’t even bother to check the weather today.” He said, wiping some of the rain droplets from his brow. “And a car drove by and splashed me.”

“I hate city drivers.” You chuckled. “It’s like they do it on purpose.”

“Oh, he definitely did it on purpose.” He chuckled, flashing a bright grin. “Asshole.”

His smile was pretty, a nice set of white teeth showing past his plump lips. His lips were dark as his teeth chattered, the light, early spring breeze not doing the rain any justice. You felt bad for him, and reached into your bag and handed him the other umbrella. His eyes went down to it, then up to your eyes.

“It’s too cold and raining too hard for you to not have an umbrella.” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You gave him a polite smile and nodded, watching his hand slowly reach out and grab it. Not only was his smile pretty, but so were his hands. His fingers were nice and slender, but still had a masculine look to them.

“Do you take this route often?” He asked.

“Yeah, I take it every morning to work.” You blurted out.

Idiot, why would you tell him that!

“Really? I’ll have to come here one morning so I can return this.” He said, raising the umbrella a little.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” You chuckled.

He popped it open and the image of Totoro was clear as day, and you wanted to facepalm so hard. Why the Hell did you give him that one?

He turned to you, an amused grin across his face.

“Totoro huh?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I-If you don’t like it you can take the black one.” You said, your cheeks red.

“Nah, I like this one. It’s cute.” He said with a big smile before he started to walk away.

He turned back to you as he stepped out in the rain, waving to you. “Thanks again, I’ll be sure to give this back!”

You watched him walk away before stepping away from the bus stop yourself and heading towards the building you worked in. As much as you wanted this job, sometimes you felt dread as you saw the building come into view. You never got any of the exciting things to write about, just boring old ads for newspapers, and sometimes you got lucky enough to post the daily comic. How nice it was to see Garfields face while typing. Even with all the overtime and running around you do for your boss and everyone else, you didn’t feel as though they truly appreciated you.

You stepped through the doors and made your way to the break room, a small smile on your face when you saw a cup of iced coffee with a note and your name attached to it. Out of everyone in the building, only one of them truly appreciated you. You both did this thing where you’d get each other coffee here and there, or leave little bags of treats.

“Hey Yujun.” You said as you walked past his cubicle. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem Y/N, Jihya isn’t in today, so maybe you’ll be able to write something juicy for once.” He said as he gave you a bright smile.

You gave him a thumbs up as you made your way to your cubicle, setting down your bag and your coffee. Jihya was only a position above you, but she constantly acted as though she was the CEO. Which meant, she was a total bitch.

“Y/N.” Your boss called.

You stood up and bowed as he strolled over to you, a small smile on his face. “Jihya is going to be off for the next few days, so I’ll need you to write this.”

He handed you a small handful of papers and you smiled at him and nodded. “I’ll do my best Mr. Jang.”

Though you never felt like Mr. Jang totally liked you, he was rather kind. He kept everything he said to you short and sweet. You weren’t sure if he was just shy or if he truly didn’t like talking to anyone… Or maybe it was just you.

You set the papers down and looked through it, excitement making your eyes gleam. It was your first real story you’d be writing for, though the situation wasn’t anything to be excited about. The day before, a small bomb went off in a cafe. Though it wasn’t big, there were a few casualties, one being a young child. There had been an uprise in mafia groups and gangs recently, a lot more crime and dangerous activity appearing. You read through the papers, highlighting important parts and a few lines from a few interviews that a few others were able to get.

Your fingers rapidly glided across your keyboard, your eyes steadily watching the screen as words flowed out of your fingertips. You went over every paragraph multiple times, checking for any spelling or grammar mistakes, your eyes sharp. Lunch came around faster than usual, and honestly, you were close to skipping it. The story and your opportunity to really impress your boss and the company giving you too much excitement.

“You coming to lunch?” Yujun asked.

“Nah, I’m doing this story.” You said, not taking your eyes off of the screen.

“Y/N, I know you’re excited for this, but you need to get some energy!” He scolded you. “And looking at a screen like that for too long at a time is going to give you a headache.”

You sighed, knowing he was right.

“I know… I just got so wrapped up in the fact that I finally got something!”

“I know, it’s exciting getting your first big story, but once you get hungry or your head starts hurting, you won’t be able to focus.” He pointed out. “And you need to be on your A game for this one.”

“You’re right.” You said with a smile, standing up and stretching. “I guess I should listen to you.”

“You guess?” He chuckled.

You followed Yujun into the break room, finally feeling grateful for the hour break you got. You had plenty of time to eat and think about what else you wanted to write for the article. You rummaged through your bag for your lunch, and realized you had grabbed the second umbrella after noticing it was raining instead of your lunch.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath.

“Forget your lunch?” Yujun asked.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I grabbed my second umbrella instead… Which I, by the way, gave to some stranger on the street since he forgot one.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day.” Yujun said, reaching into his book bag and pulling out a second cup of noodles. “I brought two.”

“It’s like we were destined for each other.” You laughed as he handed you the cup of noodles.

You both sat there eating and you observed Yujun’s face. He was a couple years younger than you, and his face really proved his youth. He looked much younger than he actually was, his large eyes passing him off as a young high schooler. Despite him being a few years younger, you preferred him to not use honorifics with you, considering you were both pretty close.

“You’re writing about the bomb that went off, right?” Yujun asked.

“Yeah, thank goodness Jihya’s sick.” You said with a smile. “As fucked up as it sounds.”

“Not fucked up, accurate.” Yujun said, an evil little grin on his face.

You laughed as you stuck your chopsticks into your noodles, finally bringing them to your lips and sighing happily.

“Noodles are the best to have when it’s chilly and rainy.” You said.

“I agree.” He said muffly, a mouth full of noodles stuffing his cheeks.

You laughed at the way he looked, cheeks puffed out, large innocent eyes bigger than usual. He smiled at you through his stuffed cheeks and chewed, covering his mouth politely as he spoke.

“How’s the article coming?” He asked.

“So far so good, I’m so immersed in it. It feels so good to be able to get an ACTUAL job.” You said with a smile.

Yujun gave you an all too knowing nod. “It took forever to actually get a good story myself, no one ever believes in us little guys. They always give the good stuff to the seniors.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling sorry for Yujun. He had been here a year longer than you, and he had just recently gotten his first big story about two months back.

“What do you have so far?” He asked.

You reached into your bag and took out a dark purple folder, sliding the paper with the information out. You pointed out everything you’ve highlighted so far, and you realized that this was the perfect opportunity to get help from someone who's worked on stories like this. You explained thoroughly what you had gotten down so far, and how you worded certain areas. Yujun listened carefully, and even took a pen out from his bag and circled certain things you had down to add a word or two, or pointed out a few more things.

“I’m impressed, this is really good.” Yujun said.

“I still made quite a few mistakes.” You sighed.

Yujun patted your shoulder and gave you a soft smile.

“Listen, this is your first big story. It’s not going to be perfect your first try, and it won’t be your second. We all make small mistakes or tend to leave things out, or we could even use bigger and better words. I still make mistakes, and I made ten times the amount you made on my first try.” Yujun pointed out.

“Really? You made a lot of mistakes?” You asked.

“Hell yeah, the unfortunate part for me is that Jihya was the one who went over mine, and I got an eraser pegged at my face.” He laughed.

“Really?!” You gasped.

“Yup. Bounced right off my nose.” He chuckled. “So you’re pretty lucky you got me to be the one to check it over.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” You laughed.

You both checked the time and headed back to your cubicles, and you quickly opened your laptop, hurrying to change what Yujun suggested. He had left you quite a few notes as references to what words and phrases you could use while writing the article. Your fingers fired away on the keyboard, your eyes going back and forth between your notes and your laptop. The hours ticked away a lot faster than usual, and you jumped when Yujun came over to your desk.

“Ready to head home?” He asked.

“For once, no.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe it’s 5;30 already.”

“Believe it Toots.” He said with a smile. “You heading out?”

“Ya know what, I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer.” You said. “Try and get some of this done. I need enough time to write it out and thoroughly go through it.”

“I understand, don’t get too caught up in it.” Yujun said. “I did that my first real story, and I lost days of sleep.”

“I’ll try not too.” You said reassuringly.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, waving goodbye to you.

You waved back then hunched closer to your laptop, pulling the papers with the story on it closer so you could highlight key points. You looked through all the papers and found the interviews with key witnesses, taking the important ones and rewriting them and highlighting major points. The persistent tapping of your laptop keyboard filling the empty room.

The hours quickly ticked away, and you were startled by the door to the main office opening. You looked up and saw Mr. Jang looking at you, a little confused,

“What are you still doing here Y/N?” He asked.

“Sorry Mr. Jang, I’m still working on the story you gave me, and I lost track of time. I wasn’t going to stay this long.” You said quickly, shocked to see that it was 8PM.

“It’s no trouble Y/N, I appreciate you staying and devoting yourself to your work.” He said with a kind smile. “But I do need to lock up.”

“Oh, no problem!” You said hurriedly, getting up and closing your laptop, taking your notes and putting them in your bag. “Sorry, I didn’t clock out. I won’t expect overtime.”

“You worked over time, didn’t you?” He asked with a chuckle. “I’m not worried about paying you for overtime, Y/N. Like I said, I appreciate you devoting yourself to your work.”

You bowed to him and he gave you another kind smile before opening the front door for you and locking it.

“Will you be okay getting home with it being this dark?” He asked.”Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, I should be okay.” You reassured him. “I appreciate that though!”

He gave you a smile and headed to his care, and you smiled as you turned and walked towards your apartment. The smell of the recent rain and early spring put you in an even better mood than before, and you decided that, when you get home, you’ll order out some noodles and continue to go over the papers and continue highlighting and writing down key points and what you’d like to put into your article. You could use your personal laptop and type what you need to, then email it to yourself so you could copy and paste it to what you have.

You got to the front of the building and went to open the door, and noticed it was locked. Of course, it would be locked. The first time since you moved in it’s locked, and your key to the front had broken. Your landlord, however, had given you a key to the basement, just in case this would happen.

You groaned as you started to make your way to the back of the building, which was connected to multiple alleyways, and sat right across from the back of a few places. You began to come around the back when you spotted something familiar on the ground. You bent down and picked it up, a scoff leaving your lips. It was your Totoro umbrella, it had been open and just laying on the ground. If he didn’t like it, he shouldn’t have taken it!

You were ripped from your thoughts as you stared down at a dark mark that covered the one side. You stuck your hand towards it and touched it, noticing it was really warm compared to what the rest of the umbrella felt like. You looked down at your hand and noticed it was red.

Is this...Blood?

Your head shot up when you heard voices, and you quickly pressed yourself against the building. The surface colder than usual because of the rain, goosebumps beginning to adorn your skin. You slowly peaked over the side of the building, and noticed four men standing around another, who was on the ground. You noticed one of the men kick the one on the ground as he went to get up, and he grunted as he hit the ground hard. The man who had kicked him lifted him by his shirt, and your breath got caught in your throat.

It was the man from earlier. His leather jacket was gone, the white shirt that had been beneath it stained a dark red on the side of his stomach, and small red drops from the blood from his lip stained the neck of it. You heard the man holding him up say something, and the man from earlier rasped out a response that got him thrown onto the concrete, and a swift kick to the spot that was bleeding heavily. He let out a short wheeze, his hands trembling as he slowly started to get up. The same man kicked him again, knocking him over. He kicked him multiple times until one of the other men pulled him off, two others approaching the one on the ground.

One held him down while the other stuck a syringe in his neck, making him jerk. They held him down for about two minutes before he went limp, his eyes closing.

“What did you give him?” The one that had been kicking him asked.

“120 Milligrams of Ketamine. It should last about 30 minutes, and when he wakes up, he’ll be too sick to do anything.” The one who had pushed the syringe into his neck said.

“Perfect.” The other responded.

He and two of the other men began to walk away, when he whistled for the one who had administered the drug. “When you hear my signal, come out to the truck, we’re gonna go talk to Boss then we’ll get him in the truck.”

The other nodded as the three walked away. You pressed yourself against the wall between the building and the dumpster. The three men didn’t notice you, and you watched them head away from the small alleyway. You had to think of something, and you had to think fast.

You waited a few minutes before mimicking the man's whistle as best as you could, and the man standing by the one from earlier looked around.

“Already? That was fast.” He said to himself as he began to walk towards you.

You pressed against the wall and held your breath as he passed, waiting until he was completely out of sight before hurrying over to the man on the ground. You dropped down beside him and checked his pulse, feeling it pulsating fast. You quickly got up and unlocked the door to the basement, fumbling with your keys as your hands shook. You quickly unlocked it then hurried over to the man, bending down and wrapping his arm over your shoulder. You quickly dragged him into the doorway, a gasp leaving your lips as you fell, forgetting that the stairs were very steep. You were just able to catch yourself, but cringed when you heard the man fall onto the hard concrete floor of the basement.

“Sorry…” You muttered as you looked down at him, facedown.

He didn’t respond, and you quickly shut and locked the basement door before hurrying back down the stairs. The dim light didn’t do much, so you flashed your phone's flashlight over where he was bleeding on the side of his stomach. A deep gash was showing through the rip in his shirt, and your stomach turned.

“Were you stabbed?” You whispered, though you knew you weren’t going to get an answer.

You quickly took your cardigan off, and gently lifted it enough so you could wrap it around his waist. It was a good thing you liked long cardigans, because you were able to double wrap it and tighten and press the knot to his wound to stop the bleeding.

You kept your hands over the knot, pressing it against his wound for a couple minutes as you thought of what to do. You jumped when you heard the men outside of the door, hearing them yelling and cursing.

“Let’s get you up to my apartment.” You said, gently sticking your hand out and feeling his pulse again.

It had calmed down only slightly, but the feeling of his warm, smooth skin under your hands felt… Weird. You shook off the feeling and gently lifted him, keeping his arm wrapped around your neck as you began to drag him towards the stairs leading up the apartments.

*bonk*

You gasped as you accidentally hit his head off of one of the pipes that stuck out.

“Sorry.” You said softly.

*bonk*

Another pipe, straight to the noggin.

“Sorry!” You apologized again, moving him over.

*BONK*

“OH MY GOD!”

When you finally got him to the last stair, you began to wonder if he would’ve been better off being taken by the other guys. He had gotten quite the beating just from you trying to help him. You opened the door leading out of the basement and began to head towards the elevator to get to your floor.

You were glad that mainly old people lived here, knowing everyone should be asleep and no questions should be asked. You got off of the elevator, your back beginning to hurt from holding his weight and your own.

“Ms. Y/N?”

You froze, slowly turning and making eye contact with Mrs. Boo, one of your neighbors. She looked at you worriedly, glancing at Chan.

“Did something happen?” She asked.

“Oh, uh, my friend here and I went to the bar when I was done work. He got a little too drunk and then a huge bar fight happened.” You said with a reassuring smile.

“Oh! You young people can be so careless!” She said.

“Yeah, you got that right.” You said. “Well I’m gonna get him inside and treat these bruises, have a good night Mrs. Boo!”

“You too, dear.” She said with a smile as she slowly stepped back into her own apartment.

You reached for your keys, slowly losing your grip on him and his head went straight into your door.

“.... God dammit.” You muttered as you unlocked the door.

His body slid forward but you were able to catch him, a huff leaving your lips.

“Aht aht aht, I caught you that time.” You said.

You leaned him sitting up against your wall as you quickly cleared off your kitchen table, finally testing out just how sturdy the fine wood was.

