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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers. But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn’t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn’t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules. Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N��s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

- All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

part 2

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onesheeptwosheepandachicken · 3 years

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26 Reasons why Qrow is not Ruby’s father and why Taiyang is Ruby’s father

In response to the toxic aspect of the fandom attacking CRWBY and demanding that their desires for Qrow be chosen over canon, or how they feel their theory is more valid than the show itself? I have researched RWBY to make this 26-point Discussion as to why Canon is valid, and fancanon is not when it comes to Qrow Branwen, Ruby Rose, Taiyang Xiao Long, and Summer Rose.

1. “Monty said NO” Most obviously. Monty Oum.

He said in this tweet that ruby and yang are half-sisters…half-sisters, which means they share the same mom or dad…in this case Taiyang….

https://twitter.com/montyoum/status/492070189731565568

Now people have claimed “he obviously meant step-sisters or cousins” Why is it that every time we show the English dictionary to you people or ask you to read it, that you claim you are being attacked or that you claim Monty was misleading us?

2. The writers said NO

Miles Luna debunked this theory on Reddit…

He pointed out that Ruby sees Qrow as a Role model, so she adapts her colors to be similar to his.

And you don’t need somebody to be blood to be your role model.

https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/7x3w4s/crwby_ama_w_miles_luna_kerry_shawcross_and_paula/du5d67g/?

3. “Rooster Teeth said NO” Rooster Teeth even said that Qrow is "Ruby and Yang's Uncle" They also said “Ladies, he’s not your man”

https://twitter.com/RoosterTeeth/status/1067205612331782144

4. “But what if Summer had feelings for Qrow? Why does Qrow Serve Ozpin?” Qrow said in Volume 6 " No one wanted me... I was cursed... I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world... I thought I was finally doing some good... " So he was saying he wasn't wanted, so no relationship with Summer. SUMMER DID NOT WANT HIM. And he was literally saying he served Ozpin because Ozpin gave him purpose. It’s pretty sad how people think Qrow can only be a complex character if he obsesses over another person’s wife and child. What , you wanna make him Severus Snape, the Lilly Potter stalker who insulted a girl’s face and tried to poison a boy’s pet and publicly outed a teacher?

https://rwby.fandom.com/wiki/Qrow_Branwen/Quotes#So_That.27s_How_It_Is

5, "But Qrow could be lying" Except in volume 6 Qrow literally said "Don't lie...we're better than that"

And in volume 7?

" Long time ago. I just found working alone tends to be for the best "

" Gotta say, I’m still not really used to working with other Huntsmen in the field. "

And finally World Of Remnant on Patch.

" Nice place to raise a family, if you're into that sort of thing. "

https://rwby.fandom.com/wiki/Qrow_Branwen/Quotes#So_That.27s_How_It_Is

6. “Qrow fans claim that Ruby and Summer form a core part of Qrow’s character and backstory.” WRONG! The main accusation for demanding Rooster Teeth / CRWBY change the backstory for Qrow would accomplish nothing.

Raven already pushed Yang onto Taiyang to raise on his own.

Qrow forcing Tai to Raise Ruby alongside Yang while Qrow could regularly visit, and while Summer lived with Taiyang, Yang, and Ruby?

It would cheapen Qrow’s character….blood isn’t everything. Neither are cliches.

7. “But what if Qrow gave Ruby to Tai to raise after Summer’s death?” Volume Chapter 6, Burning the Candle.

Yang tells Blake that she (yang) and Ruby were raised together by Summer and Taiyang…not by Taiyang on his own, but by Summer and Taiyang.

Yang clearly had memories of being raised by Summer and Tai both, which meant that Summer and Taiyang lived together raising Ruby and Yang for Several Years.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZkN-53h5Os

8. “Does Taiyang care about Summer or Ruby?” Taiyang was noted to have shut down when Summer didn’t come back…. Yang noted this in Volume 2 Chapter 6, and Ruby mentioned in the first episode of Volume 3 that Taiyang missed Summer. Qrow also said that Ruby is Taiyang’s “Special Angel”…. Ruby has also pointed out numerous times that Taiyang is Overprotective of Ruby. In fact, Ruby's conversation with Penny about overprotective fathers.

9. “Qrow knows Taiyang is Ruby’s Father. Taiyang knows Ruby is Taiyang’s daughter. Qrow has referred to Taiyang as Ruby’s father during volume 3 and 7. Taiyang referred to Ruby as his daughter in volume 3.

10. “Why didn’t Taiyang train Ruby in Martial Arts?” Taiyang is a martial arts fighter. Ruby has neither the build nor the personality for ruthless hand to hand combat like her sister… Taiyang would trust Qrow, despite his semblance. Remember how bad Ruby was in v5?

11. “Qrow’s semblance is not what his fans exaggerate it to be”

Speaking of Qrow’s semblance? He was playing video games with his nieces, taught at Signal Academy, and could train Ruby… Clearly, his semblance is not what theorists make it out to be.

12. “Why doesn’t Qrow treat Yang the same way he treats Ruby?”

Yang is the daughter of Qrow’s sister,who abandoned the team.

During a one on one interaction between Qrow and Yang after yang vs mercury, Qrow called his own niece crazy, after she had been framed.

Qrow was not empathetic to Yang.

Qrow may not like Yang’s resemblance to Raven.

Ruby is the daughter of his two closest friends, so of course he’d prefer Ruby over Yang.

13. “Examples of Taiyang caring for Ruby.”

Volume 2 Ruby was excited when Taiyang sent a package in the mail, not even knowing it was Zwei.

Taiyang was at Ruby’s bedside in V3, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

He also tried to bring her breakfast in bed.

Taiyang said he wanted to chase after Ruby, but had to nurse Yang back to health.

During the V8 broadcast, Taiyang was upset when the broadcast was cut.

14. “Genetics research”

Black hair is the subtype of the pigment for blonde hair…

Also, Ruby’s got the same hair strand that Yang and Taiyang have.

Finally, black hair is more dominant.

So Ruby doesn’t need blonde hair to be Taiyang’s kid.

https://askinglot.com/is-black-hair-a-dominant-or-recessive-gene

https://www.quora.com/If-a-jet-black-haired-parent-and-a-blonde-parent-have-children-what-color-hair-would-the-children-likely-have

15. “The STRQ Photo”

The photo....Qrow was with STRQ for four years...do you really think Qrow is not allowed to cry on the photo unless he was romantically involved? Can't a man grieve over the death of a female friend that he was NOT in a relationship with? Or are men not allowed to have female friends? Ichigo and Rukia from Bleach for example...friendship. They were his friends, his family. People seem obsessed with the idea that Qrow cannot care about a woman unless he was romantically involved or unless he's their bastard father.

16. “Men and Women…as friends, platonic” Harry Potter as a book showed that a boy and a girl can interact and still be friends…

Why can’t Qrow be Summer’s friend?

Why does he have to be her lover?

We’ve seen Qrow talk about Innkeeper’s skirt lengths and leer at Barmaids who flirted with him.

Also, he’s shown to be bonding with both Clover and Robyn.

People act like he doesn't flirt with anyone , and yet he does.

17. “Bad Luck Charm” Qrow has spent his whole life with his semblance, named after a Crow.

Raised by the Branwen bandit tribe.

“You and I are not the same, you don’t want the burden of my name” Both Branwen and Qrow are names that Qrow hates due to his semblance and past…

People may think of him as cool, but Qrow suffers from self-loathing.

So NO, the Bad Luck Charm song does NOT in fact allude to Qrow being Ruby’s father, but that Qrow hates himself, hence a major part of why he’s alcoholic.

Proof of which is his volume 6 exchange with Ozpin about being useful, which Qrow disagrees with, leading him to drink further. Yang literally said that she had never seen qrow so drunk before in v6.

And Ruby encourages his self-worth leading him to try giving up alcohol….

His alcoholism is tied to low-self-esteem, not relationships.

18. Manga Anthology

Taiyang was shown in the Manga Anthology to have shut down upon Summer’s Death. That impacted his relationship with Ruby and Yang. Qrow? Is relatively unaffected. The good Uncle helping around the house. Taiyang haters and Qrow stans took this to demand that Qrow is entitled to Ruby, despite Taiyang recovering and doing his best to be a father. Anything Qrow does is worshipped like Mother Teresa, while anything Taiyang does, good or bad, is downplayed and smashed. Taiyang loved Summer so much he was devastated by her death. Qrow was unaffected. Think about that.

19. “I like Brats” Why does Qrow spend time with kids he’s not related to? Because he likes kids. You know how there are adults who enjoy being around brats? That’s Qrow. He didn’t have romantic feelings for Summer, he liked being around her because she was like a kid. Similar to how Blake likes Ruby’s idealism? And trusts her leadership?

20. “Taiyang the 2-timer accusation”

A woman on youtube claimed that Taiyang was a 2-timer who cheated on raven with summer, as there was, in her and her friends’ minds, “no way that taiyang could be with half his team” When asked about TaiQrow as a joke, she was angered that people even ship TaiQrow.

But let me ask you this. Are you the same person you are now that you were 10 years ago? People claim that Qrow was somehow cool in beacon…because he’s cool now. But Taiyang, who raises two kids, and holds a job and a house…cannot be ruby’s father…because he’s not cool? And that somehow he was never cool? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had to be cool to be a parent. I also had no idea people were only allowed to be in one relationship per lifetime. Raven freaking abandoned Tai for the tribe. Summer chose Taiyang over Qrow. People literally make Qrow out to be either an OC in a shipping fanfic, or a Naruto fanfic where Naruto is written to be fawned over by a girl whose canonical spouse, boyfriend, or male friend is somehow rewritten as evil.

1 year…..in 1 year since Raven abandoned Taiyang and Yang, Summer Rose the friend of Taiyang’s who he had known for 4 years, became more than a friend.

So no….Taiyang is not a two-timer…he moved on from Raven.