Hauling him up the stairs was a chore, but getting him up on the table after hauling him up multiple flights of stairs was a new challenge. When you finally got him up on the table, turned on all three of the lights in the kitchen/dining room area. You slowly ripped his shirt where the injury was, and you were finally able to get a good look at it.

It was deep and fleshy, but didn’t look life threatening. You noticed his eyes clench, and a heavy breath left his lips.

“Sir? Are you okay?” You asked.

His eyes slowly fluttered open, his breathing labored. His eyes roamed until they landed on you, and he squinted hard.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked.

His eyes finally focused, and he looked over your face.

“It’s you… From earlier.” He rasped.

“Yeah, I saw what those men were doing to you. You were behind my apartment building.” You told him.

He slowly nodded, a small puff of air leaving his lips.

“I’ll call and ambulance for you.” You said, reaching for your phone.

His hand shot out and grabbed yours, his breathing more harsh.

“No ambulances… No cops.” He rasped..

“Why not? Those men could’ve killed you!” You pointed out.

“Please…” He rasped.

You were silent as you looked him over, bloody and almost pitiful.

“I have a needle and some thread for sewing, I can give you stitches.” You said.

He nodded as you hurried over to the cabinet above your kitchen sink, grabbing the sewing kit. You grabbed some salt, some water, a water bottle, the first aid kit, and the bottle of vodka you’ve had for months.

“I’m gonna disinfect the needle with the vodka okay? I’m gonna pour some salt over the wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” You told him. (Salt dehydrates bacteria by pulling the water out of it)

He nodded and kept his eyes closed as you poured some of the vodka onto the needle, gently placing it on a paper towel. You poured some of the sea salt into your hand then pressed it into his wound. His breathing hitched, but he didn’t protest or move, then his whole body relaxed.

“I don’t have anything to numb it.” You said gently. “But I have the vodka and I have a water bottle.”

He nodded as you pressed the cold water bottle against his face, as he had been sweating, and he closed his eyes. You went to see if he wanted some of the vodka, but he turned away from it.

“Just please… Get it done and over with.” He rasped.

You slowly nodded as you put the black thread through the needle and slowly leaned forward, getting a good hold on the skin before pushing it through. His body tense, but he didn’t make a sound or jerk around. You kept glancing at him every time the needle pierced into the wounded skin, until the last part of the thread finally close the wound completely.

“It’s over now.” You said gently, grabbing a rag and gently dabbing at the blood.

He softly nodded, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he breathed raggedly. You gently pushed the hair out of his face, cringing at a big bruise on the side of his head from you bumping his head off of every possible pipe in the basement…. And quite possibly for from when you dropped him.

You opened the water bottle and gently lifted his head, pouring a little in his mouth. A small amount of color came back to his face as the water entered his body, and his eyes fluttered open again.

“Thank you.” He said hoarsely.

You nodded as you wiped the sweat off of his chest and face, being as gentle as you can as his eyes closed again. Now that he wasn’t watching you, your eyes lowered to his body.

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

You shook your head and lightly hit it before cleaning up all the bloody paper towels and putting everything back in its place. Most of your apartment was dark, and you guess that’s how you didn’t realize the person standing behind you, until a cold metal was placed against your neck.

Your whole body froze, and you lifted your hands in submission, your knees shaking.

“Who the hell are you?” A man’s voice asked in your ear.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Since you’re in my apartment?” You asked.

You felt the sharpness of the Metal press harder into your neck, and your whole body began to tremble.

“Hyunjin…” The man on your table rasped. “Stop.”

The man who had the knife to your neck slowly lowered it. He kept a hold on you as he approached the man laying on the table.

“Chan Hyung, what happened?” The man named Hyunjin asked.

Chan? That’s his name?

“Some of Yohyuns men.” Chan rasped. “She saved me.”

You finally got a look at Hyunjin’s face. He was pretty, sharp eyes meeting yours as he kept a hard expression.

“Sorry for the knife to your neck.” He said, before turning back to Chan. “Felix and Jisung are outside, we can bring you home.”

Chan nodded, his eyes opening as they met yours.

“What’s your name?” He asked in a raspy voice.

“Y/N.” You answered.

He gave you a soft smile, and you couldn’t help but ask yourself how anyone could hurt him.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll have to repay you someday.” He said.

“Don’t worry about that, worry about getting better.” You said.

Hyunjin gave a small smile of approval and then leaned forward and held Chan up. Chan looked at you again, his honey brown eyes a little brighter as he slightly bowed to you. You held the door for the two of them as Hyunjin held Chan up, and you watched them disappear into the elevator.

When they had gone, you dropped yourself onto your couch, looking at your curling.

“What a crazy night.” You murmured to yourself.

You quickly checked your phone, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you realzed it was only 9:15. Your favorite noodle place closed at 10, so you had enough time to order and have it delivered.

When the noodles came, you left a pretty nice tip to the delivery driver for delivering right before close, and then you sat at your desk and quickly took your notes out. You stuffed your face with noodles as you read over everything, continuing to highlight what you needed.

Hours ticked on, the clock striking 6 AM a lot faster than you expected. Looks like you weren’t getting any sleep, not that you could sleep anyways. This project was too big, too important, and the events from the night before kept replaying in your head. You had wanted your life to pick up a little bit, but not this much in one day. This was almost too much to ask for.

You finally got up to shower and get ready for work, applying a few layers of concealer to hide the bags that would rat you out to Yujun. He might be able to tell you haven’t slept either way, but you could at least hope you could find a way to hide them.

You quickly organized your notes and papers and packed them up, finally heading out the door. It had rained again, not that you were surprised. The deep puddles nearly enough to swallow your ankles if you were unlucky enough to not pay attention. You were surprised you were able to focus, the project and Chan completely occupying your mind.

“Stay up all night?” Yujun’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts as you entered the building.

“Damn, hardly even looked at me and already caught me.” You chuckled.

He smiled at you and patted your head, his eyes soft.

“You should really rest ya know.” He said. “Rest is a key part to writing good articles.”

“I know, I was just too excited.” You said.

You didn’t want to tell him about the Chan situation, not wanting to worry him. You trusted Yujun a lot, but for some reason other than not wanting to worry him, you found it better not to say anything.

You sat in your cubicle, fingers clicking away. The day had gone by fast, and everyone had left already. It was a Friday, which meant you all left pretty early. Usually you were out of the office by 2:30-3 the latest, but today, you couldn’t help but be glued to your laptop. You were so close to finishing the article, you could practically already see it, printed in fine lettering. This whole article could completely make or destroy your career, and you were getting more anxious, yet excited, as you slowly got closer to the end.

You only had a few paragraphs left, but you glanced at the clock. It was going on 6, and you knew Mr. Jang wanted to leave soon, as he had always left at 6 instead of 8 on Friday’s.

“Still here again?” He asked.

You turned towards him as he stepped out of his office, a smile on your face.

“I’m almost done… Could you look it over for me? If you have the time?” You asked.

“Of course.” He said with a smile as he walked over.

His eyes scanned your laptop, his fingers lightly hovering over the pad to scroll down or up to read. His eyes were intensely scanning the words, each paragraph being implanted in his brain.

When he finished he pulled away. He looked at you, the same expression his face changing as he smiled.

“I like it. I like it a lot actually. Keep up the good work, I now know what you’re capable of.” He said with a bigger smile. “Big things are going to start coming your way, Y/N.”

You beamed at his praise, a huge smile on your face as you bowed to him.

“Thank you so much Mr. Jang!” You said excitedly.

He walked you out of the office, waving goodbye to you as you turned towards the direction of your apartment. You looked up at the darkening sky, inhaling deeply, a big smile on your face. You began to walk home, stopping in the little convenient store for a few snacks and a quick dinner. You grabbed some of the pork dumplings they had, your stomach rumbling.

You approached the front door to your apartment building, and you sighed in relief when the door opened. Thank god it wasn’t locked again, you don’t need more stress like last night.

You entered the elevator and pressed the button to go up to your floor, when you felt a sudden wave of dread. Something felt off, and you couldn’t tell what it was. You clutched the plastic bag with your snacks in it, and decided to brush it off.

You just got great news about your career, why are you worrying now? Nothing could ruin this moment for you, and you weren’t going to let anything destroy your hope.

You got off of the elevator and walked over to the door, unlocking it and stepping inside. Your whole apartment was dark, and the skin on your neck and back began to crawl as the same eerie feeling began to haunt you. You walked over towards the light switch when a cold metal touched your temple, a soft click filling your ears. Your body shook, your eyes making out a dark figure beside you.

“W-Who are you?” You asked.

“You made the biggest mistake of your life getting involved.” A man’s voice growled. “Unfortunately, it’s costing you your life.”

Your hands shook as tears filled your eyes. “Please don’t… I won’t tell anyone.”

The cold metal pressed against the skin on your temple, a soft chuckle leaving the man’s lips.

“I don’t give a shit who you would’ve told, you were an idiot for saving that man. You took away an opportunity for me, and the only way to pay that back is your life.”

You heard the safety click and closed your eyes tight, your whole body shaking. You heard a weird squelching sound and a choked gasp. The gun fell away from your head and you slowly opened your eyes.

Another man stood over the one that held the gun to your head, and the moonlight illuminated the man. It was the one that had been kicking Chan the night before, a knife was sticking out of his neck, his eyes open and wide.

The other man you didn’t recognize. He wore a black hat and dark clothing, his eyes meeting yours.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“N-No…” You whispered shakily.

“Are you Y/N?” He asked.

You nodded and he slowly approached you.

“I was sent here to come get you, and it looks like I got here just in time.” He said. “Come with me.”

You didn’t ask any questions. If your mother was here, she'd scold you for willingly just following a stranger. But he had just saved you, so he can’t be all that bad, right? As you were stepping out the door, you smelled smoke, and quickly turned around. A fire was starting to smoke up the living room, and you went to go towards it when the man stopped you.

“Leave it.” He said, pulling you away with him.

He took you down the emergency stairs so no one would see you, and when you reached the side of the building, you heard the fire alarm blaring.

“Hurry.” The man said lowly.

You followed him to an Escalade, the giant dark truck reflecting the flames that were beginning to burst through your open apartment window. You watched it for a second, your heart shattering.

Everything you had ever worked for was in that apartment. The project, your degree, all the money you had put into making the place feel like home… It was all gone.

“Come on, we can’t stick around.” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You shakily opened the passenger side door and got in, finally getting a good look at your savior. He was short, shorter than most guys. His dark hair hung in his eyes as the hat he had on flattened it even more. He was wearing all black, and the gloves he wore had blood splattered in them.

“I’m Changbin.” He introduced himself.

You wanted to respond, but nothing came out. Your throat was dry from holding your tears back, so you just gave him a stiff nod. Your eyes wandered out the window as a big cloud of back smoke hung in the sky from your apartment building. It began to grow smaller as Changbin drove you away, taking you away from the dream you had chased for so long.

Changbin finally pulled into a massive drive way, the whole thing circling a massive fountain. Your eyes were wide as you looked at the mansion, statues and art carved into the columns sticking out, even in the dark.

“Follow me.” He said.

You slowly stepped out of the truck, and stiffly followed him up the giant stairs. He opened the two giant doors to the mansion, and you stared at the entrance. Another fountain was in the middle of an archway, and two sets of staircases that twirled around sat on each side. The place smelled like gingerbread, and the beautiful white and gold walls were bright, almost blindingly bright.

“Did you retrieve her?” A voice asked as a head popped around the fountain.

“Yes, this is Y/N.” Changbin introduced you.

The younger male smiled at you, his dark eyes sparkling.

“I’m Felix.” He said, beckoning for you to follow. “Come with me, someone wants to see you.” He said, leading you and Changbin through a giant hallway.

You heard more voices as you got closer, and you decided to stay closer to Changbin. Felix opened a giant door and multiple heads turned, but only one caught your attention. It was Chan.

“Y/N.” He called to you, a smile on his face.

His lips were still cut up, and he had a bruise on his jaw, but his eyes were shining. He stepped towards you, a big smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you.” He said, his smile faltering when he saw your expression. “What’s wrong? Didn’t something happen?”

“One of Yohyun’s men got into her apartment. I got there just in time.” Changbin told him.

“I made the right decision sending you when I did.” Chan said, his expression completely changed.

He looked down at you and stretched his hand out, gently touching your shoulder.

“You’re safe here, okay?” He said.

“W-Whats going on?” You asked.

Chan sighed but gave you a soft smile.

“When you saved me, you ruined plans for them. You see… I’m a very wanted man right now.” He explained. “And I knew they would find out who had saved me, and I knew you’d be in danger.”

“Why would I be in danger for saving you?” You asked.

“Because like I said, I’m a very wanted man.” He said softly. “You stole a… Big bounty from them.”

You were silent as Chan rubbed your shoulder, his warm touch almost comforting.

“What if they look for me again?” You asked.

“We won’t let them hurt you, Y/N.” Chan said.

“And where will I go?” You asked. “My apartment was on fire… I lost everything…”

Chan’s eyes were soft as he looked at you, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“You’re going to uh.. Have to stay here… With the eight of us.”

#bang chan #bang chan stray kids #stray kids bang chan #bang chan skz #skz #skz chan #skz imagines #skz mafia au #skz bang chan #stray kids #chan stray kids #straykids #stray kids au #stray kids mafia au

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

Full Moon ~ JJK [M] [Request]

➳➳➳Word count: 6.1K

➳➳➳Genre: Smut, AU, fantasy, tiny microscopic angst,

➳➳➳Pairing: Werewolf!Jungkook x Reader

➳➳➳A/N: I changed it a lot as I had just recently read a fic in the same way you asked me to write it and I didn't want to get into trouble by having something similar. That being said I fell totally in love with this and now I'm obsessed with werewolf protective jungkook like wtf. This is a genre I haven't tried before though and I know you said Hybrid so I hope this counts? I know people sometimes say that you still have your tail and things like that but it's not something I would be comfortable with. Hope this is okay. Love you

➳➳➳Warnings: Mentions blood, biting, smut (obviously), breeding.

"There's been another attack!" Someone screamed as they walked over to you and your friend, you were walking through the college campus you turned to look and see Mieko one of your closest friends rushing over and panting out of breath.

"Another attack?" You questioned as you pulled your bag off your shoulder and dug around inside for a bottle of water that you always carried around with you, you were the mum of the friend group so everyone knew they could come to you when they were in dire need or something. A snack, a drink, band-aid, first aid kit, pocket knife and the occasional cheat sheet to a test that you'd stolen from your history teacher when he wasn't paying attention to you.

"Thanks," She began downing the liquid before leaning against your shoulder for some kind of support, she whipped out her phone scrolling through her Facebook timeline to show you what she was talking about and you rolled your eyes,

"You know, not everything you read on Facebook is-Oh." You stopped yourself once you saw that it was a real report from a real news station, you began reading through what the article was talking about, apparently, the attack was one of 20 in the last two days. All of the attacker's victims lived to talk about what happened to them, talking about how a man would lore them to an old parked car or they would feel like they were being watched all night before waking up the next day in pain from beatings remembering nothing from the attack itself. It was nothing if not strange to you that so many people had been attacked without recollection of the actual attack happening.

"They're calling a curfew for everyone in the university, we have to be back at our dorms before 9 pm or it'll result in expulsion." She had finally caught her breath and was walking without leaning against you so you handed her phone back to her.

"Well, sucks to be me because I have to help Mr SeokJin with Art History grading and then I have night classes in the library with English teacher Mr Kim Namjoon." You told them pulling the bag back on over your shoulder and looking down at your schedule for the day,

"Why do you have to be so good at everything? God, you're exactly like Jungkook." Mieko mumbled rolling her eyes at you, they always mentioned this boy. Jungkook. But you'd never seen him before, probably because you both had super tight compact schedules that neither of you liked to stray from though apparently, you had one class together not that you would know if he was there because you had no idea what he looked like.

"You're always going on about him, why don't you just ask him out?" You teased poking Mieko in the side but she scoffed at you,

"He's an idiot, cold to everyone he meets and just shoves everyone off unless you're in his close friendship circle." You made a fake pitty face at her and she shoved you against the door of the entranceway to the Art building, you were running late for class and if you were late one more time that week Mr Seokjin would have you fired as his PA and Jimin, the teacher's pet would gladly take your place.

"I'm late! I'll see you back at the dorms later, save me some dumplings!" You called as you ran off back down the hall not paying attention to where you were walking and rushing straight into someone's arms, you could have sworn they growled at you so you looked up to see who it was when your eyes landed on another pair that were staring you down.

"Sorry, Jungkook! She wasn't looking where she was going, she's a clutz!" You shot Mieko a glare and she ran off in the opposite direction of her class, probably skipping to go and find someone else to torture.

"I am sorry, I'm just late-"

"You should watch where you're walking then instead of barging into everyone with your back!" He snapped making you flinch a little, you nodded gripping the strap of your bag tightly and going to walk the rest of the way to class. Jungkook stared you down as he watched you walking down the hall, trying to see where you were going when he heard Taehyung calling his name. He shook his head and walking over to his friend who was rubbing his stomach,

"I'm starving, what time are we hunting tonight?" He grumbled at the older alpha who was staring at him, Jungkook hated that he was the leader of the pack that they had especially since Taehyung was older than him and so were the rest of the boys with them but it just fell down to him since he was born a wolf, it was his birthright according to his grandfather.

"After curfew and I have the perfect bait for us tonight." He smirked darkling putting his arm around the Omega walking him down through the halls to go and find the rest of his pack.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a ride home Y/n?" Mr Kim Namjoon asked as you walked out of the library together and into the hallway of the History building, the whole place was deserted except for a couple of guards on shift and tutors who were heading home for the day.

"It's fine, I'm just a three-minute walk away sir," Namjoon said goodbye to you and walked in the direction of the car park. You pulled the strap of your bag over your shoulder and took out your phone to text Mieko to let her know you were on your way when you heard something moving behind you. You slowed down something everyone screamed at people for in horror movies but you were curious about what it was, then images of the news article flashed through your head and you clutched onto your bag tightly picking up the pace to get to your dorm.

A twig snapped and your head span around to see something blur in your version darting into the nearby woods near the college, you should have taken the ride. You regretted it instantly and you couldn't type on your phone because your hands were shaking so much,

"Shit." You whispered as you came towards the alleyway you needed to go down to get to your dorm. You prayed whoever it was following you would just leave you alone as you walked down the alley but whoever it was wasn't giving up, they proceed to follow you until you were deep inside the alley where no one could see you if they looked inside.

You felt a hand clutch onto your wrist before a loud growl sounded through the air echoing off the walls and making your legs shake. You were dragged onto the floor and you tried to beat whoever or whatever it was off your body but they were ragging you about from side to side. You opened your eyes to see bright red ones glaring back at you, attached to the eyes was a huge dog with black fur that was growling heavily and biting into your side repeatedly, you began screaming as loudly as you could hoping someone would hear you and try to rescue you but no one was coming. You started hitting the beast with your fists, bag and phone anything to get it off you but it wasn't budging, you could feel a burning sensation in your side where it had its jaws around you. You jammed the beast in the eye with your elbow and it let out a yelp, letting you go just enough so you could scramble off down the alley and towards your dorms where you banged loudly for Mieko to come and get you.

"Look, I'm telling you I don't remember anything." You said to the policeman who was interviewing you, you were sat up in the University's hospital wing after a nurse had patched you up and called them to report a crime had happened.

"You don't remember anything?" You shook your head and the man grumbled something before leaving you alone, you laid back down against the white sheets and stared up at the ceiling. What were you going to tell people? That a giant dog came out of nowhere and decided to use you as a chew toy? They'd lock you up and throw away the key, at least now you knew why everyone who was attacked before you said they forgot. You wished you'd forgotten, you had the image of the giant red eyes burnt into the back of your head, giving you a headache whenever you thought about them and the way he moved you around. It was bigger than the average dog and known wolves in the area, it was as if it was something straight from a fantasy book but fantasy books weren't real...were they?

Jungkook walked along the hallways with Taehyung and Jimin either side of them, giant smirks across their faces walking around as if they ruled the place.

"Did you hear about Y/n?" Jungkook heard someone mutter behind him, thanks to him being a wolf he had different abilities in and out of his shape. The heightened hearing was just one of many and he used it wisely,

"What happened?" A concerned voice rang out,

"Mieko found her bleeding out on the curb of their dorm, whimpering about something attacking her." Jungkook looked at the Omega's to see if they'd heard anything but they were either not bothered or hadn't heard what the girls were whispering to one another.

"Stay here." He mumbled leaning against some lockers so he could keep an ear on the conversation, he wanted to know what had happened and why you had survived much like all the other people someone had been attacking at night.

"She's in the hospital wing, they're going to keep her overnight until she's stable again. Mieko said it happened right in the alley near their dorm." Jungkook took off in a sprint leaving Jimin and Taehyung alone and confused in the halls, Jungkook hated the fact that he couldn't use his speed ability out of wolf form but he was fast enough without all four legs he knew where your dorm was, he'd heard Mieko talk about it enough in the classes they shared together.

Hissing as you sat up you looked around the hospital room for something to entertain yourself with, your phone was missing along with your laptop so you were awaiting the college to send you a replacement until a new one could be funded to you.

"Miss Y/n?" You looked over at the door to see the nurse who had stitched you together was standing there,

"A guest." You nodded and she moved out of the way letting Mr Kim Namjoon into the room, he walked over to you and sighed.

"I'm so sorry Y/n if I'd have insisted I take you home this never would have happened." He grumbled looking at you with pitty full eyes he felt terrible for not insisting you get into the car with him.

"It's not your fault sir," He nodded and held up the roses that he'd brought along with him, he knew how dreadful the hospital in the university could be and he wanted to liven the place up for you.

"I'll put these in here and go, I have a class." Just as he was reaching for the door handle the door swung open and Jungkook stood there, your eyes widened as he stared at you from the doorway.

"Ah I see you have another visitor, I'll see you next week back in my class." You looked down not wanting to make awkward eye contact with Jungkook but if you had looked up you would have seen the two of them having a stare off while Namjoon left the room. Neither of them blinking until the door was shut and the other was out of sight and out of mind.

"How are you feeling?" You stared at Jungkook once again as he stood beside your bed, your eyes locked onto the bag he was carrying and you realised it was yours.

"Where did you-"

"I went to the alley you were attacked in, your phone is a little broken." He handed you the red iPhone and you groaned looking at the smashed up screen, you put it down on the bedside table reaching for some water when Jungkook noticed the bandage around your waist.

"Why didn't you tell the police the truth?" You stared at him and he poured you a glass of water, handing it to you and watching as you carefully took it from his hands.

"I told them everything I knew." He shook his head at you,

"No you didn't, you told them you don't remember anything and trust me no one forgets something like that you went through." You stared at him with a blank expression, he pulled a chair up to your bed and checked the watch on his wrist.

"You can pretend all you want but we don't have all day." You looked down at the cup of water in your hand trying not to think on the fiery eyes that stared at you, your eyes began to tear up and Jungkook knew what you were feeling. He'd seen the same thing with Jimin and Taehyung but he'd never had a female before,

"It was huge," You started, you had no idea why but there was something about Jungkook that made you feel as though you could trust him with everything and he wouldn't think you were crazy.

"It had these giant red eyes and then it-It's fur it was black and matted." Jungkook knew instantly who and what had attacked you the night before and he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent what was going to happen to you that night.

" I can't explain it all here, it's not safe but we need to get you out of this hospital bed and to my place as soon as possible." You scoffed in his direction and put the cup of water down,

"It's that how you get all the girls Jungkook?" He was shocked at how you were speaking to him at first, normally girls would swoon at his feet and obey whatever he told them and he put that down to the wolf charm but not you. You didn't seem to care about it but he figured it was because you would be changing soon,

"Listen to me, did that bite burn when that thing did what it did?" You thought about it for a couple of seconds before nodding, he leant forward and moved the bandage away from where the bite should have been but it was completely gone.

"That's-"

"Impossible? Yes, it's called healing and I'll tell you more if you come with me." Your mind was telling you that you couldn't trust him or anyone else but there was something about him that was luring you in, your heart and soul both screaming at you that this was right and this was what you were supposed to do.

"How do I know you didn't do this to me..."

"Do I look like a giant wolf to you?" You shook your head at him but remembered all of the old folk stories,

"Wolves shift in the day." He smirked at you for knowing your stuff, you weren't as stupid as he first thought you were.

"If it was me I wouldn't have let you go so you could become like us...No one deserves this life, it's hell." He sat you up in the bed and handed you one of the University hoodies from the shelf and then some sweatpants.

"Like us?" He sighed promising to explain everything once he got you to a safer place,

"Am I going to die?" He felt his heartbreak as you stared up at him with tearful eyes, he shook his head at you.

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

If someone had told you that you would have been changed up in a basement by the end of that day you never would have believed them,

"So what happens when the moon is up?" You questioned watching as Jungkook walked around the basement to make sure the chains were secure, there was one on each of your ankles and then one on each of your wrists keeping you in place.

"You change...Into one of us." He answered looking over at the basement door as it opened, Jimin walked down the stairs to give Jungkook a case of water and he spotted you.

"Y/n was the one they attacked last night?" You stared at him as he placed the water down on the floor, he dropped to his knees and walked closer to you taking a sniff of your hair and pulling back.

"She's not mine." He smirked looking over at Jungkook who was looking away from the scene in front of you,

"What? You haven't checked?"

"Checked? Checked what?" Your voice came out panicked and Jimin tutted shaking his head and turning to look at you,

"You could be his mate or Taehyung's mate who knows, everything happens for a reason Jungkook." With that, he left the basement slamming the door behind him,

"Mate? As in..." Jungkook nodded and you bit down on your lip ignoring the tension that was now filling the air, Jungkook didn't need to check he'd known since you'd walked into him yesterday that you were his mate. He should have walked you home last night to make sure nothing happened to you, he should have been there to protect this from ever happening but now here you were getting ready to change into what he was.

"How come you're not in chains again?" You questioned trying to get rid of the awkwardness that was hanging in the air,

"We can control out shifting, we can change whenever we want but you're new and it's going to be a long time before you can learn to control anything happening inside of you while you're in your wolf form." He walked over to you and looked at the watch, it was almost time. He attached another chain around your neck and you stared at him through your eyelashes.

"Is it going to hurt?" He stayed silent wanting to spare you of the gory details, it was something he'd hated when he first transformed.

"That's a yes." You whispered leaning back against the cold concrete wall behind you,

"I'll change as soon as you do, we can communicate through thoughts so just pay attention to me."

Jungkook watched as you screamed out in anguish, another crack sounded through the air as your arm broke in several places the chains clanging against the floor. Your back arched away from the ground and you let out a shriek in pain as it snapped in one place only to do it again in several other places, your whole body was on fire and you could feel every muscle shaking and bending as something took over inside of you. Then within seconds, the pain was gone and you were staring at Jungkook at a new angle,

"You're okay, it's over." You stared at him as he shook his body once falling down onto all fours and becoming a huge wolf creature in front of you, you tugged at the chains with your paw to get out but it wasn't going to budge. Jungkook had used the same ones wit Jimin and Taehyung and they were triple your size.

"I'm hungry..."

"You will be, Jimin and Taehyung will be back soon. Try to suppress the thoughts with something else." You thought back on all the assignments that were due in next week and you heard Jungkook chuckle from inside of your head,

"You're thinking about homework?"

"Always, it's important."

"You're worse than me." Jungkook went on to explain that that was why he was taking all the extra classes, the extra work kept his mind off of wanting to rip everyone's head off and eat them. While it also kept it from having a social life outside of the pack, he never wanted anyone else to go through this.

"Dinner is served." A deer's body was dropped down on the floor in front of you by a brown-haired wolf with black eyes,

"That one's Tae, he's shy but he'll get used to you." Taehyung left and changed back into his human form upstairs complaining to Jimin that you weren't his mate either.

"Do I just-"

"Let your instincts take over. Once you've fed it'll be easier to control yourself." You threw yourself down biting and tearing into the skin of the animal and he was right, it was as if your body knew what to do without you telling it to.

After that night of changing things changed at home, you couldn't live with Mieko anymore and started to shut her out Jungkook had convinced you it was for the best if you stayed away from her. You didn't want to accidentally kill her or change her into what you were, you moved into the house Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook were living in and started to only interact with them at school. That was a month ago and the full moon was coming up, Jungkoo still hadn't told you what he knew you were to him but he knew it was going to be hard to hide this time around it was already hard enough as it was to keep his hands off you and to stop himself from jumping on anyone that came near you. The alpha instincts around his mate were always stronger than anything else inside of him and it was hard to control but you didn't know he was your mate and he didn't want to tell you.

"Y/n? You ready?" Jimin asked from the doorway watching to see if you were following him,

"Be right there." You called back to him sliding everything into your bag, it was getting late and the moon would be coming up soon so Jungkook wanted you back at the house as soon as possible, it was going to be your first change without the chains on.

"Miss Y/l/n?" You looked over your shoulder to see Mr Kim Namjoon watching you and Jimin closely,

"May I speak with you a second?" You flung the bag over your shoulder and he walked over to your desk, leaning against it and staring down at you.

"You ought to be careful with who you associate yourself with." His hands traced along yours as it rested against your chest, you snapped it away from him feeling uneasy about the touch.

"Jimin and his friendship group they're not exactly the best of their kind," His eyes flashed a bright red colour and you stumbled backwards knocking a chair down in the process, Jimin was by your side within seconds and he was staring at Namjoon who was staring back at him.

"The pathetic little alpha sends an Omega to collect his cum rag, that's funny." Namjoon chuckled deeply without another word Jimin pulled you out of the classroom both of you rushing in silence to get out to Taehyung's car,

"Cum rag? Who the fuck does he think he is?!" You let out a growl by accident and your eyes were starting to illuminate a little as you got angrier,

"Y/n," Taehyung warned reminding you you were inside of a car and no the basement where it was safe to change, but the anger inside of you kept growing inside of you as you thought of him insulting Jungkook like that.

"What happened?!" Jungkook yelled as you were walked into the basement by Jimin and Taehyung, you sat against the floor growling into your hands at the mere thought of Namjoon.

"I think he changed her as well, his eyes Jungkook...They were red and he seemed to know that you were her mate." Your ears picked up on that word again and you watched as Jungkook tensed up.

"I'll fix it, go and hunt for something to eat you haven't had anything all week." You'd managed to feed your cravings by eating a copious amount of beef burgers and steaks when you didn't have to change.

"Mate?" Jungkook turned to look at you and nodded, he knew the time was coming where he would have to explain it all to you but he would rather go off and find Namjoon first, kill him for doing what he did to you.

"Namjoon did this to you, he's the reason you're in this mess." You looked up to see his eyes were filled with tears and you walked over to him taking his face in your hands to make him stare at you,

"Jungkook I'm fine, look at me." He stared at you, the urge to kiss you was growing stronger and he could tell you wanted him to by the way your legs squeezed together and the way you kept licking your bottom lip.