22. “Why can’t Taiyang talk about Summer?” To WHO? He’s barely got 15 minutes of screentime, and the writers did NOT do him any favors when they had Qrow demand he leave so Qrow could tell Ruby a secret Ozpin trusted him with, before telling Ruby to run away from home leaving only a freaking note. Terrible daughter. Even Yang was prepared to do the same! To a man whose first wife abandoned him! At least Weiss has a legit reason for acting as she does against Jacques, several at least. Ruby? No. Now why would Taiyang talk about Summer’s fighting style to Yang when trying to get her to stop acting like Raven in her fighting style and semblance? Sure if there was more time…but RT at the end of the day isn’t some money-hungry political entity, it’s a startup at the end of the day, they don’t have the ability to do a full anime episode. Also, Taiyang cannot go out on these active missions…he was a schoolteacher who did not do missions until only recently…he was retired, remember.

23. “These fanworks make more sense to me”

Qrow fans have tried using fanworks to justify their theory or ship, the same way Blacksun fans or Adam apologists make similar claims, and even Raven fans try to claim Raven is somehow a good mother. What do these fanworks do? Hate on Taiyang. Dismiss Ruby and Yang being half-blood siblings. Ignore multiple elements of the show or scenes. Occasionally shit-talk the writers.

Every time somebody tries to make a “rwby rewrite” or “rwby alt” or “Qrow is ruby’s father au” they cannot do it without completely rewriting the characters in so many forms and even the show, till Qrow, Raven, Taiyang, and Summer are NOTHING like they are in the show…And ONLY how a shipper wants qrow to be.

Or rewriting qrow to be nothing like he is in the show.

Most Alt or Rewrite consists of making Taiyang abusive, a cheater, or refusing to allow him to interact with Summer, while regularly pushing qrowxsummer at each other.

So no…it’s not that it makes sense to them through some fanart….a headcanon that has been debunked is no longer headcanon. A theory that is shut down is no longer a theory. There’s a reason anti-vaxxers and flat-earthers still exist. Because to them, their theories make more sense than reality. Which is why people still believe Qrow is Ruby’s father the same way people believe vaccines cause autism. Neither are true, and no amount of facts will shut them down, but they’re both popular theories.

24. “Qrow Rings and Cross”

People claim that Qrow was married to Summer or that his cross represents him mourning Summer. Did the STRQ photo, in v3, the same volume as his appearance, not show Qrow with his rings, his cross, and angrily scowling, while Summer was right next to Taiyang?

25. “What about Summer Rose’s choice?”

Remember how I said making Qrow’s character based on solely Ruby and Summer, ignoring everything regarding the tribe and ozpin giving him hope, and the grimm reaper…was bad writing? There’s a reason people hated v5. Raven was proven to be the deadbeat, Qrow was shown to have friends, and that Taiyang knew about Salem, and of course it was confirmed that Yang and Ruby again were sisters by Raven.

Now how about Summer? Team leader….took a man and a daughter who were abandoned by her friend…and made them her own. Yang calls Summer Rose “Supermom” and “Her Hero”…was literally willing to storm a bandit camp so Raven could use her portal to take Yang to Qrow, so she could get to Ruby. And yeah, I know the RWBY critics scream “why didn’t Yang just look for Ruby in Mistral?” It’s a bloody kingdom, and Yang was pursuing a lead, that Tai had given her, and Qrow told Yang he’d look after her sister. Remember that? Oh wait, RWBY Critics forget, my bad. Anyway, she’s more of a sister to Qrow than his blood sister Raven, she’s more of a mother to Yang than Raven, and she’s more of a spouse to Tai than Raven. Good Stepmother. Non-married couple. Relationship built on trust. Blood is not the same as family. (Example Weiss’s remark to her father) (Or Dom Toretto)

So making Summer into a throw-away character who dies so that a brooding jerk of an alcoholic can claim character development? Making a woman nothing except a throw-away for a man to get development is BAD WRITING. For God’s Sakes, even Pyrrha was written better than that! She interacted with team rwby, nora was always helping her out, and so was Ren (though those shakes are a crime against humanity” But when Qrow fans try to demand he’s ruby’s father? Their fanworks make Summer as much of a flat character as Preston Harvey from Fallout 4, where they make Summer unable to do anything but be obsessed with Qrow and having his child, similar to how Preston cannot think of anything other than “Another settlement needs your help, I’ll mark it on your pip-boy”

26. Finally, the accusations that CRWBY are lying.

“You have to be ****** if you believe CRWBY when they say Qrow isn’t Ruby’s father” “CRWBY is lying, it’s what writers do” “It’s okay for writers to lie, it’s good for plot” “I’d prefer it if CRWBY was lying to us” “Monty is dead, the writers should change it now” “Monty is dead, nothing else in the writing matters” “Monty was hiding the truth from us” “CRWBY is hiding the truth about Qrow being Ruby’s father” “It makes sense for CRWBY to lie to us” Look at this…Twitter, Youtube, Facebook, Tumblr, Reddit, instagram…. The first quote? Was a woman who was using an anti-autism anti-disability slur defending the theory. Never have I ever seen people so obsessed with a theory that they would deny reality and be rude to the very writers and original creator. But the QrowxSummer and Qrow is Ruby’s Father fandom group has made countless cases of this. THIS is how they defend their theory? And people upvote, like and support these remarks? SHAME SHAME SHAME

Conclusion:

I get how people desire qrow to be Ruby’s father for ships or fanfics.

Even to where they make Taiyang a hated character just for the sake of making sure nobody disagrees with them.

But the attacking of RWBY and CRWBY, claiming that “this needs to be fixed”, or getting angry at RT for not giving you the non-canon ship you want? Claiming that just because you want it to be so, that somehow your ship/theory has “validity?”

That reflects poorly on the fandom and critics.

But then again…. It’s easy to ignore what’s real and what’s a fact that when theorists and ship-pushers and CRWBY Haters on youtube tells you to stop listening to monty and the writers, and instead believe whatever you want and claim whatever you want, Because surely you know what’s better for the show than the people who worked on it, right? Ha ha ha, no. THAT is the ULTIMATE disrespect somebody calling themselves a fan could ever give. And if you think or agree with that type of logic, you should look in the mirror.

I looked for backup sources to defend CRWBY and RWBY, you’ll find them below.

Backup sources include:

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/qrow-is-not-rubys-dad/422o_0rbCYuoXj36VoB7obK3MXPZRbPKkz5

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/why-the-qrow-is-rubys-father-theory-is-wrong/z668_nQlIxu0dmRdRpEPxqE3qlWlZEmoE2

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/qrow-cant-possibly-be-rubys-and-heres-why/8BB5_LPVCmu2bonkw8eEP3Yokg8m8zJlgNV

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/why-qrow-isnt-rubys-father/lXXx_5QoUQuPVGo3Wgko3wJ52mMBl7644P

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/is-qrow-rubys-father-short-answer-no/422o_0rbCYupDKezxPxpdje7dRn3nB8YvZ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPbft3KJd6o

https://aminoapps.com/c/rwby/page/blog/qrow-is-rubys-dad-theory-debunk/d33g_pQEcbu1NKQoMEv0kmDpP6N8bmowkkq

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morporkian-cryptid · 3 years

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Turns out I really like the idea of Lupin and Jigen having met when they were kids. Thank you Anon for putting that idea into my head!

Jigen is trans in this story, and at this point, he still identifies as a girl, but for clarity’s sake I’m using he/him pronouns.

Yes, Gun Hill Houses is an actual neighborhood in the Bronx.

Reblogs are much appreciated!

---

The sun was setting on the Bronx and on the last day Jigen could spend with his best friend. Lupin didn’t live here, and only God knew when his father’s travels would bring him to New York again. They always made the most of the time they had together, exploring the city, robbing liquor stores, pick-pocketing tourists and getting into fights with the local gangs. These were the best parts of Jigen’s otherwise sorry existence, and they were always over too soon.

For their last few hours together, Jigen had taken his friend to a rooftop in Gun Hill, where there was a nice view on the square below and an even better one on the sunset. To anyone who didn’t know better, this might have almost looked like a date. Jigen didn’t want Lupin to know he thought that.

It was a mystery to Jigen how this strange little foreigner, with his tailored but battered suits and his mischievous grin, with his mysteriously wealthy family and his unfortunately sized ego, had managed to gain his trust so quickly. The two of them were polar opposites, but there was something in Lupin that had drawn Jigen in. Somehow, he felt like this strange boy from beyond the oceans was the only person who could truly understand him.

That didn’t make those words any easier to say, but he had to say them to someone. And the only person who could hear them was Lupin.

“Sometimes… I really wish I was a boy.”

Jigen was kicking his feet over the edge of the rooftop, trying very hard not to look at his friend. The young thief’s attention was turned to him, with an intensity that made him want to squirm. Looking away at least dulled it a bit.

“I mean, of course life would be easier,” Jigen justified himself. “But also… I don’t know. I just… don’t think I’m ever going to be happy as a girl. I wish I could just snap my fingers and change it.”

He was still looking away from his friend. Lupin may be the only person he could open up to, that didn’t mean he didn’t fear his judgement. At least the thief could understand that. Being a girl in the streets of the Bronx wasn’t fun.

“What’s your name?”

Jigen almost fell off the roof in surprise when his friend’s voice rose, candid and enthusiastic. Lupin was looking at him, with a smile on his face – not that lopsided grin that announced trouble to everyone around, but a soft, genuine smile that he reserved for those rare moments when he really meant what he said.

“It’s Suki,” Jigen retorted, “you know that.”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Lupin replied as if that wasn’t obvious. “If you were a boy, what would be your name?”

Jigen stared at the young thief in utter bafflement. He was serious, he realised. Perfectly honest in his enquiry, as if this was a normal thing to ask. A normal reaction to the confession Jigen had just given him.

That was probably why he liked Lupin so much.

“I don’t know…” he muttered after a few seconds of reflection. “Daisuke sounds nice.”

“Japanese,” Lupin nodded. “Like your grandparents. A good name.”

He extended a hand to his bewildered friend.

“Nice to meet you, Daisuke. I’m Arsène.”

Jigen had no other choice but to gingerly take the thief’s hand and shake it, acting on autopilot as his mind tried to make sense of what was happening. Lupin wasn’t berating him, he was even… accepting him? Playing along? That name in Lupin’s voice felt so right, like a puzzle piece fitting itself into the hole in his heart he had been ignoring all these years.

“I’m glad to be friends with a boy as incredible as you.”