"You're perfect." He mumbled before crashing his lips against yours, his hands gripped onto the back of your neck pulling you closer to him there was something that changed inside of you and it was like you were feral, you never wanted him to stop kissing you ever again but your body was craving more from him. His lips moved down to your neck and you moaned out in pleasure at the feeling of him sucking along the exposed skin,

"Fuck, we can't." He pushed you away and you whimpered looking at him with hurt in your eyes,

"Why not?" He looked at you and then at the watch realising you hadn't even changed yet and then checked his watch again maybe it was too fast there was no way you had control over your changing abilities yet.

"Jungkook kiss me." You whispered to him bringing him closer to you, he took one sniff of your scent and almost fell to his knees ready to take you but it was too dangerous, you were in heat and the moon was full anything could happen. You weren't stable,

"I need you," You whined out in his ear and he grabbed you once more kissing you roughly and slamming you against the wall behind you, you shrieked happily as his hands worked their way up and down your body tripping the shirt from your chest.

"My favourite shirt," You fake pouted against his lip,

"Shut up," He mumbled against your lips biting down on your bottom lip and dragging it with his teeth, everything inside of him knew this was wrong and it could fuck everything up but he needed you and you needed him.

"I need more." You whimpered and he knew what you wanted, what you both wanted but once you started there was no stopping.

"Oh god, I want you to...I want to fuck you until you're full up pup but-" You kissed him once again to shut him up and he relaxed a little more letting your lips relaxing his body, you pushed him back and dropped to your knees in front of him.

"I want what I want," You whispered to him undoing his jeans and pulling them down his legs, he nervously looked up at the basement door and prayed Jimin and Taehyung had left to hunt and weren't going to come down and find this scene unfolding in front of them.

"Shit." He grunted as you took him into his mouth, there were no words to describe how he was feeling the way your tongue worked around his member, licking and sucking every bit of him you could but what you couldn't you used your hands to massage, he was letting out whimpers as his head fell back.

"Just like that, shit." He grunted his hand going into your hair and biting his tongue resisting the urge to slam his cock down your throat, he knew he had to be gentle with you he could smell it on you that you'd never done something like this before.

"Lay down baby." You took him from your mouth with a pop and he smirked ripping your jeans off your body and throwing them somewhere within the basement, he didn't care all he cared about was you. Tasting you and having you all to himself, he licked a stripe up your folds and you moaned at the new sensation, all of this was new to you but it felt right,

"Jungkook." You whined out not wanting to be teased, you wanted him to mount you and not stop until you were screaming out his name,

"I know baby but once I've started I won't be able to stop until I'm done." You nodded at him as a sign that you understood and it was what you wanted and he kissed you, slowly easing himself into you as you whimpered out. You could feel him stretching you out from the very first push and your nails dug into his back dragging down and you were positive if you didn't have super healing powers it would scar him.

"Fuck you're so tight." He grunted as he finally submerged himself all the way inside of you in the missionary position, not something that was common among your kind, holding himself in place until you were ready for him to start moving. You gave him a nod and he kissed your forehead promising you he would be as gentle as possible with you but once you felt you were used to his small and light thrusts you begged him to go faster,

"F-Faster Kookie, I can take it." You whispered in his ear but he shook his head,

"I can't, you'll break." You whimpered as continued his tiny thrusts, you knew there was something to make him move but you didn't want to risk him stopping altogether.

"N-Namjoon called me your cum rag, said you were a 'pathetic alpha'." You managed to say through grunts his thrusting stopped and he stared down at you, he knew what you were trying to do and it was working.

"Fuck, you're going to kill me." He grunted pulling out of you only to slam back into you at a rough pace making your back arch back as he finally hit the spot you'd been needing him in.

"Right there." You whimpered within a matter of seconds already feeling yourself coming to your first orgasm, there was a pit in your stomach that was starting to grow with every thrust,

"Don't stop." You stuttered out as his thrusts became faster, he smirked watching you come undone underneath him he'd never imagined for a second you would be like this with him. He thought you would be a shy and fragile girl like you were before but this was something else.

"I think- Ugh fuck- I think I'm close." You panted out and he could smell that you were, you began clenching around him and he grunted picking up his pace a little more so he could get you to the edge, he bit down on your neck drawing blood and smirking as you let out yelps of pleasure.

"Cum for me pup," You yelped out as you felt your orgasm rush through your body sending shock waves throughout you, your legs were shaking and your hands were shaking as they latched onto Jungkook's hair tugging a little as he continued his vigorous thrusts into you not stopping just because you'd come around him. You screamed out his name as he continued to thrust into you, the pain from just finishing was slowly starting to be subsidised by pleasure once again as you felt the belt-tightening once more,

"J-Junkookie." You whimpered and he smirked down at you kissing your lips and pulling back, he pulled out of you and flipped you over onto all fours, he couldn't take the human position anymore, he needed you on all fours so he could fuck you properly like the dogs you were inside.

"Shit." You hiccuped as he thrust into you hitting spots that were left untouched before, you gripped onto the ground as his hips pushed into yours, one of his hands gripping onto your hips and digging in so deep it was drawing blood.

"I'm close Y/n." He grunted as he continued to fuck you in the way it felt natural to him, you whimpered in agreement letting him know you were too by clenching around him and he smirked,

"C-Cum inside me, please." You whined out underneath him arching your back as you felt your release coming nearer and nearer, he faltered for a second before picking up his pace again not wanting to stop, hearing you tell him what you wanted sent him closer to his edge.

"What do you want little pup?" He asked coaxing you into telling him again you let out a whimper as you were going to have to say it again,

"Finish inside me, I need you inside of me. Everything, just-" You couldn't finish because he pulled your hair so he could kiss you as he fucked into you,

"There's no going back if I do this Y/n." He warned as he felt himself getting closer, he kissed your neck lovingly wanting nothing more than to finish inside of you and claim you as his own but he had to make sure you were sure first.

"Make me yours," You whimpered and he pulled out once again bringing you back to the human position you had started in, he wanted to look at you as he claimed you and made you his. He wanted this to be romantic and not as though he was stealing something away from you,

"S-Shit I think I might." He grunted throughout his sentence staring down into your eyes as you stared back up into his smirking at him as he brought you closer for your second and final orgasm of the night.

"You might what?" You giggled up at him and it was like music to his ears, he felt his balls throb as he almost finished at the sound of your giggle.

"Shit, d-do that again." He begged, watching as you giggled beneath him once more his thrusts picked up once more as he felt his pleasure coming to an end,

"I'm g-gonna cum, cum for me okay?" You nodded at him and he smirked kissing your lips softly pulling away to make eye contact with you as you begged him to fill you up, it's what you needed and what your body was begging for.

"S-Shit." He grunted hitting your spot in just the right way that you clenched around him tighter than before, like a vice and he stuttered his thrusts spurting into you but continuing to fuck into you so you wouldn't miss a single drop.

"Shit I think I love you." He grunted out as he continued to thrust into you when you didn't say anything back he felt his heartbreak a little but he continued to thrust.

He stayed in place above you as you both came down from your high, once he knew it was safe for him to pull out he did and dropped down next to you smirking as he looked at you.

"That was-"

"Yeah," You finished looking at him with a smile on your face, you rolled over and laid your head down against his chest.

"I love you too by the way." You whispered looking up at him as you rested your chin on his chest to make eye contact with him.

"Can you guys warn us next time?! Fuck!" You heard Jimin yell from upstairs you looked over at the door and back at Jungkook,

"Why didn't I change?" Jungkook looked at you and took in a deep breath,

"I think you have better control over your instincts than I first thought." You hummed and bit down on your lip,

"I want you to do that again." You whispered to him biting down on your lip as you stared up at him,

"Trust me, you're not going to want to stop now you've had one taste." He chuckled knowing how hard it was to keep yourself from stopping once you'd had the first taste of an orgasm like that.

"But let's go upstairs since you're not changing, there are much comfier places then the basement floor." He whispered in your ear, roughly biting down on it with a fang and smirking as you whimpered out to him.

tagline:

@yoongisdumplingcheeks @kpopfanfictionhoes @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @callingmyangel @fan-ati--c @mitzwinchester @btsiguess-kpop @rjsmochii

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year...

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.

the end-of-tour party in montreal.

god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.

brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”

jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”

roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.

john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.

the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.

roger removes his sunglasses.

“it was just a party, jim.”

there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”

roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”

“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”

jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.

he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”

jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”

“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”

jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”

roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”

jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”

roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”

it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.

roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”

“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”

“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”

“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.

“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”

jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.

still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.

he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.

“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”

“you look beautiful, [y/n].”

with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”

ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”

you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”

ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”

sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.

you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”

“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”

“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”

ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.

“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”

you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”

before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.

he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.

when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”

“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”

“right.” he nods once.

from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.

“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.

his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”

“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”

he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.

“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”

“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”

ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”

the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.

then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.

the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.

“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”

lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.

“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.

“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”

roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”

you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”

roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”

he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.

“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”

“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.

you nod. “mhmm.”

“she doesn’t look like you.”

you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”

“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”

“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.

the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.

the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”

the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.

oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.

one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts.

you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.

this is a job for you. nothing more.

the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.

“hello?”

“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”

“yes. who is this?”

“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”

he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”

“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”

“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”

“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”

“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”

“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”

“afraid so.”

“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”

“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you��re not shouting at me like rog does.”

after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.

he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.

you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”

roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.

“are you an angel?”

you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”

“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”

“that’s kind of you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”

“i think you’re still drunk.”

as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.

“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”

roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.

“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”

“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”

with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say.

you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.

“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”

to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.

inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”

from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.

the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall.

your nails tap against the counter.

you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?

it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts.

you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.

the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.

but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you.

his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested.

you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.

it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?

“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”

he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”

you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”

“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”

“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”

roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”

your shoulders slump. “oh.”

“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”

“but where will i—”

“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”

you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.

maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.

you come to when a car horn blares outside.

roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.

“roger!”

he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.

“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.

his brow pinches. “what is it?”

“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”

for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.

“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”

you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.

“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”

“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”

the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.

god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.

so, why is it so hard for you to let go?

you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.

sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.

“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”

roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.

some blissfully wed husband he makes.

biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.

there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.

but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.

still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.

maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.

jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.

so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.

you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.

a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.

you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.

conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.

yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.

without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.

there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.

two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.

“[y/n], please!”

“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”

tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.

you’re nervous.

your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.

impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.

the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.

your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.

“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”

nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.

but then the phone rings.

roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”

“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”

“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”

lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”

at first, you hear nothing on the other end.

but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”

the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.

your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”

a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.

only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.

for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.

but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.

still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.

“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”

“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”

roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”

“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”

“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”

“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.

the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.

you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.

only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“so, you’re done with modeling?”

you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.

“that’s why i married you,” you say.

roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.

“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.

“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”

“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”

“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”

roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”

“why not?”

“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.

“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.

he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”

you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.

he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.

a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.

roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?

near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.

“is this your wife, roger?”

the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.

roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.

“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”

the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.

the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”

you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.

“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.

“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”

the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”

“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”

“that’s not really—”

“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”

grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.

thank god it’s not a difficult role.

with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.

he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.

“there! that could enough for you?”

roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.

as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”

“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”

he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.

“roger! [y/n]! over here!”

three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.

the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.

come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.

your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.

chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.

you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.

meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.

“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”

“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”

you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.

“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.

you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”

“have you told rog?”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”

another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.

you’d forgotten about that too.

veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”

“i guess but—”

“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”

“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”

john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.

like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”

veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.

“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”

you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.

the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.

all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.

laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.

brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.

but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.

“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”

your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.

the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.

you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”

he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.

you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.

for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.

this is not a battle you can win yourself.

kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.

“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.

his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”

clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.

beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.

the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.

roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.

you could get used to this.

at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.

“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.

you know he’s right.

“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.

he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.

roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”

“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”

“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”

you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.

“you look like a marshmallow.”

lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”

“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”

you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”

he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.

“we should go home,” you say.

“yeah.”

roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.

the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.

“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.

“mhm. did you?”

you nod, but don’t look up.

from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.

twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.

“roger–”

“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.

“there’s something i should—”

his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?

“what?”

“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”

“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”

his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”

hard exhale.

his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.

roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.

when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.

when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.

when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.

halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.

you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.

“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.

someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.

“oh, sorry. hello?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice.

your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”

a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.

you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.

you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.

roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.

your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.

“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.

you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”

he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”

you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”

he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”

“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”

with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.

but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.

he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.

roger is gone before you wake the next morning.

he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”

the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

it’s heaven, but the price is hell.

you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.

eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.

after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.

he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.

but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.

you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.

still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.

there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

did he buy you those earrings?

will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?

you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.

the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.

you should tell roger too; you know you should.

but he’s happy.

when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.

it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—

it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.

besides, you’ll be gone in six months.

one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.

when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.

“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.

for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.

there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.

you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.

rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.

“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”

you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”

“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”

gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.

deep inhale.

“about a month or two ago, i started—”

the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.

your stomach plummets to your feet.

your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.

he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”

some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—

“yes, fred, i know.”

hard exhale.

you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.

roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.

“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”

“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”

tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.

pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”

he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”

“mhm.”

“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”

he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.

someone could be watching.

roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”

“i remember.”

“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.

you oblige him without hesitation.

“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”

you nod, and he leaves.

the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.

you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.

you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.

by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.

roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”

you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.

“you okay?”

“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.

he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.

as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.

“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.

he frowns. “what do you mean?”

“it’s just that i’ve been—”

he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.

“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.

this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—

“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.

purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”

roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.

roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”

you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”

“is it something i’ve—”

“no, roger. it’s not you.”

he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.

near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.

but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.

it happens before you have time to react.

your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.

you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.

it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.

her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.

your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.

roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.

“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”

only my pride, you think.

“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”

“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”

the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.

once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.

“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”

his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.

“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.

it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.

“what is it you weren’t telling me?”

“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.

he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.

“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”

“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”

“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”

he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.

“i wish you would have trusted me.”

“i’m—”

“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”

you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”

he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.

“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.

“what?”

“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”

tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.

you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.

roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”

“yes.”

he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”

“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”

he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”

you nod, stunned by his firm tone.

“say it.”

“i promise.”

he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.

you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.

in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.

your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.

but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.

you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.

he grins back. “good morning, wife.”

now this—this you could get used to.

taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish @bluewillowmom @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof @six-bloodyminutes

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes

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hanii-rose · 3 years

Text

•Hello again, I’m the anon who requested gender neutral s/o! Thank you so much for writing such beautifully-written story between Garou and them. I’ve ended up loving it very much it was very good read, aww big kudos for you! ❤❤

And for the next request, as the fandom still hyped about part-timer Garou, how about of the continuation of the previous story:

The s/o has a stable job already, right? And Garou realized that currently being a freeloader in s/o’s house makes him a bit guilty. So he decided to lessen the s/o’s burden by taking a part-time job.

The s/o actually don’t mind of Garou being a freeloader, but seeing Garou becomes so determinated about it the s/o can’t help but feel very proud and happy for him.

Lots of fluffy moments after both of them finished working, like cooking a simple dinner together at home, resting their tired bodies on the couch while cuddling lovingly, Garou and the s/o sharing a lot of soft kisses during it while the s/o praising Garou’s hardworking, etc.

And as it’s the continuation of “Reunited’, of course the s/o is still a gender neutral.

Thank you so much and have nice days! 💖•

I’m so happy that I finally got to this one. There were a few requests before it so I had to complete those and I also had to write for the story on AO3 (-_-;) Sorry if I made you wait too long hehe I’m glad you enjoyed the first one tho

_________________________________________

Reunited Part 2

Garou x GenderNeutral!Reader

You stepped through your door after returning from your 9-5 job. Your muscles and joints ached and you stretched your body in an effort to wake yourself up, the plastic bag full of groceries crinkling with every move.

"I’m home…” you softly called, unable to produce a louder noise.

You took your work shoes off along with your coat and scarf, discarding them carelessly by the door, too tired to put them away.

You heard footsteps approaching and smiled when the Garou came towards you. You walked up to him and fell into his arms. Loosely wrapping your arms around his neck, you spoke softly.

“I am so tired today. I can’t even walk straight…”

He quirked a brow. His arms slithered around your waist and he picked you up, taking the bag of groceries from you and putting it on the kitchen counter on the way the bathroom down the hall.

“Another rough day, huh?”

Garou questioned softly and you nodded yawning.

“You have no idea…”

Garou set you down onto the stable counter of your bathroom and helped you out of your office pants, sliding then down your legs. You were left in your white shirt and socks.

Garou left after fixing you a warm bath. Undressing completely, you sat yourself down in your tub, the water temperature hot enough to soothe the undeniable ache in your bones from such a hard day of deskwork.

After washing yourself and sitting in the relaxing steam for an hour, you opted to get up and leave. Garou brought you your pajamas and you slipped them on, stretching and walking out of the tiled room with a towel in your hands.

“Ya finally done…?”

Garou asked deeply, sitting on the black couch of your apartment. You sighed and plopped down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. His fingers came up to massage your sides and you leaned in closer, the two of you now laying on the couch, Garou’s head on the armrest and your body on top of his.

“Mm, this feels good…” you said, slightly drowsy.

“Yeah.”

The two of you laid in silence, the only sound coming from the T.V. opposite from the couch. Garou turned the volume down, setting the mood perfectly. His hands circled your waist, exclusively close to your derrière. His hot breath fanned your ear and you found yourself nuzzling into him even more.

Your eyes slowly shut themselves and you curled up into a comfortable position. Oh boy, this felt so…cozy.

“C'mon, why are you fallin’ asleep on me?”

Garou’s voice rang out and you instantly awoke from your drowsy state.

“Oh, um…sorry. I’m just very sleepy today.”

“Too much work these days…”

You leaned towards his cheek, connecting your lips with it. And with that you wearily stood up and spoke, “I’m just gonna go take a nap. Too tired to function…”

Garou nodded, reluctantly, and let you go. He watched you tiredly carry yourself to your bedroom and fall flat on top of the mattress, immediately falling asleep.

Garou sighed to himself and leaned back onto the armrest of the couch. This had been going on for a number of days. You come home from work, he bathes you and takes care of you, he tries to fuck you and love you but you blow him off for sleep.

It was starting to get infuriating. But why was this happening to you? Things weren’t like this the first month he was here…

In fact, a lot of things had changed since the end of the month. Your fridge used to be stacked with food, you used to have a lot more things around and most importantly, you were livelier.

It was like he turned everything around for you….

Oh, shit.

He did, didn’t he? Fuck!

You were only so tired because you worked harder to support the two of you, you bought the groceries all by yourself, you cooked for him, man he was just taking and taking.

Garou exhaled harshly on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands in a frustrated manner. He’s such an idiot…

Ok ok, think. What do you do when someone lets you freeload in their house, eat their food, lie around all day and be the laziest bum you can be?

Oh, that’s right! You get a job.

He’s made up his mind. He is going to get a job, but there’s no way in hell he’s gonna tell you that. He doesn’t need you gushing over how sweet and cute he is, not wanting to re-experience the time you teased him for trying to make a pancake. He just wanted to be nice without being called a sweetheart, c'mon!

Now, back to the matter at hand. What job can he actually get that doesn’t require any form of experience or education?

You grab a packet of sweetener from the coffee drawer, tearing open the little paper on top and pouring it into the foam cup that held your recently brewed coffee. You silently stirred with the swizzle stick, observing the boring people of your office from the small break room you stood in.

Leaning against the white counter, you sipped the hot substance and sighed in contentment when it travelled down your throat. You slipped your phone out of your pocket and leisurely scrolled through the recent news articles which lined the screen, stopping to read anything important.

And so you spent the next 10 minutes of your 20 minute break just dawdling around on your phone. You threw away the small cup of coffee that had become too cold and bitter for your liking and trekked back to your office, pushing open the pristine glass doors.

Putting your phone away back into your pocket, you took a seat in your office chair, booting up your computer to get back to making spreadsheets and going over the accounts drafted for last month.

You sighed in boredom, correcting some errors made by your ex-deskmates. It feels so good to have your own office, feels so good to get away from those vermin and feels so good being their boss. Yep, getting a promotion was the best. The only down side was that you had way more work now, your underlings tend to make too many mistakes when it comes to balance sheets. You hadn’t told Garou the news yet, you wanted to do it over a cute dinner. It would be way more impactful that way.

Ah, Garou. He always made you feel better after a long day. Just seeing his cute big head relieved you of all the stress that you carried home. Not to mention the amazing feeling of his unexpectedly soft hair between your fingers as you tug and weave or the overwhelming feeling of his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close and holding your sore body. The touch of his warm mouth on your lips, kissing and worshipping it, invading every intimate part of your form. And the way his tongue felt on your

DING!

Oh, an email from your boss? What’s this about? The she-devil up there never emailed her employees for anything good…

Subject: Executive meeting

Dear D-Wing Employee,

Good Morning. Our company, as you are aware, will be merging with a larger firm, hopefully bringing us larger and more profitable trades.

It has been brought to my attention that many of our business partners and executive directors will be hosting a meeting in the D-Wing of our establishment. It would be most appreciated if all of our D-Wing employees would be willing to postpone their work for a day to enable our higher ups and VIPs to perform the necessary actions in completing this fortunate exchange between two efficient companies, striving to bring better service to the people.

The delay of work shall last from today 10:00 A.M. to tomorrow 12:00 P.M. Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any concerns about this matter, please submit a written letter to the E-Wing, describing your issues.

Best Regards,

Senior Director, Akari Hina

Woah, so you’re basically getting the rest of the day off? And no work at all tomorrow? Hm, maybe your boss isn’t so bad after all.

Packing up and grabbing your coat, you turned off your computer and headed straight for the door, running past all of the other D-Wing employees readying themselves to leave.

Garou sat in the office of a delivery firm, arms crossed and leg bouncing up and down, antsy. He eyed the man in front of him, clad in a suit and tie and looking through the 5 minute resume that Garou printed up.

“So, you’re an expert in ‘being strong’ and 'being cool’. You don’t have much experience, you’re only 18 and you created this resume by yourself?”

Garou nodded, fiddling with the edge of the gray scarf you had gifted him. Ah, another reason to get a job, give you a gift.

“So, did you pass highschool or…? Sorry, I’m confused.”

The man took off his glasses, wiping it with a little cloth that was left on his desk, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I left after my third year…”

Garou confirmed, and the man put his glasses back on, and intertwined his fingers on the desk between them.

“That’s good enough. It’ll do. Which department are you looking to work in? We have filing, storage, delivery and cleaning. But you look like a strong kid, storage would be perfect for you.”

Garou thought for a moment, face twisting in confusion. Filing…ugh reading. Storage, hmm not bad. Delivery isn’t hard. He refuses to clean after the slobs here.

“I’m up for anything that has heavy work, no reading or cleaning, thanks.”

He curtly informed his soon to be boss. The suited man huffed and opened up his desk drawer for a notepad.

“Sign these and we’ll get you started. Deliveries should be fine, no?”

Garou picked up a pen and signed away, paper after paper. Who knew FedEx had so many policies?

After providing enough details on the notepad and filling up all of the consent forms, Garou stood up, pushing his chair back slightly. He went to turn the knob of the little office door but was halted by the voice of the man, or should he say, his new boss.

“I’ll have my assistant bring you your uniform, also get rid of the hair. It won’t fit in the hat…”

Garou turned the knob exiting the office and strode out into the garage. A small man walked up to him with a transparent bag of clothes, hiding his face behind it. The only thing he could completely discern about the boy was his name written on the tag near his breast pocket, Ibiki.

“Here is your uniform. When you come back tomorrow, we’ll make a name tag for you.”

The cheery, blushing boy spoke, informing Garou of what he needs to do next. Taking the packet from his hands, Garou asked for a bag to put his new clothes in.

Ibiki scurried off to find a bag and retrieved an empty white one, filling it with the plastic packet.

“Thanks.”

Garou was about to walk out when he heard the kid call out to him.

“Hey Mister! You forgot to take our card. You’ll need the bosses number. See, right here. And this one’s mine!”

Ibiki pointed out the two separate cell numbers and Garou nodded. Ibiki placed a shaky hand on Garou’s shoulder and patted the spot, saying something along the lines of 'you’ll love working with us!’. Whatever, he doesn’t care, all he wanted to do was make your life a little bit easier.

You had arrived home an hour ago, Garou nowhere in sight. You decided to shower and read a book while you waited for him to come home. You had already purchased lunch for the two of you on your way back, deciding that the contents in your fridge weren’t good enough to work with.

After Garou had shown up, things had turned for the better. It seemed like he brought you good luck wherever you went. You could recall the time when Garou wasn’t with you, and frankly, they weren’t the best. He made your life a lot more interesting than what it was before.

Standing up and stretching, you trailed towards your bedroom with your book in hand, opting to lay down comfortably and read. An hour and a half had passed and there was still no sign of Garou. But you had forgotten all about that. You munched on some chips in bed, flipping through the pages of your book, so immersed in it that your ears hadn’t caught the sound of your front door opening.

Garou walked into your shared home, taking off the jacket and scarf and hanging it behind the door. The bag which held his new uniform was hung in the wall closet in the living room. He washed himself up and looked around, expecting you to not be here as usual, but something caught his eye. Your work shoes! Weren’t you wearing these today?

Wait were you home…?

He looked around the house, checking each each and every room when he finally decided to check your bedroom.

Opening the door, he waltzed in, his eyes perceived you on your bed, laying on your stomach with your eyes glued to the book in your hand, potato chip hanging from your lips.

You still hadn’t noticed him in the room and he fully took advantage of that. Creeping around the edge of the bed, he stopped momentarily behind you. He licked his lips at the sight of your butt, clad in tight, black trousers. Without warning, he jumped onto you, his hips landing right on top of your ample behind, rough, trained hands gripping your hips to keep you in place.

You yelped in surprise, book flying across the bed as you jumped, or tried to, out of the way.

“W-where did you come from?!”

Your face twisted in annoyance as you asked.

“I should be asking you that. What are you doing home?”

Garou laid himself on top of you, his sharp chin resting on your head and fingers tightly grasping the mattress under you.

“I have the whole day off today! Now, will you please get off?”

Garou chuckled in excitement at your words, arms coming around to flip you over onto his chest as he turned himself over on his back.

“Never.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, relaxing down onto him.

“So, where were you this fine morning?”

Your question had not been answered for several seconds and you asked him again.

“Garou, where did you go?”

You turned around, still obove him, your chest to his. You gave him a questioning look, gesturing him to speak.

“Out.”

You quirked a brow, expression unamused.

“I know that!”

He sat up and hugged you, his sharp nose buried between you shoulder and neck, kissing the skin.

“With a friend.”

Garou said, eyes coming up to look at you, waiting for a response.

“Oh really? You have friends?”

He nodded hesitantly, avoiding direct eye contact.

Ok then, he was being weird… But you didn’t want to pry. What he does while he’s out is his business, there’s probably nothing to worry about. Its not like he’s cheating on you or anything, no, he would never do that, he’s not that kind of man.

HE’S THAT KIND OF MAN!

How could he? I-, You- How?! You were just coming home early from work. Turns out your new position didn’t require you to stay for long hours like before, so you just opted to come home. You had to take the long way around this time, passing by all of the urban workshops and postal firms because your normal road was being repaired. You passed by a FedEx warehouse and you could’ve sworn you saw silver hair and a gorgeous body, belonging to none other than Garou.

That was him for sure! Oh, when you get your hands on him…

You stomped your foot in anger at the scene unfolding before you. Garou, undressing in the wide open garage, taking off the clothes you had bought for him, to put on some drab brown and black shirt and pants. A small man hanging off from his shoulder as Garou walked to the desk to…collect something? What is that…?

The fragile looking boy next to him stopped in front of his chest and took what seemed to be a small card and clipped it to the front of Garou’s shirt. He beamed at Garou and your boyfriend turned to pick up the boxes that were strewn around the warehouse and pack them into individual trucks.

Wait a second. Was he working? Garou was working! Ohhh, of course! Yeah, you never doubted him for a second…

You strolled towards them, unknown to the two inside the dark garage, hiding behind the tall stack of boxes. Playfully walking up behind him, the small man gently tapped Garou on the shoulder. He turned around, large boxes still in hand, obscuring his vision.

“What do ya’ want now, Ibiki?!”

Garou’s sudden outburst scared the young man accompanying him, making him jump back frightened.

“The uh… b-boss wanted to umm… know if you could work overtime. Y-you’ll be payed…”

Answered the trembling voice of 'Ibiki’.

“No, I got better things waiting for me at home…”

Garou’s soft answer made you tear up somewhat, and you smiled very gently. Turning your heel, you trecked back home to wait for him. Oh, you might as well set up a surprise for him!

And so, you sneaked away, racing home to start setting up decorations for your hard working man.

It was around 2:00 in the afternoon when Garou had finally walked through the front door of your shared home. He let out a relaxed sigh and carefully hung his hat behind the wooden door rack and stretched. His shows had already been discarded near the doormat as he made his way over to the bathroom, passing by the living room decorated with fairy lights and a blanket fort.

Wait a second, fairy lights and a fort?! Did he walk into the wrong house?

He came closer to the blankets sprawled across the floor, getting on his knees and picking one up to inspect it, not expecting you to be under it waiting for him.

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped out from under all of the pillows and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his cheeks.

“What’s all this? Yer’ home early again?”

Garou questioned, a confused expression on his handsome face.

“A surprise for you, duh…”

He smirked and coyly slid his arms under your legs, picking you up and setting you down onto his lap.

“No, really? What’s the occasion?”

You gave him a look as if saying, 'seriously?’

“Well, I was walking home from work and I couldn’t take my usual route. I walked past a few shops and I saw you…working. I was so surprised…”

Your voice got quieter as it neared the end and you awkwardly twiddled your thumbs, eyes casted downwards.

“Garou, why…why didn’t you just tell me you got a job?”

Garou let out a huff and ran his fingers through your hair. He looked deep into your eyes and cast you a cute little blush.

“W-well, I know how ya’ kinda freak out when I do…anything so I didn’t say nothin’. I just wanted to help out, ya’ get so tired after comin’ home. I ain’t gonna sit around and watch ya’ work yer’ ass off for me…”

Your fingers gently caressed his face, bringing it closer to yours.

“Garou, the reason I’m so tired after coming home is because I’m still adjusting to my new post at the office. I got promoted and I promise, once I get the hang of it, I won’t be tired at all.”

Garou’s mouth enveloped yours in a sweet exchange, hands roaming your hips.