And the idea of that feeling right, felt painfully wrong.

Jigen shoved his misplaced euphoria back down his throat and abruptly stood up. Lupin followed suit, but he stayed standing there as his friend took a few steps back.

“You’re crazy,” he spat out. “I’m not a boy, Arsène.”

“You can be. If you want to.”

“That’s not how this works!”

“But what if it is?” the thief insisted. “You could just dress like one, act like one, and people will believe you.”

Jigen angrily gestured at his dirty and patched up skirt.

“I’m not gonna fool anyone. Least of all myself.”

“You might. I mean, look at me. You’d never guess I’m supposed to be a girl.”

Jigen stopped dead in his pacing to turn towards him. Lupin was staring at him with defiance in his eyes, as if daring his friend to prove him wrong.

“You what?”

The thief’s expression softened somewhat, and he sat back down on the roof. He didn’t let go of Jigen’s gaze.

“My real name’s Amélie. But I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like being a girl, so I just…” he snapped his fingers, “changed it.”

“Your father let you do that?”

Lupin shrugged.

“As long as I carry the family legacy, my dad doesn’t care if he has a son or a daughter. So I decided to be his son.” A sharp glint shone in his eye, and his grin was back. “I took Grand-Père’s name. I want to be like him when I grow up. I’m gonna be the best damn thief my family has ever seen, and no one’s going to stop me.” He smiled. “And no one can stop you either.”

Jigen stayed silent for a long time. Lupin didn’t push him, simply looked at him with that soft expression that made Jigen’s heart curl up in shame inside his chest. He didn’t deserve this compassion. But he craved it, and Lupin was too good at tempting him. And Jigen decided he was too weak to resist.

He sat down next to his friend, head bowed down.

“They can, though,” he finally replied. “I already get beat up for being a tomboy. Your dad seems like a cool guy, but mine would kill me if he found out.”

Lupin leaned towards him and put his hand on Jigen’s, sending his heart racing.

“Then it will be our secret. You can be yourself when you’re with me, Daisuke.”

Jigen tried to hide his smile behind a disgusted rictus, but it probably didn’t fool his friend.

“Only call me that when we’re alone, understood?”

The thief grinned.

“When we’re alone, and with people who don’t know you.”

“With people who don’t know me, only when I do look like a boy.”

“Deal!”

Lupin punched his friend’s shoulder, and Jigen punched him in the stomach in retaliation.

“You have a terrible influence on me, you know that?”

“Says the guy who’s training to be a mobster.”

“Shut up.”

That was why he liked Lupin so much, Jigen thought as they sat there and watched the sunset. With him, he didn’t have to hide.

#jigen be lying if he said he ain't got a lil crush on his weird foreigner friend #these boys are adorable and i hope i'll have more ideas to write about them #actually you know what if y'all have prompts for them please send them my way #for lupin and jigen but also the rest of the gang and zenigata #which reminds me i need to come up with headcanons for fuji and for zeni #the hobbit writes #lupin iii #lupin the third #jigen #daisuke jigen #jiglup #lupin iii childhood au

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 3 years

Text

‘Til I Forget About You | Reggie Peters

JATP x BTR Week - Day 2: BTR

Song used: ‘Til I Forget About You - Big Time Rush

Pairing: Modern Day!Reggie x Reader

Summary: When Reggie’s girlfriend breaks up with him, he’s completely devestated. Now it’s up to y/n, Luke, Alex and Julie to cheer him up again. With the help of parties, movie nights and just overall fun things, Reggie completely forgets about Lisa.

A/N: Thanks @jatp-btr, @meangirlsx and @darlingsteveharrington for this amazing idea! Honored to be a part of this! Extra special shoutout to @darlingsteveharrington for making me these amazing time jump headers!! I am forever grateful and appreaciate you so so so much! 💕

Warnings: Underage drinking, party, alcohol, heartbreak

Words: 5,880

Reggie sat by himself in the garage one afternoon, plucking the strings of his bass guitar soothingly as he tried to forget about the screams and clatter of plates breaking at his house. Things had gotten heated again when his father came home drunk for the nth time that week. He didn’t blame his mother for slowly losing her patience with her husband. Sure, he couldn’t help it if his boss fired him instantly and he couldn’t find a new job. Albeit he didn’t search for one either.

His thoughts were thankfully interrupted by his phone buzzing on the coffee table in front of him. He halted his fingers before leaning over to see if he could ignore whoever needed him at this moment.

Confusion rose within him as his girlfriend, Lisa, smiled back at him on the picture that had appeared on screen. “Hello, gorgeous,” he said upon picking up, a smile playing on his lips. A smile that faltered as soon as it appeared when he heard sniffles coming from the other side. “Are you okay, Lis?” he asked, worry lacing in his voice.

“I can’t do this anymore, Reggie. I… It’s over. We’re done.”

With those simple words, Lisa hung up, leaving Reggie frozen in place. He couldn’t move his muscles, let alone feel them. His mind had blanked. His eyes focused on the closed white doors in front of him.

He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong for Lisa to suddenly break up with him. It wasn’t like anything had happened between them. In fact, last time they saw each other, everything still seemed peachy. More than peachy. They’d spent the night together, which seemed to have been the very last one at that too.

“Oh, hey, Reg,” a voice made him jump out of his trance. He finally dropped the phone in his lap and stared at the girl that had entered the garage. “Are you okay?” she asked, growing worried for her friend. He almost seemed catatonic.

“No,” he muttered, and finally remembered to blink. “Lisa.... I think Lisa just broke up with me?” Tears pooled his eyes as everything dawned on him, the words repeating in his head. Over and over again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. “Lisa just dumped me…” y/n’s heart broke at the sight of the confused and broken-hearted bass player.

“What?!” y/n exclaimed as she moved over towards the boy. She grabbed his bass and gently placed it on its stand again before pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him. As he cried, y/n rubbed circles on his back, trying to soothe him a little. “I’m so sorry, Reg.”

He sniffled once more before gently pushing the girl off him. “I-I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said and made a beeline out the door as Luke and Alex walked in together with furrowed eyebrows at the haste their friend just left in.

“Is he okay?” Alex asked y/n, pointing back to where the other boy had just left.

“He will be, I think… Lisa just broke up with him.” Y/N’s forehead creased as she frowned, concerned for her friend’s broken heart. “Before you ask me, I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I just know she dumped him and that he’s pretty distraught.”

Luke only moved one muscle, intending to follow behind Reggie, but y/n stopped him. “Let him be. For now. He’ll come back when he needs us.”

He did come back that night, but only for band practice and only because he knew he needed the music to numb his brain that was overflowing with thoughts about his now-ex-girlfriend.

He’d been breaking his head over the reasons why Lisa would ever break up with him. They were doing so well. What changed that she ultimately decided to break it off. Has he done something wrong?

For days, he’d tried to call her, went to her house, tried something to get her to talk to him. But it was all in vain. Lisa cut off all communication. She blocked his number, told her mother that if he ever came to their house, she’d have to send him away, … She didn’t even grant him one glance when they passed each other in the hallways at Los Feliz High.

His friends were at a loss. Reggie was so disconnected from the real world, he didn’t even care if he missed a few chords during rehearsals or his notes sounded flat. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted Lisa back.

For days they tried to patch him up. They’d talk to him about the most random stuff they could think of that wouldn’t remind him of Lisa. None of which seemed to have an effect. Even at the boys’ banter Reggie just chuckled half-heartedly. Even when y/n made him a peppermint hot chocolate, he shot her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Nothing worked.

“I’m at a loss, you guys,” y/n mumbled as she got up from the couch after the Julie and The Phantoms band rehearsal that night.

Reggie had just left the garage to go for another ‘walk’, which they knew by now just meant going places that reminded him of her, and left his friends with a sour and tense feeling lingering in the air.

Julie nodded her head as she turned her keyboard off, but stayed put on the stool behind it. Luke placed his guitar on its stand while Alex came out from behind his drum set, leaving the sticks behind. Julie then said, “I really wanna help him, but I don’t know what to say to him anymore… I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing.”

“We can’t just keep tiptoeing around him though,” Alex chimed in as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket.

Y/N started pacing the floor nervously whilst going over some ideas in her mind that could possibly help out her friend.

Reggie had been there for her so many times whenever she’d gotten her heart broken by someone. He’d cuddle her, make her peppermint hot chocolate, let her cry for a while and watch 10 Things I Hate About You with her as it was her favorite movie. It gave her the opportunity to open up the floodgates without having to feel guilty about crying her eyes out.

Luke grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her from making him so nervous. “This is not a runway, angel,” he told her before turning to the others. “We need an intervention.”

Alex pointed a finger to his friend in agreement. “Yes! Any ideas?”

Y/N’s brain immediately went to one occurrence during one of her very many heartbreaks. Reggie’s very own intervention to the road to happiness. She remembered his words to a t, “The only cure to a mended heart is a party and alcohol.”

Her friends’ heads whipped around to face her after her mumbling.

“I know what we need to do.”

Reggie plopped down on the armchair after yet another failed band rehearsal. He pulled at the fabric of the piece of furniture, silently cursing at himself and Lisa for letting him fall down this far.

With one collective glance, the boys, y/n and Julie turned towards the brunette bass player. All four of them crossed their arms and glared at him sternly. Reggie felt their eyes burn on the side of his face and he already knew what was going to happen.

“Don’t even try,” he warned.

Y/N uncrossed her arms in defeat and went to kneel down in front of him, placing her hand on his to make him stop tearing the chair apart. “Yes, try. Reggie, we’ve let you be miserable for an entire week. It’s time for an intervention.”

“Guys…” Reggie sighed, shaking his head in objection.

“Reggie,” Julie stated sternly, capturing the boy’s attention. “We’re gonna help you forget all about her. Okay? We’re gonna party, we’re gonna spend so much time together to the point you’ll be focusing on how sick you are of us and you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

The dark-haired boy glanced at the boys first before his eyes landed on y/n’s, who was still crouched down in front of him. She nodded her head encouragingly. Then finally, a soft smile fell to his lips before he got up from the chair slowly as if moving was against his own will.