“I’m really proud of you though…”

Garou broke into a genuine smile, no teasing smirk or smug grin. A genuine stretch of his lips.

“And what do you mean I kind of freak out? I do not!”

You pouted on his lap, crossing your arms and looking to the side.

“Ya’ just planned a surprise for me…”

You blushed and pulled his cheeks.

“Hey, this doesn’t count!”

He chuckled and smirked as you climbed off of his lap and onto the ground below.

“Now take off your clothes and get in here!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in bliss under a large warm blanket. The two of you lovingly cuddling together, watching movies and talking about Garou’s new workmates.

“So, this Ibiki kid follows me around everywhere, it’s kinda annoying to be honest.”

You laughed at his statement and pointed a finger at his chest.

“Well, he probably likes you. You are very handsome…”

He smirked and gave you a suggestive look, pulling your body closer to his under the blanket.

“Too bad I’m not available, right?”

You giggled at his response, snuggling into his warmth.

“Yes, too bad indeed…”

Giving you one last loving look, Garou kissed you passionately, his fingers caressing your cheek. Your own hand laid gently on his cheek, lips tightly locked with his.

Separating, the two of you breathed heavily and smiled.

“I love you…”

Garou softly admitted, giving you another one of his glorious genuine grins.

You happily blushed, hugging him close and whispered.

“I love you too. So much…”

And with that Garou kissed you again, feverishly, pulling the blanket above your heads, ready to take you to heaven.

It really couldn’t get better than this…

_________________________________________

#garou #garou x reader #garouonepunchman #opm garou #garou headcanons #gender neutral s/o #gender neutral reader #no specific pronouns #i love yous #fluff #opm fluff #garou fluff #submission

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thestraggletag · 3 years

Text

Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable.

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like...

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it.

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Is this… Is this okay?”

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it.

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed.

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit.

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style.

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off, baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor.

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again.

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely.

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent.

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf.

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to...

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him.

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky.

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction.

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel.

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Virtual Session

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

-----------------------

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

-----------------------

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

-----------------------

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

-----------------------

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

-----------------------

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

-----------------------

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

-----------------------

I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#orcs are hot #orc boyfriend #orc x reader #monster boyfriend #exophilia #Enigma-IM #fluff #soulmate #garson

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quercus-queer · 4 years

Text

BA’s Reckoning

Yes, I stole this title from the Sporkful podcast. You should check it out!

So just a reminder the whole thing that kicked this off was when Tammie Teclemariam tweeted the photo of Rapoport in brown face (yes its brown face its a purposeful caricature of Puerto Rican ppl, his girlfriend called him her papi in the caption as well) saying he should simply write the article on Puerto Rican food then (the issue was Illyanna Maisonet, a Puerto Rican food writer, got rejected rudely by Rapo for her pitch to write about Puerto Rican food) Which brings up the larger issue of BA being racist and not covering any other dishes besides Eurocentric ones, and the ones that aren't Eurocentric are almost always either whitewashed or done by white people which is what happened with Masionet’s article (this is where Amanda Shapiro and Meryl Rothstein come in).

This led to a zoom meeting where Rapo made a shitty apology leading Sohla El-Waylly’s instagram posts, where she condemns Rapo, talks about her 50k salary despite having 15 years of restaurant experience (She ran a fucking restaurant and 50k in NYC is pathetic), being hired to help white editors, and not being paid for ANY of her video appearances (none of the poc you see in videos have been compensated including the zoom videos). Which has led to many people at BA being exposed for being terrible (Conde Nast is the parent company and owns BA, Vogue, Architectural Digest, Allure, Glamour, Wired, Epicurious,Teen Vogue among other things... also take note how most of these have consistently been criticized for their racism or “race problems”)

ANYWAY here’s a general guide of what each BA person has done, this is in no way comprehensive, feel free to investigate on your own, always fact check and form your own opinions!

Adam Rapoport: Brown face, not paying his non-white employees for their video appearances, treating his assistant Ryan Walker-Hartshorn (a black woman) like shit (she was working overtime and was barely making rent with what he was paying her), he's sexist (see every video with Molly) and racist (mixing up Sohla and Priya Krishna and never apologizing) and more!

Check out the Business Insider piece, twitter (Tammie’s, Christina Chaey’s, and Priya’s), Sohla’s podcast and interviews, and someone made a compilation of Rapo being condescending I think

Matt Duckor: Disgusting, racist, homophobic, sexist all around terrible person, probably the most obviously terrible of the bunch (see Rick Martinez’s insta plus Duckor’s own tweets), strung along Sohla for months saying that her pay was “stuck in legal” so that she would keep appearing in videos, gave Sohla a contract when this stuff first started happening to try and shut her up, HE is the one deciding pay for everyone at BA and was the one not paying poc for video appearances.

Check out Rick’s Insta, Twitter for Duckor’s tweets (screenshots bc he deleted his account)

Carla Lalli Music: First off, ppl are pointing out she was condescending af to a lot of her guests on her show (except for the white ones). The racism at BA did not start nor stop with Adam Rapoport and guess who was editor in chief before him? Yup, Mrs. Carla Lalli Music! Necessary amendment: Carla was the food director NOT the editor in chief and she is currently an editor at large... still a powerful position though and I think the sentiment still stands. She had a pretty pathetic twitter thread about how she should’ve done more but was focused on the sexism/focusing on women, strange because she also sent that shitty email to two women along with Delany and Brad after the two of them, Delany, and Brad were talking in the kitchen, telling them not to enter the kitchen without permission (not enforced on Brad or Delany obviously, only the two women who happen to not be white) I misread the article, Brad was a part of the convo, he did NOT receive the email, and didn't respond to the articles request for comment.. he fucking works in the test kitchen, i’m an idiot and that's on me

Business insider and her twitter

Alex Delany: I have a post with the screenshots of the confederate flag cake he made himself because he felt the “need to express some southern heritage in cake form. Such a glorious cake...” for his friend moving to South Carolina, the lovely vine with the classic “F*g is a bundle of sticks joke” also have a post discussing that, he’s wildly underqualified for DRINKS editor and overpaid, also his girlfriend is Allegra Lorenzotti whose mother Eva Lorenzotti, is in Jeffery Epstein’s black book which is concerning (though who knows maybe Delany is dating a different wealthy Allegralo), also those sexist tweets

I have screenshots from Tumblr, ppl have the vine on twitter along with the sexist tweets (he deleted his twitter and Tumblr btw)

Andy Baraghani: There are screenshots of Alyse Whitney’s (an asian woman) twitter thread saying Andy purposefully undercut her articles multiple times because of a petty feud with Antoni from Queer Eye by using his friendship with Amanda Shapiro (Whitney’s editor) to kill the story, which is shitty and brings up the bigger picture of BA being cliquey and getting in with a friend of a friend and such which is just a toxic work environment

Amanda Shapiro: Puerto Rican food article, Alyse Whitney’s articles, she’s a perpetuator of the toxic work environment, stealing Nikita Richardson’s work and getting credit and pay for it (pls check out her twitter and the articles with her), also racist, should not be in charge

Chris Morocco: Made one (1) basic post (simply a reply to Molly calling him out actually) at the beginning of all this agreeing to not be in anymore videos until his coworkers got paid/backpay, he said he was complicit (duh) but also that he had no idea this was happening, but guess what? He is the one that hired Sohla for only 50k! There is a whole can of worms about how little Sohla was hired for despite her experience plus talent along with her current pay and Chris is a part of that. Also both his gumbo video and Halo Halo recipe are downright disrespectful at BEST and they should not have had a white man doing them (again with the white people doing articles/videos that can be EASILY given to someone whose actually part of that culture) and before anyone says anything yes the gumbo was for Chris’s show (strange how only white ppl get shows or in Andy’s case unless you’re friends with a higher up) still doesn't make the video less disrespectful, also he’s SAID he is friends with Anna Wintour (head of vogue, and a racist “there’s no room for black women” the reason the vogue challenge is happening)

Brad Leone: Himbo status permanently revoked, “Brad who just found out racism is real”(Sohla said this in the Sporkful podcast) is NOT acceptable for a 35 year old white man whose coworkers are suffering in a clearly toxic work environment, the screenshot with “I didn’t sign her contract she did” is NOT how you respond to your coworker being underpaid and disrespected by the company she works at because she is not a white man. I do not like him anymore, he has made apologies but ignorance to this extent is willful and I don't completely buy it the rumors he was upset Delany was going to be fired/would quit if Delany was fired/was mad at Sohla is not something I was able to confirm but based off of what I’ve seen he really needs to prove himself to be better, he can stay if that’s what his coworkers want but he is on thin fucking ice

Stuff I can't accredit to a single person, but BA is racist:

NIKITA RICHARDSON, pls check her out on twitter

They sent Sohla to interview black chefs (bc BA has a bad track record) because she was the darkest and there were literally NO black chefs working at BA

Making Priya only cook Indian dishes (which were kinda whitewashed) I actually think this may have been Duckor

Tokenizing the poc staff (they would make them be in the kitchen when filming the white hosts shows and push them in front of the camera to highlight nonexistent diversity)

Paying Hawa Hassan only $400 for her video (probs also Duckor)

#bon appetit #bon appétit test kitchen #sohla el waylly #adam rapoport #brad leone #alex delany #alex delaney #chris morocco #andy baraghani #matt duckor #carla lalli music #priya krishna #Nikita richardson #hawa hassan #god this got long and there is more

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

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EUPHORIA - Chapter 29

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Angst

WC: 2008

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is complete on Patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean knows that he should have run after her, but he couldn’t get his body to move. Knows that the moment the door shut that he had made a fucking big mistake. It’s all on fucking him , but no matter how many signals his brain is sending his limbs to move, no matter how much he wants to just shout out for her to wait, it’s not happening. He is a prisoner of his own fucking body. Prisoner of his own fucking mind.

His senses are flooded with dread, guilt nags at his conscience, and there’s the nauseous feeling again.

She loved him? She said she loved him. It’s the first time they said that they loved each other and the circumstances couldn’t be any fucking worse. That’s certainly not how he imagined her telling him that she felt that way. The way he’s been feeling for fucking weeks.

He runs to the kitchen, throws up into the sink.

Dean retches and coughs. There’s not much coming out, he hasn’t eaten in days. He retches and retches more, and his throat starts to hurt. He runs the tap and throws ice cold water into his face before he turns around and slides his body down to the floor. He’s sitting there in his fucking kitchen, crying like a fucking whimp.

Christ, Y/N’s right and he hates that she is. He didn’t even look at the clip for too long. Couldn’t make it past twenty fucking seconds without the feeling of wanting to punch his fucking screen.

Is that why she was always so cautious about cameras in the rooms? Is that why she delivered him the speech about blackmailing? Jesus , he’s such a fucking dumb piece of shit. Dean closes his eyes and bangs the back of his head against the kitchen cabinet while he hugs his knees to his chest, hands balled into fists, his knuckles showing white.

Maybe he would start to fucking feel something!

After a while of numbness, he sniffs, rubs his hands over his face and brushes the tears stains from his cheeks. He stands up and walks over to his laptop on the couch, stepping over empty bottles. He starts his laptop. His hands are shaking but he wills himself to go over his emails, clicking on the dreadful message again.

The clip starts right away, fills his fucking screen, and Dean wills himself to watch, squinting as he does because the sense of nausea kicks in again.

He watches past the twenty seconds he first managed, and then he notices it. Notices her hair, notices that she tries to cover her face when the camera zooms in. He hears someone talking — fucking Cole . He’d notice the sneer of the guy's voice anywhere. You like this too, don’t you, Y/N? Tell me you like this, tell me you like being filmed. And then there’s her voice, small, a soft mumble, it almost gets lost in the wet sound of bodies slapping together. No, no no no.

Dean’s blood freezes and there’s the fucking sick feeling in his gut again.

Fuck.

He closes the laptop forcefully, throws it off his fucking couch and it lands with a loud thudding sound. Dean lays his head in his hands.

Fuck.

Guess the award for the most fucking idiotic dumb boyfriend has been handed out to him, huh?

There’s nothing he can do anymore is there? The things he said to her, the accusations he threw in her face. The final word of him telling her it’s fucking over. It really is, isn’t it? There’s nothing to be fixed, right?

His phone rings and he looks up from his palms, sniffs before he walks to his bedside table where it’s plugged in. His heart’s racing, because he thought that it was her. Thought that maybe she’d changed her mind, thought she wanted to talk it out and he would, even though he’s never been a talker, but he fucking would sit down and talk it the fuck out with her — but it’s only Sam.

“‘Lo,” He says, and sits down on his still made bed. Hasn’t slept in it since the day he saw the video.

“Dean, you okay?”

Dean sighs, “Let me guess, Cas?”

Sam chuckles, “Yeah,”

“I’d be lying when I said that I would be okay, Sammy.” He’s being truthful. It’s rare that it happens. Dean’s not the one to spill his heart out. Not to Sam either. Not to anybody for that matter. He would to her now, but she’s fucking gone.

His brother sighs, “What happened?”

Dean snorts and chuckles darkly, “I’ve been a fucking idiot, Sammy. But what else is new, right?”

“Y/N?” Sam asks.

“I’m too dumb for my own good, Sam. And now she’s gone and I was the one who said I wanted her gone.” The words spill out of him, and then he adds, “She walked out.”

Sam sighs, “And you let her?”

“What should I do?” Dean scoffs.

“You changed, Dean. I don’t think the old Dean would let her go without a fight. At least not when he realizes what a fucking idiot he’s been.”

“Sammy,”

“Don’t Sammy me, Dean! How many times have you told me stories about your English classes, huh? How many times did you tell me that it’s your fave fucking class? So, tell me something Dean, if I would ask for you to tell me about your favorite moments in your life, what will you tell me, huh? You and I both know it. You will say her. You will always say her, isn’t that so?”

Dean hates that Sam’s right.

“I don’t know, so maybe you should go get her?” Sam says, and adds, “But, uh, maybe get the bottles out of the way, open up some windows to get the stink out of your loft and for god’s sake, take a fucking shower!”

“Cas?”

“Yeah.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Bye, Sam.”

After an ice cold shower, Dean sobered up enough to think straight. Not enough to drive, though, so he takes a cab to her apartment.

Once there, he takes two steps at once and stops to breath in front of her door. He feels nauseous again, it’s a constant now and slowly he gets used to it. His heart is pumping fast, he’s fucking nervous. Lifting his hand, he knocks.

Nothing.

He knocks again, this time with his whole hand, palm hitting the wooden door, “Y/N open up, please. I need to talk to you.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”

There’s shuffling behind the door and it comes to a halt just short before it, Dean can hear it clear as day.

“Baby, please?” Dean leans his forehead on the door, his hands balled into fist as he knocks again.

“Dean, it’s over. I have nothing else to say to you. Please leave.”

He closes his eyes and his heart takes a leap when he hears her voice. God, he hates that she uses his words against him.

“‘M not going anywhere.” Dean says and it’s like he once promised her, he’s not going anywhere. He’s fucking here to stay. A promise he fucking broke because he’s a goddamn idiot. He’s here no matter what, he said, and he fucking broke that promise too.

There’s no answer and Dean turns around, rests his back against the door and lets himself slide down it. He’s going to wait.

He spends four hours in front of her door but when she wouldn’t come out and Cas called if he’s going to be in for work, he gets up from his position, knocks at her door again, “I have to go in to work. I’ll be back alright? I’ll come every day until you talk to me again, I swear.”

The first day he came to her apartment straight after work, camped outside, hoping she’d go in to work and would open up to meet him but she never left her apartment. He went back to change into new clothes and came back around to wait it out until he had to go into work again.

The same repeated for the next two days.

Cas didn’t really ask where he’s going and Dean thinks he knows. He hasn’t really talked to anyone since, to be honest. He didn’t even try to send her a text or call, knowing that she wouldn’t want to answer his calls or text anyway. There’s really nothing else he can do than waiting out in front of her door.

And now, Dean’s been doing that for three fucking long days. He came and went, brought her food and water but it stayed untouched in front of her apartment.

On his fourth day, Dean’s late because he fell asleep in his office before the club even closed and now it’s already 10am when he arrives at her door.

He knocks, and as usual, there’s no answer, so Dean sits down again, braces his arms on his knees and buries his face in it. He tries not to fall asleep, because if he does, he’d miss her and judging from the lack of sleep he’s getting, he’s sure that if he does, he’ll be dead to the world and won’t hear a fucking thing.

Dean’s fighting with himself right now, fighting to keep his heavy lids open when he hears a creaking of a door. It isn’t her door, though. No, the sound comes from a little further away.

“Young man?” Dean hears a voice and an old woman peaks her head around the corner of her door frame. It’s Y/N’s neighbor.

“Yeah,” Dean looks up and clears his throat, pinches at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“She left this morning. I saw her in the stairwell, she had a heavy bag with her so I don’t think she’ll be back.”

Dean’s heart sinks to his balls and he gets up, tries to not to just grab the woman and shake more information out of her, “Okay,” He says instead, “Thanks.”

His car stops with a screech at the curb in front of her office building and Dean hurries out, runs up to the entrance. Fortunately, the security guy knew Dean, so he waved him through.

Up on her office floor, he can see that her desk is empty but Rufus stares at him, killing him with a glare. Dean lifts his eyebrow, but he stays rigid because Rufus stands up to walk over to him.

The man pushes him out into the hall, his hand firm but gentle on Dean’s shoulder.

“I just need to talk to her,” Dean says and he might sound desperate, but he just can’t bring himself to care.

“She’s not here, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean turns his head and cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the open office. Maybe she’s just in one of the meeting rooms?

“Just what I said,” Rufus says and continues to walk Dean back to the elevator, “She took time off. She’s not going to come in anytime soon.”

Dean turns around to stare at the man, “Do you know where she is, please?” His hands fists in Rufus' shirt. Yeah, Dean knows that he gives the impression of being desperate, but that’s only because he fucking is.

“No, I’m sorry. She didn’t tell me.”

“What did she tell you?” Dean can’t help but ask.

“That you’ve hurt her, Dean. You’ve hurt her bad.”

Shit.

Rufus goes on, “I’ve known her for a while, Dean. I was there when she ended things with Cole. And from the way she talks, she’s even more upset about this break up.”

Break up . The word hits Dean like a fucking freight train.

Rufus ignores Dean’s dumb stare, “What I know about her is that when she gets hurt, she’ll shut herself out from everything and everyone. It’s her coping mechanism. Now, please leave. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Chapter 30

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#euphoria #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Note

How would the Lost boys react to having a motherly type of s/o?

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T KNOW TUMBLR POSTED THIS UNFINISHED! UGH STUPID APP! Okay, redo!

Cuuute. The boys could certainly use a motherly touch around, even Max had said that when he wanted to turn Lucy. For this I am gonna be writing a female s/o, if you ever want otherwise always be sure to specify ahead of time otherwise DM me and I’ll be sure to correct it. I love the idea one behind the scenes with the boys, after the late night partying and wild blood orgies. I mean, let's be realistic here- those guys probably smell like cigarettes and ass. That cave is no doubt absolutely filthy as hell, and I don’t think they’ve cleaned up a day of their afterlife.

Lost Boys with a Motherly Fem!S/O

David

Now David isn’t exactly the type to be told what to do in almost any scenario. Well, almost. But even then he still prefers the majority of the control. It’s going to be a challenge to get anything done with him. Any sort of lectures or advice tend to fall on deaf ears simply because he and the boys have taken care of themselves for so long. Your best method of choice? STEALTH

I’m serious, you gotta be sneaky with this boy. He’ll wake up to you cleaning the hotel because you had assumed it was still daylight, or sweeping around when they go on hunts. Don’t fuck with the cobwebs, its an aesthetically pleasing decoration! Frankly, he’s just a brat who doesn’t like change. It’s gotten to the point however, where he can’t exactly stop you so he just decides to be a butt about it. Take-out trash litter the hotel lobby, he’ll even leave out half-full open containers and try to get some real maggots up in there. Not if you have anything to say about it! Sometimes he wonders how you can keep it as clean as you do.

You have no idea how absolutely rank a pack of teenage vampires can be. Especially with unwashed clothes. Seriously, David and Paul’s boots could make rats gag, the stank of unwashed vamp toes is gnarly. That can be a bit of a fight. Well someone has to get all those bloodstains out! What do you think they just vanished the next day? None of the boys want clean clothes, especially David. According to them you can't be badass vampires and have fresh pants. He’ll even hide his jacket from you on laundry day. How is he supposed to instill fear in the hearts of mortals when his jacket smells like FUCKING LAVENDER?

God help you if you try to make him bathe. The only way he’d concede is if you really went all out. Play to his ego, its the best way to get him to cooperate. After all, what man doesn’t want to be a king for a day. Especially one such as David. Once you finally, FINALLY get him in, then it's a fight to get him out. He’ll let off soft grunts when you massage shampoo through his scalp, leaning his head back with low, grumbling moans. Sometimes he’ll have you join him, even if you aren’t undressed. Yeah, he doesn’t care if you have your clothes on, time to get in. It's hotter when he sees your shirt tightly clinging to your bodice, although he'll huff that you had a bra underneath. If you try to peel off the soggy articles he won't let you. After all, if you got to strip him down, he gets to do the same to you. He'll take his time, and keep in mind the water isn't about to be clean for much longer.

Despite his protests, and he’d never admit it to the rest of the pack, but he really does love having someone caring for him. Being spoiled by his lover has some advantages, especially after a stressful day. Just laying back, having you rub his shoulders for a good minute, maybe suggesting he come over to your apartment and let you cook him a real meal for once. Sure you’ll be telling him how he needs to be more careful when he goes on hunts, but he can handle that much. You’re his precious doll, if it means a few lectures from you then he’ll put up with it.

Dwayne

Dwayne is kind of the silent brother bear of the group so it’s a relief when he has someone who wants to take care of him. It makes him chuckle when you fret over him. Honey, he can fly, he’s not going to fall off the roof. Even if he did, it wouldn’t kill him! He’s lost count how many times you subtly, or not so subtly, toss around the subject of a helmet when he rides around. You’ll even try using persuasive ideas such as having it custom painted, maybe adding some spikes- anything just wear a stupid helmet! Again, he reminds you the threat of cracking his head open wasn’t exactly that daunting

When you’re on a cleaning spree he tends to stay out of your way. Granted he tried to help once, but you immediately shooed him out. You got it, just go sit down and quit futzing with stuff. On laundry day he’s a bit stubborn, but as long as you don’t wash his leather jacket, he’ll be fine. Seriously, do not touch his jacket. He cannot stress enough how bad it is to try and use water and soap to clean a leather jacket. NO. No touchy! So he’ll just sit in his underwear (personally I think it’d be boxer briefs) on the couch clinging to his jacket while you go off to the laundromat a few blocks over. Eventually you bought him lounge pajama pants for when you do laundry trips. At first he didn’t want to but… well they have a badass puma on them. It’d be rude to not wear it if you went through all that trouble to get that for him.

Unlike the other three, Dwayne doesn’t need much bribery to get in the tub. DO you have ANY IDEA the last time he had a god damn shower? He misses it, he doesn’t exactly like smelling like parfum de cul (kudos to any of you who know what that means ;) ). Oh just watch him sink into the tub as you massage his luxurious mess of dark hair, you swear sometimes he audibly purrs when you do. Its one of the few times Dwayne will let himself be completely vulnerable. He won’t necessarily force you to join him, but he would certainly love it you have your cute butt nestled between his legs where he could lather you up. But, I mean, that’s entirely up to you to refuse your ripped, completely naked boyfriend eyeing you up.

When he gets injured or sick, which you never expected that he could, you immediately go into hyperdrive. While he’d rather be out riding with the guys, he can’t help but love being pampered by his princess who always treats him like a king. You’ll shove him into Star’s old bed and demand he stay put, wiping his forehead down with a cold cloth. One would assume that someone with no body heat left would get a fever. Actually, it makes it worse. He won’t DIE from any illness, but it sure does suck when he gets them. Usually a few feedings will heal him up within a day, so you’ve started smuggling bags from blood drives and keeping them in a little cooler for him. Granted you only get him A or B blood, but he still appreciates all the effort you go to just for him.

Paul

Paul loves it up until you make him do things he doesn’t want to. Typical guy. He DIED in a freaking bath tub, why the hell would you want to put him back in one?! It would take either a serious amount of strength or bribing to get him into one.

“It doesn't even have holy water Paul, just normal, plain, stupid water! You smell like a rat’s ass, will you please just get in?”

“I’d rather smell like ass!”

Yes, he may even try to bolt out of the room buck naked. Fuck you, try to catch him now! Did you hide his clothes?!

Your best bet is to play to his most vulnerable side: horny. Sure he refuses to get in the bath on his own, but add you naked covered in bubbles and it just became the best place to be. The blonde won’t even sulk when you’re sudsing up his hair because you’re too distracted to notice he’s about to cop a feel. He’ll just laugh like an idiot when you get mad, after all you put him in here in the first place. There will probably be tub sex, because dammit he deserves something for being such a good boy. Surprisingly he actually loves it when you use the hair dryer on him. It feels amazing, he doesn’t exactly get warm anymore so the sensation of heat rushing through freshly cleaned hair is just incredible

Paul is not a fan of laundry day, just like David. Again, you gotta chase him down. He’ll tease you the whole time though.

“Babe if you wanted to just rip my clothes off me all you had to do was ask.”

You only leave him in his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to change into. You never realized how much of a pain in the ass white pants were until you met him. Why the hell did he even have white pants in the first place? They show every damn stain! Paul will probably come with you to the laundromat. Its three in the morning, who cares if someone sees him in his boxers? Big deal! He’d even offer to go nude. You managed to find a pair of pajama pants and a band t-shirt he could wear on laundry day because this ass refuses to buy any other clothes.

Paul thinks it’s absolutely adorable the way you dote on him. It’s a pain in the butt, but nothing is better than the tiny notes you leave for him when you go out. Or when you surprise the coven with a bunch of tupperware dishes full of real home cooked meals. Yeah being ragged on half the day is never fun but he knows that the only reason you do that is you care so much for him. You almost died when you thought he’d been killed, it was fair you got a bit over protective after. Besides, you were still his ride or die baby who did anything for him. Hell, last Valentine’s day you even went all around Santa Carla until you found someone who made him a mother fuckin Gene Simmons teddy bear, with the tongue out and everything. Paul loves you, nags and all

Marko

Probably one of the only boys to be a bit more cooperative when it comes to mothering him. After all, he’s the one being spoiled. It’s precious when you fret over him on a hunt out, warning him to avoid any hunters, fly safe, please don’t jump off any bridges. He’ll just hug you tight and assure you he’s gonna be fine. Yeah you’ll go one about how he should have a helmet when riding or raising concern when he tries something of questionable origin from the boardwalk vendors. But most of the time he just kind of tunes you out and smiles until you’re done.

He’s a sneaky boy, you oughta know that by now. You want him to take a bath? Only if you join him. You want to brush his hair out? Sure he’ll sit still… for ten kisses. Laundry day? Fine but he gets to come with. It’s hard not to laugh at him crouched up on the top of a dryer with his knees to his chest in only his underwear watching you throw in his pants and socks. He can’t help but grin when you throw him a side eye because of the stains all over his white shirt. Sheesh, him and Paul with the white clothes. Again, please please PLEASE don’t wash his jacket. You will ruin it. He doesn’t care if you bombard it with air freshener until his sorry ass smells like Hawaiian Breeze, but do not ever wash it

It’s adorable the lengths you’ll go to for him. Last year when he told you they were just gonna have some hot wings and beers for Thanksgiving you flipped. Next thing they know you had them come over to your apartment as soon as the sun went down to a full spread. Paul actually ended up hugging you too. It looked like something out of a catalog. Two fatass turkeys filled to the brim with homemade stuffing, easily four pounds of mashed potatoes, gravy, bread rolls, the whole fucking thing! And veggies. Nasty. Sure the corn on the cob was bitchin, but asparagus? NO. Yeah you made Marko put some on his plate and half the time he just kept pushing his peas around until Paul flung one at him. Then it was a silent veggie war. After that they pretty much came over for any holiday. He’d be all over you just gushing over how happy he is that you went through so much hard work for him, for them. Even Max did fuckall besides what he had to, the guy wanted to toot his own horn about dad of the year but sucked ass at it.

They start coming over so often that you bought black out curtains for every window in your house. Even during the day they could sleep in your guest room without fear of the sun. Well, the guys could. You had him tucked into your own room, still sleeping with his feet to the headboard for that upside down sense and his arms tightly pressed to his chest. He absolutely loves how much you care for him, especially after so many decades of being a filthy biker boy who feasted on the living. Even his vampirism didn’t send you away. You’d even keep a mini fridge in your room stocked with blood bags in case he craved a midday snack. Sometimes he’d awaken to you sleeping beside him and just savor those quiet moments with his baby. Maybe for Christmas this year he’d offer you the best gift he could think of. Who needs a wedding ring when you can offer an eternity with your angel instead?

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mischiefandspirits · 4 years

Text

Twaumatized

Based on this

Includes: Implied/Referenced Torture (its all offscreen and barely hinted at, but I'm mentioning it anyway), Worldbuilding, Dissection (again, offscreen), No character death, No Angst because I can't write angst even in a dissection fic, Morbid humor, and Mute Danny Fenton

While the news had reached some of Casper High before it, the anguished scream on Monday morning was really what signaled everyone knowing.

Almost everyone in the hall spun to Paulina as she collapsed to the ground in a wailing fit.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dash asked Star, who was standing over her friend looking horrified.

“Mi-mi amor!” Paulina sobbed, waving Star’s phone around. “My Phantom! He’s dead!”

“Well, he is a ghost. Wasn’t that a given?” Kwan chuckled and Paulina threw the phone at his head.

“What’s going on?” Dash asked Star again.

“The-the Fentons. They released a report last night. It’s all over the news. They… They teamed up with that huntress chick with the flying board and caught Phantom on Friday afternoon. He-he-”

“They killed him!” Paulina hissed. “They destroyed my love! My Phantom!”

More horrified shrieks rang out and people dug through their pockets and bags for their phones.

Dash snatched up Star’s and started looking over the article that was pulled up. Kwan wrapped his arm around Star and his girlfriend buried her face in his chest. Valerie hid her smirk in her locker. Mikey ran off, his hand over his mouth. Sam and Tucker stared at the A-listers for a solid minute before turning to their friend.

Danny, having been the only one who hadn’t turned to Paulina, was putting his English book into his bag and closing his locker.

“Danny?” his friends said.

The words echoed through the near-silent hall and Dash’s head snapped up.

“Fentoni!” he growled, marching up to the trio. “What the hell is this? This better be your parents making crap up again!”

Danny ignored him as he turned to leave.

The jock grabbed for him, but Valerie pulled him back. “Leave him alone, Baxter. It’s not on him that your crush got vaporized.”