That night, they all got ready together for the night ahead. While y/n and Julie were doing their makeup and jamming to all the tunes that were bursting out of the speakers, the boys were chilling on Julie’s bed. Neither of them were ready yet, but they said they were going to bequeath the girls their precious time in front of the vanity mirror.

“The mirror is all yours, pretty boys!” Julie sang as she pressed her glossed lips together and popped them before getting up from the stool.

Luke and Alex both whistled as the two girls stood in front of them in their party outfits. Julie opted for a tight purple dress from her mother’s chest of fashion treasures while y/n was wearing a black mesh top and a pleather skirt, paired with black over-the-knee boots.

The two girls striked a pose, both pouting their lips simultaneously. Their giggles filled up the room until y/n’s eyes landed on Reggie, who was just staring at her with a bright pink dusting his cheeks. Her giggle faded and changed into a simple smile. A smile that said ‘I see you’. A smile that caused Reggie’s heart to skip a beat.

Julie had picked up on the change of vibe that exuded from the interaction between her two best friends, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Get ready quickly, boys. We wanna partyyyyy!” she dragged out the last word and threw her hands up in the air, clearly ready for letting loose on this wonderful Friday night.

The gang arrived at the Wilson estate an hour later than the party actually kicked off. “Being fashionably late” Luke had called it, though that was just an excuse so the girls wouldn’t complain about him taking so long to style his hair.

“You took longer than we did and we’ve done a full face of makeup!” y/n had teased him which had earned her a glare from the perfectly coiffed guitarist.

They stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the grinding bodies in the middle of the living room as the music thumped through the speakers and the stench of alcohol filled up their nostrils. It was an overwhelming feeling to arrive at a party that was already in full swing, and y/n could tell Reggie was somewhat agitated.

To ease the tension in his shoulders, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, saying, “The only cure for a broken heart…” She didn’t even need to finish her sentence for he already had a smile climbing up his cheeks.

“Let’s start with shots!” Alex suggested excitedly and skipped through to the set-up bar in the kitchen. The remaining four glanced at one another and collectively chuckled at the drummer’s eagerness before following behind.

The blondie stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a pretty long-haired boy the gang knew as Willie, Alex’s long-time crush. Nobody was really sure what was happening between the two, but they did find them sneaking off at every party they went to together.

They were lining up six shots of Tequila, ready for their friends to shoot back. Every party the group attended, these two took care of every beverage. Whether it was lining up shots for their friends or shaking up a good cocktail. They were the pros out of all of them. The self-proclaimed Liquor Kings.

“Tequila for the pretty lady,” Alex handed the small cup to y/n, sending a blush straight up to her cheeks, but Alex was too busy handing out the drinks to even notice the effect his flattery had on her. Y/N always blushed whenever somebody complimented her, even if it were the people she had been friends with for a long old time.

Willie handed her a lime slice, which she held between the fingers of the hand her shot was in as he needed her other hand to line up the salt in the crook between her thumb and index finger. She shot him a quick thank-you wink before turning to the rest of the group who’d been equipped with all the ingredients for the perfect tequila shot.

“Ready?” Willie asked as a wide smile lit up his face. The group nodded, one a little more excited than the other, and Willie started the countdown. On three, the entire group licked the line of salt off their hand, threw back the shot and then sucked the lime.

Y/N’s face scrunched up as the three tastes mingled on her taste buds and the burning sensation of the liquor slithered down her throat. Reggie was mirroring her expression with the slice of green between his lips.

She giggled at him as he groaned, throwing the sucked-dry lime on the counter. “Feels great, doesn’t it?” Reggie coughed and reached for the two cups their Liquor Kings handed over.

“Amazing,” Reggie mumbled with a chuckle, though his smile fell almost immediately as he brought the red cup to his lips. Y/N knew Lisa was still on his mind and she’d have to do a lot more than just have him drink a shot of Tequila.

Determinedly, she grabbed his hand and led him towards the living room where all party attendees were dancing. Reggie looked scared for his life as y/n started to move to the music, coaxing him to follow her lead.

“Come on, Reg! The best cure to a broken heart is a party!” She tried again when he didn’t even move a muscle. “And at a party, you dance!” Next thing he knew, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her hip while her hand sneaked up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards her until their chests were pressed together. Slowly but determinedly, she started to sway her hips to the music, automatically forcing him to move along with her.

Reggie moved along absentmindedly as his cheeks heated up at the close proximity in which they were dancing. He had never seen his best friend in any different way. Y/N had always been there and she’d always been just a friend in his eyes, but dancing so close to her gave him a whole different perspective.

He blamed it on being vulnerable post heartbreak.

After a refill on behalf of the Liquor Kings and a few songs dancing together, y/n was suddenly being pulled away by Julie and Flynn as they shouted, “Come on, Bitch! This is our song!” Y/N mouthed an apology to Reggie and joined her two best friends in their dance circle.

With his support system gone, the dark-haired boy had fallen still. He didn’t have another move inside him, not without her, at least. It was like y/n was the battery and now that she wasn’t empowering him to dance, there was no energy left inside him. So, instead of standing in the middle of the dance floor like an absolute loser, he shuffled into the kitchen to get something else to drink. He was in need of something stronger.

Luke had been chatting up a girl when he saw his buddy walking in, looking solemn for someone who loved going to parties. He excused himself and walked over to where Reggie was pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“You okay, buddy?” he asked with worry laced into his voice. Reggie offered him an unconvincing smile as he poured the liquor into the empty red cup.

“Yeah, totally.”

Luke sighed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the boy’s hands. He poured some into his own cup before placing it a little out of reach from the sad bass player next to him, who glared at him.

“I’m sorry, bro. But you’ve been sad for an entire week. We let you be miserable but it’s gotta stop at some point.” Reggie scoffed as he stared at the brown liquid in his cup. “Listen, I know Lisa meant a lot to you and she was amazing and everything but you gotta let go. I know it’s hard, but you gotta forget about her.”

“How can I forget about her when she’s literally everywhere I go?” He nodded to somewhere behind Luke and when he turned his head, he saw the auburn haired girl talking to Carrie on the patio outside. “She’s doing this on purpose,” Reggie said through gritted teeth before chugging the 5 ounces of whiskey.

The guitarist blinked a couple of times, impressed at how Reggie could just throw that back without even flinching the tiniest bit. His ear suddenly picked up at the beginning notes of a song the bassist would always go crazy on at parties. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as an idea popped into his head.

Reaching over the counter, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey again, poured a bit into Reggie’s cup and guided his hand towards his mouth, demanding him to drink it. Confused, but obedient, Reggie threw back the bit of liquor. The burn in his throat felt right. Numbing.

As if on cue, three girls waltzed into the kitchen, singing along loudly to the first verse of the song as they approached the two boys at the counter. A smile befell on Luke’s lips as y/n tapped Reggie’s shoulder and beckoned him towards the dancefloor as Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA blared through the house.

Chuckling, and mostly because the alcohol was forcing him to, he obeyed to y/n’s rules. Luke, Flynn and Julie followed behind them, shouting along to the lyrics. The commotion lured the Liquor Kings to the dancefloor as well. This was the song Reggie needed all along.

“Come on, Reg!” Julie demanded as he was moving now, but not belting along to the words like he normally would.

As the chorus floated through the speakers, the magical powers of the ABBA song finally reached his brain and he started to shout the lyrics. The rest of the group threw their hands in the air, cheering the still brokenhearted boy on.

All he needed was his ABBA song to get him loose, to get him to forget all about the girl with the auburn hair. All he needed was his friends and a good party to let loose of all the negative feelings that had been bottled up inside of his chest over the past week.

By the end of the night, all six had to support Reggie as they walked to Julie’s house where they’d crash in the garage. He was singing a remix of all different ABBA songs whilst the others tried to quiet him down. Their giggles tangled up in the shushes and Reggie’s singing, carrying through the fresh, spring air.

“I love you, guys,” he slurred as y/n tucked him on the mattress. “Gimme hug,” he pulled the girl on top of him and held a tight grip on her body as she giggled. His lips pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair whilst she tried to wriggle loose.

“Reg, lemme go!”

“No! It’s cuddle time!” He protested and didn’t let go of his best friend.

“Fine, but at least allow me a bit more air.” Reggie’s arms loosened a little and y/n got situated properly. She laid on top of him, stomachs and chests pressed together, one hand tangled up into his dark hair while the other rested on his chest, next to her head. His arms were wrapped loosely around her.

His eyes were fluttering shut as he mumbled, “Can you stop spinning us around, y/n?” She giggled at his drunken mutters and started drawing patterns on his T-shirt clad chest. It seemed to relax him a bit as a big sigh of contentment expanded his lungs, bringing y/n’s head up with it too. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Reginald.”

Saturday didn’t count. Everyone was hungover and didn’t want to move at all. So, they just watched movies together all day long in the garage, a tangled up heap of humans. But from Sunday onwards, Reggie was in a whole better mood.

A mood where all he wanted to do was write songs and be productive. So, that’s what he did. Every day he worked on the song; after school, after band rehearsals, even during his free periods. The words, the melody, the beat, it all seemed to just float out of him.

On Friday, Reggie told everyone he’d written a song and wanted their opinion on it. He was both nervous and excited as Luke would never listen to any of the songs Reggie wrote by himself. Though all those songs had always been country songs and Luke didn’t think country fitted the image of the band.

“No, Reggie, we’re not doing country,” Luke repeated for the nth time.

Reggie was fed up with the guitarist’s neglect of his creativity. “Shut your mouth and listen for once, asshole.” His voice was strident and taut. A tone he’d never used. The rest of the group was a little taken aback and exchanged nervous glances while Reggie handed out a sheet of paper with the song worked out on it. He’d used the copier at school to copy the page in his notebook.

They heavily discussed his idea for the melody and listened to his ideas for the beat he wanted until a song floated through the garage. Soon after, Reggie started singing the song too with Julie and Luke throwing in some harmonies that Reggie approved with a smile and a nod.

By the last chorus, everyone had the lyrics down and sang along with the bassist.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… Till I forget about you! Till I forget about you!”

As the music stopped, everyone stayed silent, basking in the adrenaline and the amazement of the song. This was exactly what Julie and The Phantoms sounded like. This was a soon-to-be hit.

“I think we’ve found ourselves our closing number for tomorrow night,” Alex said with a grin from behind his drum kit. The bassist was surprised to see Luke and Julie nod in agreement to the blondie’s statement. Reggie had finally written a song for the band they didn’t immediately dismiss.

They rehearsed the song a couple more times on Friday, and some more on Saturday before their soundcheck to tweak it a little bit until it was perfect and everyone had it down. Now all they needed to do was perform it at the end of their set at The Mint, a gig they landed thanks to their amazing marketing team -- Flynn and y/n -- and the fact the owner was a family friend of y/n’s.

It was a gig. And a gig meant exposure. And exposure meant the possibility of a manager noticing them increasing.

“You guys ready?” y/n asked as she knocked on the door of their dressing room five minutes before kick off. Her eyes darted from an all dolled-up Julie to a shirtless Luke and then to a drumstick-twirling Alex, realizing they were a man short. “Where’s Reggie?”

Luke shrugged as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “He said he was going to the bathroom, but that was like half an hour ago.” Y/N pulled her mouth into a straight line before turning and leaving the room to find her friend.

Cruising through hallways, she finally stumbled on a room that wasn’t being used by them until she noticed the door ajar. She carefully pushed the door open a little further to find Reggie on the red carpeted floor with his phone in his hands and a tear running down his cheek.

“Hey,” she announced herself as she moved towards him. He looked up at her and offered her a half-hearted smile whilst wiping the tear away. “You’re on in five.” Even though the words screamed urgency, her tone didn’t and her actions didn’t either. She went over to sit next to him, shoulders touching.

“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” he said, but didn’t move.

Y/N’s eyes landed on the phone in his hands, a conversation blinking at her on the screen. At the very top of the conversation was her name and the only message she could read was “I miss you, please come back.” in a bright green.

Her body heaved as she inhaled deeply, “You can do this without her, Reg.” The boy shook his head in objection. “I know you can. This girl is not worth your tears and frustration. She’s not worth anything if she can’t see how amazing you are.” Reggie looked up at y/n, his eyes gleaming with tears as he listened to her words. “If she doesn’t appreciate everything you do for her and how much you cherish her, she’s not worth it.”

The girl fell silent for a moment, anticipating his reaction as their eyes were locked in an intense stare. What he did next was something she hadn’t calculated with the speech she’d prepared in her mind on the spot. His hands lifted to her cheeks and his lips pressed against hers in a spontaneous passionate kiss. He pulled back hesitantly but when y/n kissed back, every doubt in his mind just washed away.

Y/N couldn’t say she had ever thought of kissing her best friend, but at that moment it seemed so comfortable and familiar. Like she’d been doing it for years. Their lips just fit together so perfectly and moved in sync like a choreographed dance.

When they pulled back for air, the back of y/n’s neck was aflame and her lips tingled. The flustered Reggie in front of her coughed as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

She knew the only reason this happened was because Reggie was so overwhelmed with this broken hearted feelings and she was just there. A smile formed on her lips as she patted his chest and while getting up, she said, “That’s cool, Reginald. Glad I could be of assistance to let go of your frustrations.” She reached out a hand for him. “Now, let’s go rock this place, yeah?” He placed his hand in hers and let her pull him up to his feet. Entangling their fingers, y/n guided him out of the secluded room and backstage to where the others were waiting for their bassist to start their show.

“Sorry, guys!” Reggie said while the sound guy helped him out with his in-ears and another one handed him his bass.

Luke patted him on the shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Reggie answered with a smile that for the first time in two weeks reached his eyes. He glanced over to y/n. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, ready to go!” Sound Guy 1 said. Y/N and Flynn put their thumbs up to wish them good luck before the band rushed onto the stage, an uproar of cheers erupting from the crowd. They were rowdy tonight. A good omen for an amazing show.

“We’ve got one last song for you guys,” Julie said into her mic with a smile bright enough to light up the whole room as she glanced at Reggie. “You wanna introduce this one, buddy?”

He stepped closer to his mic, a nervous grin spread on his face as he spoke. “This last song is for everyone who has ever felt heartbroken before. Remember that even though it might seem dark and lonely without that one person there, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Follow that light because it will lead you to amazing things.”

The other band members exchanged glances, all with proud smiles plastered on their faces. Reggie had come a long way from two weeks ago and he still had a long way to go, but he was on the right path. As long as he had his friends, his band, his family, by his side, he’d be good. Even better if the girl that stood in the wings on his right was at his side too.

Alex counted them in and Luke and Julie began to play their instruments before Reggie’s voice floated through the venue along with the thumping beat of Alex’ drums.

“Get a call on a random afternoon I pick it up and I see that it's you Like my heart, you were breaking the news, you say It's over, it's over, it's over.”

He looked over at Julie and Luke while his fingers were plucking at the strings of his bass. They shot him an encouraging smile, offering him a little boost of confidence as he continued the verse.

“Heading out, cause I’m out of my mind All my friends are gonna see me tonight Stayin’ here until the sun starts the rise, And I'm, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna…”

The beat went up a notch as confetti cannons went off, covering their entire view in purple butterfly confetti pieces as they slowly whirled onto the dancing and screaming audience.

In the wing to Reggie’s right, Flynn and y/n stood, dancing and singing along to the music with the widest smiles on their faces. A big perk to being the band’s marketing team was definitely the free gigs they benefited from.

Luke then takes the next verse, his growly tone sending some of the girls in the front row into a frenzy. A smirk tugged at his lips upon noticing but then he focused his gaze onto Julie as he sang with her harmonizing.

“And you thought, I'd be here on my own Waiting for you to knock on my door Since you left I don't wait by the phone I'm moving, I'm moving, I'm moving”

Reggie walked over to Alex’s platform. The drummer shot him a toothy smile that could land him a spot in a toothpaste commercial. Reggie really appreciated the support his band gave during performances and with this song in particular.

“Found a place where I can lose myself And just leave your memory on the shelf See I'm fine, no I don't need nobody else Cause I'm, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going…”

When Reggie turned back to his mic, his eyes landed on y/n, and he shot a quick wink her way. Unbeknownst to him, this sent her cheeks aflame and her stomach fluttering. That kiss about an hour ago really wasn’t just something that happened because he was overwhelmed. She actually felt something then. And she’s feeling it now too.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to ‘Til I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… ‘Til I forget about you!”

The bassist’s eyes now lock onto y/n’s as he sings the bridge towards her. She had barely even recovered from his wink and now he’s staring right through her soul while she had to act like it didn’t even affect her in any shape or form.

“Spending money like you don't mean a thing Going crazy, now don't even think Losing my mind, is all I can do Till I forget about you”

He turned back to the frenzied crowd as he belted out the high note.

The band then played a musical intermezzo. Luke joined Alex at his platform and Reggie stepped up to Julie’s keyboard as she played the synth-sounding notes. The Latina girl was happy to see Reggie in his element again and actually have fun as they played their set. It was a nice change from the otherwise solemn and sad Reggie they were plagued with in the past weeks.

For the first half of the last chorus, they all stopped playing their instruments except Alex. He went wild on the drum solo Reggie had blessed him with while the rest clapped their hands to the beat, getting the crowd to mirror them.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a what now? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about…”

They picked their instruments up again and continued singing. Even the crowd started to get a hang on the lyrics by now, which hyped Reggie up even more for the rest of the song.

“Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to…”

“Till I forget about you!”

Reggie belted out a high note, which made y/n’s heart leap. His voice had always been her favorite sound in the whole entire world but hearing it so confidently coming out of him had her on her toes.

“Till I forget about you”

He turned to y/n again as he sang the very last line with a certain glint in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place.

“I can’t forget about you!”

The band played their very last chords, notes or hit their last cymbals, and when the song rang out, the audience were applauding, cheering and whistling. But Reggie couldn’t bear tearing his eyes off of y/n.

She was smiling at him and he was smiling at her.

Both of them knew that he was okay. He was going to be okay with Lisa being gone because he had y/n by his side. She was the one who changed everything around. She was the one who made him go out to Carrie’s party. She was the one to remind him that he would be okay without the auburn haired girl. She was the one that helped him forget about her. She was the one.

JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @alexpjoyner @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @happinessinthedarkesttimes

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag, sorry!

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp #jatp x btr #jatp x btr week #jatp-btr #reggie jatp #Jeremy shada #reggie x reader #reggie nolastname #reggie fic #reggie imagine #modern day!reggie #alive!reggie #2020!reggie #til i forget about you btr #reggie peters

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caterpellas · 4 years

Text

munich nights • harry styles 2

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (thigh riding, oral f receiving, girl on top n i think that’s it)

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut, it’s the works y’all

pt 2/3 (one is here) word count: 6k

a/n: this is the penultimate bit now :) i’m actually super nervous to post this lol i’m a mess anyway pls enjoy

chapter 2 playlist

you couldn’t lie, you cried yourself to sleep that night, with a movie you sort of cared about playing in the background. harry didn’t love you, and what used to be the strongest friendship in mankind had now crumbled apart and returned to a state of distant nothingness. harry didn’t love you. he didn’t have to say those words to you for you to know they were true. the realisation hit you about twenty minutes after harry left like an arrow to your chest, that was so recently covered in his ejaculate. not only were the pair of you virtually inseparable, you worked together as well and you had absolutely no idea what was going to happen now. you felt too ashamed for him and his band members to see you now after last night.

waking up in a damp patch of tears in your double bed, you try your hardest to get on with your day and forget last night. a bath felt appropriate so, just before midday, before you’d even greeted your friends yet, you ran one. the tub itself was freestanding and as deep as your head when you sat in it, the victorian taps centred in the middle. it was definitely the nicest bath you’d had in your life. you stripped off last nights clothes that you had shamelessly fallen asleep in and hoped to god the hot water of your bath would erase the images of last night, but the feeling of harry’s touch burned hotter then any water.

almost an hour later, milo, your drummer, knocked on the door of the bathroom you were still in.

“y/n? you in there? we haven’t seen you since last night before you and harry left. is everything okay?” milo’s voice reached you through the oak walls. you wanted to tell him that nothing was okay, and that you’re most important relationship ceased to exist but you couldn’t bare to tell anyone else, especially your friend and bandmate of 5 years.