“Of course you’re protecting him,” Star snapped. “You’ve hated Phantom since day one. I bet you’re happy he’s gone!”

“Yeah, I am. Good riddance! That ghoul will never bother us again.”

“Phantom is a hero!” Paulina spat.

“He was a monster,” Valerie shot back.

Dash spun on Danny, only to find Manson and Foley alone. “Where’d Fenton go?”

The two were shocked to see their friend had disappeared so Dash pushed past them and ran for Lancer’s classroom, the rest of the class following on his heels.

When they reached the door, Lancer was passing Danny a paper with a sigh. “This better be real.”

He nodded with a smile and tucked the paper into his backpack. He tried to go to his desk, but Dash intercepted him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

“Mr. Baxter!” Lancer snapped, jumping to his feet.

“We’ve got questions so you better start talking.” When Danny just stared blankly at him, he gave the smaller boy a shake. “Talk.”

“He can’t,” Lancer said, grabbing Dash’s arm. “Mr. Fenton suffered an injury to his lungs over the weekend and is currently unable to talk. Now set him down.”

Dash huffed and set him down roughly as the bell rang. “This isn’t over, Fenton.”

“What is this all about?” Lancer asked.

“His parents killed Phantom,” Nathan said, pointing at the boy as he took his seat.

Danny rolled his eyes and took out his phone.

“You think murder’s funny, freak?” Star spat.

“That’s enough. This is neither the time nor place,” Lancer said shakily, but he was ignored as everyone started yelling.

“Who’s going to protect Amity now?

“It’s not murder, he’s a ghost!”

“How can you even sleep? Isn’t your parents' lab in your house?”

“I bet you helped them, didn’t you!”

It went on for a few minutes before an air horn sounded. The class ducked their heads and clapped their hands over their ears. They turned to see Danny smiling smugly at them. As soon as he released the trigger, he held up his phone.

“You’re all complete and utter morons. Can we start class now?” a robotic voice stated.

Lancer cleared his throat. “Yes, while the insult was hardly necessary, Mr. Fenton is right. All of you, to your seats.”

They followed orders, but most of the students continued to glare at Danny throughout both the class and the days to come. Valerie tried to stick by him, but Sam and Tucker both glared her off while Danny ignored her at every turn.

Sam and Tucker tried to talk to him, but all he would tell them was that he was fine. That Frostbite had looked him over and gave him the all-clear and he’d already talked everything out with Jazz.

He didn’t tell them that she was heading back to Amity, having easily convinced her teachers to let her finish the semester online since she was already so far ahead in class. That she and Vlad -- of all people -- had teamed up to get Jazz custody of Danny. That his parents hadn’t even noticed the papers Vlad had slipped them to sign, too excited about their latest victory.

Probably for the best. Jazz had plenty of reasons lined up for why she was taking custody, but the longer it took for their parents to notice, the harder it would be for them to fight it.

He didn’t find any of that nearly as important as the fact that his friends kept saying his parents nearly killed him while his classmates kept saying they had done it.

Nor as morbidly hilarious.

His parents had done a lot to him, but killing had never been on the examination table.

Ha, dissection pun. See, morbidly hilarious.

As it were, everything came to a head at lunch on Wednesday when a white-black-green blur shot through the ceiling and smashed a cafeteria table.

The students stared at the table, half-tempted to run in fear and half-tempted to get closer in hope.

That had been a very familiar blur.

Then the ghost popped it’s head up and both fear and hope were replaced by confusion. The ghost girl’s hair was white like Phantom’s, but her bangs hung even more into her face by virtue of being chin length and the rest was pulled into a braid that nearly reached her waist. She had Phantom’s face, but her figure was distinctly feminine and she looked like she would have been a head shorter than the ghost boy. Instead of a suit, she wore a white hoodie dress with green melting letters spelling Boo! on the front and a black Phantom logo patch on the shoulder. Underneath she wore black leggings and white boots.

She gave them all an awkward smile and rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, sorry about that. I can’t always control my flight when I’m sleepy.”

“Phantom?” Paulina asked.

“Uh, kinda,” the ghost chuckled. “I’m Dani, er, Danielle that is. Danielle Phantom. Danny’s my cousin.”

“Ghosts can have cousins?” someone said as the popular girl ran over to hug Dani, tears in her eyes.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for your loss!”

“Loss?” Dani asked, phasing through the other girl’s grip and floating up so she couldn’t get grabbed again.

“You haven’t heard?” Dash asked. “The Fenton’s they, uh…”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that. It’s why I’m here. I wanted to see how Danny’s doing after all that.”

There was silence. No one knew how to tell her.

Finally, Valerie took a step forward. “Dani -”

“Nope,” the ghost girl cut over her as she slowly spun around, eyes taking in the cafeteria. She smiled and said, “Well, if you guys see my cousin, let him know I’m looking for him.”

“You’re not going to find him,” Star said. “He… He’s dead.”

Dani frowned and turned to her. “Uh, duh, has been for two years or so. What’s your point?”

“No, I meant he’s gone. The Fenton’s destroyed him.”

The ghost girl stared blankly at her, then looked around at the others. “What?”

“It’s true,” Kwan said.

“You… You all think the Fenton’s killed Danny?”

There were nods from all around, barring one table.

Dani laughed. “Wow, you’re all complete and utter morons.” She dug into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a phone. “I’ve got to text Youngblood about this. Man, humans are wild.”

“I think she’s in denial,” Mikey said and a few of the other nerds nodded.

“I’m not in denial. You're all just stupid.” She put her phone away and looked them over again. “Right, I guess I’ll have to do this since someone in this room clearly has decided to keep his mouth shut. Probably because the situation is hilarious. Normally I’d go along with it, but I’m guessing if you’re all convinced, then the Fenton’s are too and I’m not about to give them that satisfaction.

“Alright, do any of you even know what a ghost is?” she pointed at Valerie when she tried to answer. “And I’m not talking to you because you’ve proven you’re a bigger idiot than most.”

“They’re creatures made of ectoplasm?” a jock offered.

“Well yeah, but that goes for anyone from the ghost zone. I’m saying a ghost specifically.”

“Wait, not everything in the ghost zone is a ghost?” Valerie asked.

“I thought I already told you not to talk,” Dani said. “Come on, no one knows what a ghost is?”

“Manifestations of ectoplasmic energy and post-human consciousness,” Sam said sarcastically.

“In simpler terms,” Dani snorted. “Come on, basic dictionary definition people.”

“Ghost, noun, the soul of a dead person believed to be an inhabitant of the unseen world or to appear to the living in bodily likeness,” Nathan said.

“Yes, thank you, a ghost is a dead person, obviously,” Dani said, clapping.

“Everyone knows that. What’s your point?” a cheerleader asked.

Dani rolled her eyes. “My point is: how on earth do you people expect to kill someone twice? Danny died two years ago. He literally can’t get any deader.”

“But you can destroy a ghost,” Valerie said.

“Uh, no, you can’t. Like I said, stupid.”

“The Fenton’s have destroyed plenty of ghosts before,” the secret ghost hunter growled.

“Correction, they’ve destroyed entities. Very different. Entities are living creatures, just ones made of ectoplasm. They’re basically the ghost zone’s version of humans and animals. And since they’re living, they can die. Unless they have a stable tie to a ghost, like myself. Then it gets weird with technicalities and can be entirely different for every entity. I really don’t have the time or patience to explain exactly how killable I am. Just know that I’m a living creature, but ghosts like my cousin are dead, and therefore immune to death via having already been there and done that.”

“The Fenton’s report said they vaporized Phantom,” Mikey said.

“Well, yeah, I’m sure the Fentons destroyed all his ectoplasm, the fu-uh-udging jerks, but that’s not going to destroy a ghost. They might manifest within the zone or human world through the use of ectoplasm, but their consciousness exists in a plane of existence within the zone that can’t be touched. If a ghost’s ectoplasm is destroyed, they’ll simply reform within their lair. Might take a day or two depending on how strong they are, but they’ll be back to full power soon enough.”

“So mi armor is alright,” Paulina gasped, clutching her chest and Dani mouthed mi amor. “Why has he not shown himself? Is he so strong that he’s taking longer?”

“Actually, the stronger a ghost is, the faster they reform. Danny probably didn’t take a day. No, if he knows what’s going on -- and I’m sure he does -- then he’s probably sitting back enjoying the show. He’s probably got plenty of Quit telling everyone I’m dead jokes lined up for the next time he’s spotted. I know I would and the two of us are crazy similar. Also, it’s common courtesy to leave a ghost’s haunt alone for a few days if they have to reform, so he likely hasn’t had a reason to show up.”

“How could none of the ghost hunters know you can’t kill a ghost?” someone asked.

Dani raised an eyebrow. “Have you met the Fentons? They're some of the best hunters in the world and they don’t know the difference between an entity and a ghost. The parents at least. Their kids are smart enough to have actually asked a ghost how any of this works.”

Many turned to look at Danny, only to see the boy resting his chin in his hand and looking entirely too pleased with the proceedings.

Mr. Lancer’s first-period class suddenly remembered a similarly smug Danny calling them all idiots the same way Dani had and knew he’d be laughing at them if he could make a sound.

“If entities are living creatures, then the hunters really have been murdering people?” Star asked.

“Eh, not as far as I’m aware. Sapient entities don’t really like being in this world any more than you like being in the zone. Everything just feels off, unsettling, unnatural. Entities tied to ghosts don’t have that problem since ghosts bridge the gap, but again, we tend to be unkillable in our own rights. So really the entities that hunters usually end up with are the non-sapient kind that accidentally stumbled through a portal and couldn’t find their way back. So it’s less murder and more animal abuse.”

“Is the ghost you’re tied to Phantom?” Paulina asked.

“Yeah. I’m also tied to my dad, but I’ve been working at cutting that tie.”

“Why would you want to cut ties with your dad?” Kwan asked.

“Because he tried to kill me.”

The bell rang before anyone could react.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. Tell Phantom I’m here if you see him. Also, tell him to stop hiding like a jerk and just get the jokes over with.” Dani waved goodbye then flew back up through the roof.

Dash turned on Danny as soon as she was gone. “You could have told us Phantom wasn’t dead, Fentina!”

Danny blinked innocently and made an X over his throat.

“You know what I mean!”

He smirked and typed into his text to speech app.

“And lose Phantom his chance to make a Quit telling everyone I’m dead joke? Never.”

With that, he stood up and left the room, his friends chasing after him.

“Danny Fenton, you jerk, get back here and explain all that!” Sam shouted as they slipped through the doors.

The news spread quickly from the school. While the Fentons waved it off as nonsense, other haters were less sure and the rest watched the skies with hope.

It wasn’t until Friday that Phantom finally showed his face.

At first, people weren’t even sure the ghost that had shown up alongside Dani to fight Technus was even Phantom.

The ghost was covered in short white fur and had curling horns that seemed to be made of ice. His face was blank except for a single pure green eye on the right side of his face, which had black markings trailing from it like he’d been crying tar. His chest was caved in, like his ribs were smashed in.

Or removed.

Then people noticed the way the silver hair on his head was in Phantom’s style, though his bangs fell to his chin like Dani’s. They noticed that the ragged black pants he wore were the torn remains of his suit. They noticed the Phantom logo on the gear-shaped pendant necklace hanging from his neck.

He was completely silent, which fueled the idea he wasn’t Phantom, though he often made gestures that ticked off Technus while making Dani laugh.

Several people called out to the Phantoms when the fight was over.

Dani glanced at Danny, who shrugged, then they came down near the ground.

Lance Thunder was the first to reach them alongside his cameraman and asked the obvious question, “Are you really Phantom?”

Danny’s eye squinted with amusement and Dani smirked.

“Yes,” she said. “I am Phantom. Dani Phantom. With an I.”

Danny nudged her, shoulders shaking and she gestured towards him.

“And this is my brother. Also Danny Phantom, but with a y. Clearly the inferior spelling.”

He wrapped his arm around her neck and dug his knuckles into the top of her head.

“I, uh,” Lance glanced between them. “We had heard that you were cousins.”

“Nah, we changed our minds,” she said, squirming away. “We’re siblings now.”

“If he’s Phantom why does he look like that?” someone from the crowd shouted.

Danny made a few gestures and Dani shushed him.

“That reference isn't as funny if I say it for you.”

“What’d he say?” Lance asked.

Danny gestured her forward and she sighed.

She threw her hands up and announced, “He’s been twaumatized!”

He doubled over with silent laughter and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s not that funny, you dork,” she huffed and shoved him hard enough to send him spinning. “Also, Sissy is going to have another conversation with us about using humor as a coping mechanism if you keep it up.”

“Can you explain?” Lance said.

“We can, the question is should we?” Dani asked Danny, who shrugged and made a few signals. “Yeah, alright. So a ghost’s form is modeled after their mental state. Trauma alters a person’s mental state. Therefore, trauma alters a ghost’s form. Danny went through some trauma a week ago, hence he now looks like our yeti friends with some Clockwork thrown in for good measure.”

He nodded and thumbed one of the watches lining his left forearm.

“It’s not that unusual. Ghosts change all the time. Technus did it awhile back. It’s usually not this drastic, but hey, it’s not every day a ghost wakes up to find themself on an examination table with their chest carved out like a pumpkin.”

Rubbing his chest, Danny shrugged. He made a few gestures.

“Is that sign language?” Lance asked.

“Eh, kind of,” she said, making a so-so motion. “The Ghost Zone has a universal language. Not all ectoplasmic beings can speak it, but all of them can understand it. Since he already knew it and can no longer speak, his body is naturally translating it into sign language. I still hear it as if he were speaking English though. Which is nice because it means I don’t actually have to see him to get what he’s saying, but I have absolutely no idea how it even works. He is learning ASL though.”

“Why can he not speak? Does it have to do with not believing he has a voice after the trauma he went through?” a woman shouted from the crowd.

The Phantom’s blinked at her, then turned to each other.

“Sissy would like this one,” Dani said before facing the crowd and setting her hand on his chest. “Lady, he’s got no lungs. No lungs mean no breathing. No breathing means no talking. It ain’t that deep.”

The song “Spooky Scary Skeletons” started playing and Dani pulled a phone out of her pocket. She answered the call with, “The better Phantom speaking… Oh, hey, Sissy.” After a second she pulled the phone away slightly and gave Danny a look. “Sissy’s watching the broadcast and I was right, she’s not happy about the traumatized joke.”

Danny made a few gestures.

“I’m not telling her that. You can tell her when we get home.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah… Okay, we’ll be right there. Bye, love you.”

As she put the phone away, someone asked, “Was that your sister? How many family members do you have?”

“Yeah, she’s our older sister. It’s just the three of us since we kicked our parents out for filicidal reasons. Clockwork’s kind of Danny’s weird legal guardian/grandfather/guardian angel/court-appointed babysitter/thing, but he refuses to be called grandpa and won’t freeze time for Sissy and I so we can take naps like he does for Danny so I don’t know if he counts. Anyways, we’ve got to go now. Bye!”

Danny waved and the two flew off.

“Freeze time?” someone said.

“Their parents tried to kill them? That’s what filicidal means right? What the heck?” someone else added.

“Did she insinuate yeti are real?” a third muttered.

With that, the crowd began to disperse, groups discussing the events as a city-hired work crew pulled up in trucks to clean up after the fight.

Just another day in Amity Park, a nice place to live.

#danny phantom #dani phantom #danny fenton #this is darker than my usual stuff #but it is the phandom

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