“i’m all good, i’ll be out soon.” you make it downstairs another half an hour later, the need for a cup of tea driving you to the kitchen. as you reached the breakfast bar right next to the kitchen, you saw the sickening mop of brown curls that you were hoping to avoid. he turns to face you at the sound of your slippers against the tiled floor.

but instead of plain ignorance, a much more unexpected reaction finds its way to harry as he greets you, “y/n! we were beginning to think you’d drowned in that bath.”

you stood in bewilderment at harry’s attempt at a joke, wondering why he was trying you like all of last night never happened to either of you. but you picked this over cold silence so went along with it, “yeah sorry i needed to recover from the jet lag yesterday.”

it was sort of true, you were feeling the time difference and were grateful to be able to rest today. aside from plans to go out this evening, you were all going to rest up at home. which meant being in close quarters with the man you were trying so hard to avoid. making your cup of tea on the old aga kettle, your friends went back to discussing tour details, chatting about last and what was in store for the rest of the trip. you got a feeling their plans for the future weren’t going to be that plain and simple.

by the evening, you had all found yourselves comfortably sat around the fire outside, eating takeout from a german restaurant nearby. it was really good, and although you and harry had barely spoken more than those few words to each other things weren’t as awkward as you were dreading they’d be. usually, if things hadn’t gone the way they had, you and harry would be sat next to one another, your sides touching all the way down whilst you giggled over something harry was telling you.but as it goes, milo and olly sandwiched you between their huge bodies.

“does anyone know the name of the club we’re going to tonight?”

your ears pricked up at the mention of going to a club. you didn’t realise you were going out-out.

“panorama, i think? i put harry’s name on the guest list.”

it occurred to you that you were heavily underdressed for an exclusive nightclub. you had a good feeling they wouldn’t accept your cargo pants and grubby trainers. jumping up from the bench you run to the door, “i need to go change!”

you opted for an ever so slightly classier look and went with a small pleated skirt and a cropped cardigan. not a combo you’d usually wear, it was a little more fitted then you’d choose for yourself but you’d compromise a little to get in the club. you stuck with the dr martens purely for comfort and called it a night there. you loved your style for many reasons, but the most important one was that it was low effort. it took a maximum of 20 minutes to get ready and you took pride in that.

the group had organised to have a limo to share instead of a taxi, so harry was a little more protected from paparazzi and also to fit the size of your party. they were all waiting outside on the drive when you got downstairs and in unison, their heads turned to face you.

sarah grinned at you, “i love it.”

“very cute,” charlotte smiled as well.

you responded with a “cheers” before daring to look at harry. he was wearing a silk shirt and slacks in a baby pink colour. nothing different to harry’s usual attire but the outfit still sent a chill down your spine. well that, and the way he was looking at you. it was dark out but you could still see how electric his green eyes were as they stared directly at you. you’d been caught off guard, harry wasn’t someone you were prepared to connect with again this evening. in fact, you’d convinced yourself that you didn’t even care whether harry was going to be there or not (utter lies of course). but by the way he was looking at you, you knew this wasn’t the end and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

the vip section of ‘panorama’ was plush and teal coloured, with flower garlands and strip lights along the ceiling. you had a lounging area all to yourselves, with big padded benches and cushions. it was luxurious and if you weren’t so highly strung from having harry sat so near by, you’d fall asleep on it. you drunk so many cocktails by this point and your worries seemed to fade away into the loud club music.

“y/n.”

harry was sat next to you, but distantly. he was chatting to mitch before he said your name. no matter how loud the music playing was, you’d still always here his voice. turning to him, you asked, “harry?”

he’s smiling at you, like nothing has changed, “how come you haven’t danced yet this evening?”

it was a good question- you loved to dance more than you loved to perform. harry would always make fun of you, the shimmy you would do when he was playing disco in the studio and the way you always swayed along to fleetwood mac, pretending to be stevie nicks on stage. the reason you weren’t dancing is because you were far too obsessed with the closeness you had achieved with harry in your booth.

“i haven’t quite been feeling it just yet,” you teased back and you felt as though things with harry had gone back to normal, so you dared to ask, “are we good?”

harry’s boyish smile took over his face as he gave you a definite, “yes.”

“well i’m feeling more in the mood now so i’ll see you later,” you get up to exit, smoothing out the pleats in your skirt and struggle to take your eyes away from his. dreaming he’ll follow you, you make your way into the adjacent room filled to the brim with people. the song was bassy, but mellow and you could immediately feel your body moving to it. before you knew it you were almost next to the dj booth, opposite the ceiling high speakers and the song was perfect. you hadn’t felt this relaxed since yesterday’s plane journey and you let your unease pour out of your limbs as they writhed to the music. it took a few minutes to take you out of the trance and realise, although surrounded by a mass of people, you weren’t alone.

a tall figure was behind you, and without turning you knew who it was. you could smell his cologne easily- it was gucci of course and it was heavenly. not even daring to turn to him, you stayed facing away, afraid of what it meant to have him in your view. his hands, large and firm, gripped your shoulders, like he did twice yesterday, and his hot breath was against your neck.

“can i join you?”

the question itself was said innocently, this wasn’t the first time harry had asked to dance with you, and probably wasn’t the last, but it felt different to you now. god how you missed the simplicity of harry being unattainably yours as a friend. finally bracing yourself to meet his eyes from almost a foot above you, you spun, his arms falling from your shoulders to your forearms.

smiling up at the familiar face of the love of your life, you said into his ear, “of course you can dance with me.”

dancing with harry was nothing sexy or erotic but it was the most intimate you’d ever been with him, before last night. harry loved to dance almost as much as you and the best part of his whole personality was nothing other than his devil-may-care disposition. it reminded you of the times he’d twirl you while you were stood somewhere completely out of the blue, or when he’d snap his fingers along to a song and by the time you’d joined in the two of you had broken out into a full dance routine just for the sheer fun of it.

harry grabbed your small, clammy hands and pulled you into him, and then straight back out as wild cherry played through the speakers and you inaudibly laughed at his initial dance moves.

“is that all you’ve got styles?” you smirked at him before laughing at the ridiculous version of the hustle he was trying to pull off. he looked way better than you’d ever want to declare, looking fresh out of the 70s whilst funk music played to his dance moves. it suited him down to a fine art and the song was tailor made for his steps. your hips circled to the song and you remembered just how much you love it. pulling out some more unconventional dance moves you went for the peace signs over your eyes and harry’s head fell back in laughter whilst watching you.

this was it. the perfect moment you were so afraid of losing with him. you understood now that whatever yours and harry’s union was, it was far stronger than you ever gave it credit for. harry and you were back to normal again and instead of last night’s beer goggles making you far more candid then you’d like, now your feelings were crystal clear. harry was all you’d ever want.

as boney m. began to fade in now harry’s dancing had become more intense and now the pair of you were far closer then you’d ever danced together before. one of his hands made a brave attempt at looping around your waist and spinning you, making your skirt flare up in the process. usually you’d be shy and care, but only harry was paying attention to you and the thought of him have a small peak at what was under your skirt didn’t even slightly bother you. one of your arms clutches his lean bicep and you moved in unison together, only inches away from one another now.

“i love watching you dance,” harry whisper-shouted in your ear. unprepared for that statement, you stare into his eyes as they flashed in the colours of the lights. his gaze is unfocused, undecided on if it will look into your own or watch your lips, dampened from the small lick you gave them. his own lips were distracting you as well, the bottom one pulled in by his teeth, a habit he picked up when he was feeling conflicted. you wished he wasn’t such a hard man to read. the only definite you held onto right now was that he wanted to kiss you, reaffirmed when his eyes closed and his head ducked to meet your own.

“harry,” you place a hand on his exposed chest, “i can’t kiss you.”

he knew why. he knew that it crossed the boundary you weren’t meant to cross again. but much like you that didn’t want to stop him. so, despite himself, harry ignored your remark and hesitantly placed his lips on yours. the feeling of his kiss muted the sounds around you and in desperation you urged him to kiss you harder. no matter the height difference between the two of you, harry and you still felt perfectly matched. harry’s hands came into your tangled hair and gripped at the top of your neck, his lips even firmer against yours at the new angle. this was far more passionate then last night, and you were seeing harry in a whole new light. he wasn’t just your friend, an unrequited love and now a one time sexual partner but something more on par with your own emotions. harry’s zealous kiss seemed to correspond with all the feelings you had never spoken about him. but then he pulled away, leaving you empty again. you frowned at him, “why did you stop?”

he simply smiled back at you, soothing your nerves, and took your hand as he pulled you through the crowds to a curtained doorway. the room he took you to was a semi circle, the wall surrounded by a settee, and the floor was carpeted and plush with cushions and blankets. it reminded you of a harem, which made you question harry’s choice of destination. it was far quieter in here, the music now a dull bass in the background.

“why are we in here?” you looked over to harry who had already taken a seat on the sofa.

“i thought you’d want more privacy,” he grinned at you. harry’s attitude towards the whole thing was starting to irritate you instead now. why was he acting like this whole thing was so casual? did it not affect him like it did you?

“you’re kidding right? what even is this?” you scoff at him, crossing your arms across your chest. you were pissed.

harry’s brows creased in confusion, “what’s the matter?”

“what’s the matter? how can you ask me that? things are different now harry and you know it.”

he knew it. he just couldn’t find the courage to tell you that he’d wanted things to be this way for the past 2 years. it’s why he was constantly cracking jokes or messing around with you, making you smile and laugh brought him more joy then anything else in his life. it’s why he was so overwhelmed by white hot jealousy when he saw your mouth around that arsehole sound tech’s dick.

“jesus, y/n we’re friends aren’t we? why do we have to talk about that anyway, we’re having fun.”

“because harry,” you huff at him, “unlike you my feelings are a little bruised from last nights events.”

his eyes momentarily filled with guilt, “i know that was- not decent of me.”

“uh you think? i love you harry but you’re not pulling this crap on me again,” you tried to sound stern but his eyes melted you. you looked away but his hand reached for yours. this was it though. your temper had gotten the better of you and you were ready to leave him here and say goodbye to any relationship you formerly had with him. if he did anything again to you like he did last night you were sure your dignity would crumble into unfixable pieces. sighing, you finish off by telling him, “i can’t do this anymore harry.”

“i don’t want to lose you,” harry’s eyes were filled with pleading.

“you should have thought about that before i put your cock in my mouth,” you snapped at him. you hated to admit that saying out loud what you and harry had done had turned you on immensely. harry’s pupils dilated in synchronisation with yours. he played right into this.

“so you’d never do it again?” why was he asking you this?

“no. i wouldn’t.” he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing what he did to you anymore. even though the sight of him with his half buttoned silk shirt, damp with sweat as he lounged on the settee, his high waisted trousers spread apart along his long legs made your legs feel like mush. your voice was so convincing that harry’s face fell and in an instant you wanted to eat your words.

“y/n, i’m sorry if i overstepped,” he stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers, “do you wanna just go back to being friends?”

there was only one right answer to that question;

“fuck no.”

you jumped harry then and there and he fell back onto the padded seat, hands strongly gripping your waist. you quickly kissed him and in shock you retreated, your eyes locking, before connecting your lips with him again. his hands move south to your hips and then to your buttocks, giving your scantily clad cheeks a squeeze. you knew from a past discussion harry was an ass man, after a few drinks together one night you were talking about likes and dislikes. it reminded you of one preference in particular. grabbing a fistful of his hair, you tugged it gently and an audible moan fell in between his lips against yours.

“fuck, y/n do that again,” he mumbled into your mouth and you responded with another pull on his curls. his hips jerked up to meet the middle of your legs and between the thin material of his trousers and nothing covering your crotch other then the thin material of your underwear, little was left to the imagination. you could feel harry’s erection growing the more your hand tangled into his hair. your bare thighs clutched tightly by harry’s hands and you could tell they were longing to hold your bare ass. with your other hand on harry’s bicep, you moved it down to his hand and guided it up along your cheek and he hummed in satisfaction.

“hey harry,” you spoke into the kiss, “you remember california?”

how could he forget- you had spent the whole day drinking on the beach and that was where you had confessed about all your likes and dislikes, giggling like little kids the whole time. who knew that several months later that secret information would become so beneficial?

“what about it?” he asked as your lips traced down his neck to his chest.

“do you remember what i told you?”

a switch flipped in harry’s head and he suddenly knew what you wanted. his thigh came between your legs and you put your weight onto it eagerly, and his hands rocked you back and forth on the cotton of his slacks. the friction was exactly what you needed and you had never been more thankful that harry had listened so intently to your confession; you loved dry humping.

harry’s gaze was on you as you continued to grind on him, and the sight was enough to turn him from semi to fully hard.

“does that feel good?” harry asked you and you were too shy to answer him, only whimpering in response, “tell me y/n.”

“it feels so good harry,” you moaned out. your pace had begun to quick as you needily searched for your release. you could feel your wetness seeping into the material against his thigh and a faint squelching noise could be heard underneath your mewls of satisfaction. your hand fell across the bridge of his nose, outlining his sharp cheekbone and rest along his neck, licking his lips as he watches you get yourself off on him.

on a normal occasion, you’d be too embarrassed to ever ride someone’s thigh, it made you the centre of their attention and that frightened you. but knowing that harry’s undivided recognition was different. you loved having his hands and eyes all over your body. not that he knew, but it was his after all. if he wanted it to, it could belong to him.

“harry,” you gasped, “i’m going to cum.”

to know he was about to witness your undoing just like you’d seen his thrilled him.

“cum for me y/n,” harry pushed your hips for you, gripping the flesh of your ass, and rolling you back and forth till you let out a sob as you came all over his thigh. your forehead fell onto harry’s shoulder as you recollected yourself. that was the first time you had ever cum just from humping. and it was on harry’s leg. the familiar blush crept up your arms to your neck and cheeks and you couldn’t bare to lift your head off of harry’s shoulder.

“y/n,” harry’s voice gently interrupted, “not to rush you or anything but my trousers really are soaked.”

his fingers slid down your thighs to help you off of his leg, your own like that of a baby deer. you weren’t expecting harry to unbuckle his belt and slip his trousers off his legs, the thick wet patch taking up a lot of the fabric.

“what are you doing?”

“well you don’t expect me to keep them on do you?”

“i sort of thought you’d just leave again.”

harry’s face flushed in shame, “i am really sorry i did that last time, y/n. it was a dick move.”

“just a little,” you give him a half smile to let him know you couldn’t stay mad at him. stood in awkward silence, your panties dripping with your cum and harry in nothing but a shirt and boxers, you didn’t know what to say. it wasn’t common that you’d find an uncomfortable lack of words to say to harry.

finally, after one too many moments in silence, harry beckoned you with his finger, “c’mere.”

suddenly you found yourself snugly wrapped in his arms, your cheek to his chest as he held you.

“harry i-“

“don’t just yet please.”

so you stayed that way for a little longer. you realised that this could be the last chance you hold him like this, so you mentally noted every last thing about him you loved. his smell, typically of gucci, but underneath the artificial scent a more clean, personal one of clean bedding and shampoo. his arms, and how their length seemed to engulf you better than any of the softest, plushest bedding in existence. his lips that you could feel on the top of your head and how the feeling of them on your own was tattooed to you now. you knew that if you ever kissed anyone in the future it couldn’t penetrate the lasting layer of his.

he pulled away from you a few moments later, looking down over you. searching his eyes for any clues to his own thoughts from under your lashes, you found nothing. it didn’t mean you were expecting what came next.

as you started, “i understand if you don’t want to do this anymo-“

“i love you.”

the words hung in the air in stunned silence, and you were in too much of a state of shock to know how to take them. he loved you? was he saying the way he always did or did he mean he loved you the way you loved him?

“harry you don’t mean that you.. does that mean you, like, love-me-love-me?” you sounded like a teenager, your juvenile question was all you could muster up.

“i’ve always loved you y/n,”

“i know you have bu-“

“will you just let me finish please?” his fingers pressed against your lips to silence you, “you always talk without actually listening. let me a second please.

“i realised that you’ve never been my friend. don’t interrupt. you were never my friend because you were always like way more than that. friend seemed too small a word for us, you know? and then that day after i saw you and that shitty sound tech fucking in your room i was so angry and jealous and then i realised how much i wanted to be in his place. but you and me had already had such a good relationship i was worried i would ruin it by changing our dynamic. then on the night i met camila, you were so distant from me. i was upset and camila was into me so i was going to fuck her, but i couldn’t. i haven’t had sex with anyone since i saw you and-“

“his name was josh.”

“y/n i really couldn’t give a fuck what his name was. but anyway last night that prick wouldn’t leave you alone and i had to do something, and i wasn’t planning on taking things where they went but by the time you’d brought up my tattoos i was in too deep. i hate that i left you last night. i wanted to say all of this then, but i was too scared. so i left and hoped things would go back to normal between us. but our normal is nothing compared to what we had last night.”

overwhelmed, you sat down on the settee, leaning back to accommodate all of this information.

“so you want to be with me?” you asked him, still not believing it for yourself.

harry beamed at you, “i know, crazy right?”

“i just- i,” you stuttered over your lack of words.

“you don’t have to feel the same why i just figured it was best to be honest.”

you couldn’t help it, but you snorted at him, “you’re kidding right? i have not wanted anything more in my entire life.“

harry knelt down in front of you, and from this height you to were level. you could see eye to eye as equals now. his lips came to your forehead and softly kissed you there, your eyes fluttering closed. it was contentment to know he was finally yours. moving even closer to you, harry moved your legs aside and came between them and you had to prevent him from getting too close so your still-damp panties didn’t come into contact with his expensive shirt.

“you know,” you could feel harry’s lips turn upwards into a smirk on your forehead, “this means you don’t have to feel quite as worried about me fucking you anymore. i’m yours now, y/n.”

he lowered onto the back of his heals, taking his head to the level of your breasts, and he moved back a bit to take in the sight of you. you had to have been a mess, your black eyeliner probably smudged and your hair knotted around your head. your legs were still wide apart, giving harry the greatest opportunity to see under your little tartan skirt.

his pupils widen at the sight, “i can’t believe i’ve never seen you in a skirt like this before. you look so cute in it. it gives me great opportunity to do this,” his hands slid up your thighs slowly and surely, eventually coming down so that they were on the inside of your legs, just before your crotch. you were at his mercy at this angle, and he used it to his advantage. his long fingers brushed up against your clothed core and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“are you still sore from earlier?”

you nodded and swallowed the nervous lump in your throat. his fingers moved up towards your hips, bumping your clit in the process and grabbed the sides of your tight underwear. pulling them down your legs, he got to see your pussy for the very first time. mouth practically salivating at the sight of your already wet lips, he began kissing along the insides of your legs, working inwards from the knee. he stopped at the edge of your thighs, teasing you with no touch. you hips were writhing at the need for contact and he pinned your thighs down, restricting you.

“i want to undress you first.”

his nimble fingers make quick work of the tiny buttons on your cardigan and it only just occurred to you that you’re not wearing a bra underneath. your bare sternum is exposed and you can tell harry is surprised to find you completely naked behind the cardi. slipping it off your shoulders, your perky breasts are finally unleashed for harry’s viewing.

“we never fucked,” you blurred out.

“what do you mean?”

“me and josh never had sex. i haven’t actually had sex in about two years.”

harry’s jaw sunk slightly at your confession, “but- how haven’t you?”

you felt embarrassed by this. no one ever compared to harry so why would you waste your time on them? you mostly only fooled around with josh because you needed a distraction from harry’s constant sex appeal.

“well josh and me never actually got around to it since he left the crew and aside from him there hasn’t been anyone else.”

you couldn’t believe you were saying this to him right after he’d undressed you, the air con hardening your nipples. harry couldn’t really concentrate on what you were saying, especially when his name was mentioned and your breasts were on full display to him. ignoring your rambling, harry’s mouth came down onto your right nipple, circling it with his tongue and ending your words with a gasp. your nipples were more sensitive then you’d initially realised, or maybe it was just because it was harry’s mouth encapsulating them, but the sensation felt like enough to make you cum from that alone.

“harry, i,” you sighed out breathily. sentences weren’t able to be formed presently, it was all too much. not for harry though, who had no qualms about saying, “i want to fuck you in nothing but that little skirt.”

you tried to press your thighs together, his words jolted down to your clit and you needed some kind of release. harry’s mouth went back to your boobs and down the valley in the middle, licking down it, to your pierced belly button and finally his head disappeared under your skirt. you instinctively placed your feet up on either side of the sofa to spread your pussy even further for his access.

his tongue mercilessly licked up from your taint to your clit and you bucked in delight. the muscle of his tongue pressed hard against the sensitive ball of nerves in quick movements, lapping at it rhythmically. you couldn’t control the volume of your moans now, cussing incoherently to him. but it wasn’t enough, you needed harry fully.

pulling his hair, you were so close to cumming but you couldn’t let it happen yet, not till he’d been inside you.

“harry stop,” you manage to get out, “i need you in me.”

he drew back as soon as you spoke and you leant forward to unbutton his shirt, but you lost your balance as you go forward, falling on top of him onto the cushioned floor. you both burst into giggles at your clumsiness, it was something that you joked about a lot together. you hadn’t loved anyone more then you loved harry right now, his chuckles like music to your ears as you lay on him nearly naked, his curls sat on his forehead.

“i love you,” harry told you, his hand cupping your cheek from below.

“i love you too,” leaning to kiss him, you moved your hand down and gripped his erection, forcing a moan from his lips, “now make love to me.”

he wasted no time in finishing off unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, and you ground your hips into his erection, forcing a groan from his lips. you were so close to feeling harry inside you, only boxers in the way of you two. you sat back and slipped them off his hips. before you got a chance to line him up with your walls, harry interrupted you, “are you in birth control?”

“yes,” you blushed. he smirked at you as he grabbed his hard cock in his hand and positioned it with you. you sunk down ont his cock, sighing is feel yourself being filled. you had craved this feeling for far too long, and harry filled you so well.

“fuck, y/n,” harry’s eyes closed when you engulfed him fully. adjusting, you began to bob up and down on his dick slowly, getting used to the foreign sensation. it stung a little bit as you hadn’t been filled in so long, but the need for harry numbed any of the pain. harry’s sweaty hands came up to cup your breasts, playing with your nipples as you began to quicken your pace.

“how do i feel inside you? does it feel good?”

you could only nod back, his cock hitting your g spot so well from this angle. as you began to speed up, your tits bounced delectably in front of harry’s face and he had to take over dominance, slamming his hips up to meet your own. his erection pounded into you, your mouth eliciting depraved whines. your skirt was swinging around your barely clothed ass and giving harry only sneaky glimpses of how the two of you were connected.

with harry’s hips moving more erratically, you could tell he was close.

you leant your mouth into his ear to whisper, “i want you to cum inside me.”

that was enough to tip harry over the edge, and so you could both finish together he reached his thumb under your skirt and thumbed your clit, sending your body into a heavenly orgasm. harry unloaded into your walls as you clenched around him, the both of you finishing in unison. flopping down onto his chest, he left his cock in you, both too fucked out to move yet. when he had softened, he slipped out of you, making you wince at the feeling.

“so,” you said into harry’s chest, “does that mean you’re mine now?”

his hand rubbed the small of your back, “i’m yours.”

#i’m sorry #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry style fan fiction #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #bestfriend!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles fic #fine line album #friends to lovers

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"Don't look at me like that. " warner sibs 🥺

To say Yakko was feeling anxious about his brother’s return home was an understatement.

Wakko hadn’t given a return address on his last three letters, nor had he sent money, which meant things were very, very bad for him. Especially since there had been a long stretch of time where he didn’t get any letters anymore. Yakko had been worried sick when he didn’t hear from him for weeks. His mind had paced endlessly, thinking about what could’ve happened to him. After all, Wakko had just been at a farm with a stable job a few weeks ago, what could’ve happened in that time?

His anxiety had then melted into relief when he got the first letter from Wakko in a month, but that then turned to confusion when the only think Wakko had written was an apology for not writing, and assurances that everything was fine. No details. No return address. No reason for why he hadn’t written. Nothing.

Yakko had been angry after that. However, his anger had quickly melted when he accidentally took it out on Dot. He hadn’t hit her, but there was a lot of shouting that night, to say the least.

Thank goodness Dot was the forgiving sort and that he was back to cuddling with her by night time. He wasn’t sure how much he could’ve forgiven himself if she had stayed mad and maybe even-

Yakko still had a problem with jumping to only the worst conclusions.

His anger had then faded into exhaustion and longing for his brother to return home. Dot had gone through two rough patches in his absence, and Yakko and Dot were both starting to crack without his optimistic outlook on life.

Yakko hoped that if anything, his optimism managed to stay with him after what he’d gone through.

Then, his exhaustion had faded into careful optimism with his last letter- the letter before that seeming to only be a rehash of the first. In the last letter, Wakko had announced he had enough money to pay for a train ticket home. How his little brother managed to get the money was beyond Yakko, but he was relieved. For a moment there, Yakko believed his brother might never come home, and seeing the words written down on paper made Yakko feel renewed, though... also conflicted. He was furious, he was concerned, he was anxious, he was overjoyed, he was all of that all at once. Yakko didn’t think it was possible to feel so many emotions at once.

And yet, here he was. With Dot curled up in his lap, clutching her purple blanket he had bought for her a few months back from the suspicious bonus Wakko had received, and waiting for the train. Yet again, it seemed the entire town was waiting as well. Acme Falls had really fallen down on their luck in a year, little to no businesses were open and the only reason they survived was that they shared. If Wakko came back with money, it could help revive the community greatly.

Yakko just hoped that whatever amount he brought back, it would be enough to cover Dot’s surgery. Yakko wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. And how much Dot could handle either.

God, Yakko was proud of his sister. She was easily the strongest person he knew. Sure, she would slip every now and then, who wouldn’t in her situation, but she somehow always managed to pick herself up. During her good patches, she went for walks, she picked flowers outside of their home, she was learning how to sew from Yakko- an idea that had sparked from when he had to sew her skirt with pieces of his scarf after getting a giant hole in it after tripping over herself. her resilience and want to keep living life was admirable to everyone who saw her.

Yakko snapped back into reality when his ears perked up and in the distance, he could hear it- the train was arriving.

Happily, he shook his little sister awake and she sprung to life.

“Is he here? Is Wakko here?” She asked with a big smile.

“Not yet, but soon,” He winked playfully. Dot then ran up from the bench and waited on the edge of the platform, practically bouncing from excitement. That was far more than what Yakko could manage- he hadn’t been able to sleep the whole previous night out of worries and thoughts. Still, he was happy for her, though his other swirl of emotions was still within him too.

He couldn't help but laugh a little when Dot started telling anyone who would listen that her brother was on that train and he was going to come back with a fortune. Yakko winced at that, but tried to keep his smile. After all, he had been able to buy a train ticket. Hopefully, that left him with something left over. He didn’t want Dot or the town to be let down.

Eventually, the train got closer and closer, and Yakko went to join his sister by the platform. Slowly and loudly, the train came to an eventual stop, and steam filled the platform, and out of that steam came-

“Hi!”

“Wakko!!!” Dot ran and gave him the tightest hug she could muster, which Wakko quickly returned. They stayed hugging for quite the length, and when they let go, Wakko looked to the crowd and got a familiar look on his face.

Ever the showmen, Wakko grinned before greeting the crowd. "My friends of Acme Falls, I have brought my fortune! A ha’penny!” he displayed his ha’penny and the crowd cheered and Wakko was overwhelmed with greetings from old friends and people he had worked with as they all gave him suggestions of what he should spend it on. After all, ha’pennies were worth a lot more than they were a year ago. Yakko gave his own thoughts to his brother here and there but figured it was best he wait until after everyone left for a proper hug and reunion. Wakko was really excited about going shopping and figuring out what to buy anyway, Yakko could wait a little while longer.

Plus he still had that emotional swirl to work through.

However, he was distracted from that when Wakko announced to everyone that he’d be spending his ha’penny on paying for Dot’s surgery, which made Dot very, very happy. The town cheered for him, understanding; Acme Falls was good that way.

Despite the joy and relief the town was feeling, Yakko still felt something was off. He looked around at the crowd surrounding his brother and sister as they walked through and noticed Ralph was missing. Yakko’s eyes widened when he realized that could only mean-

“Yes Wakko, we’re all thrilled about your good fortune- however, about your taxes...”

The Tax Collector, Thaddeus Plotz.

Yakko hated that man more than most anyone else on the planet, though of course, Salazar took the number one seat on that.

Everyone else in the crowd seemed to have the same thought, as the joy had seemingly been sucked out of everyone’s faces as they watched Plotz and Wakko.

“Taxes? What taxes? I just got here! And before that I had to pay taxes at River Town,” Wakko fought back.

“Oh? But that doesn’t matter, today is tax day in Acme Falls. Now, let’s calculate how much you owe- oh the King will be so delightful,” He grinned as he got out a piece of paper and started writing.

“The King is a jerk,” Wakko growled.

“Oh goodie, that qualifies you for the “saying-the-king-is-a-jerk” tax, how wonderful,” Plotz grinned wickedly. Wakko shot Yakko a look of helplessness and all Yakko could do was shrug.

“...and that brings your grand total to... one ha’penny,” He said as he snatched the coin from Wakko’s hand and ran back into his stupid carriage he used as a shield, before leaning out the window and adding-

“Your federal government thanks you!”

“Wha..? B-but...” Wakko’s ears fell the lowest Yakko had ever seen them. Yakko grimaced, but knew there really was nothing to be done, no matter how terrible it was. The last thing any of them needed was the royal guard on their backs, so they had to accept this, no matter how crummy and unfair and terrible it was.

With a heavy sigh, Yakko went over and patted his brother on the back and slowly guided him and Dot back home.

“I-i... I worked so hard...” Wakko kept repeating while they walked, and Yakko was ninety percent sure he was crying. Hell- Yakko would’ve been crying too, but he put on a brave face for his little sibs.

“I know Wak, I know,” Yakko sighed. “Let’s just get home, we can talk about what we’ll do then.”

And so the Warner siblings walked back to their home in silence. Yakko did his best not to look at either of them, for fear that he’d crumble into a million little pieces the moment Dot or Wakko looked at him.

Eventually, they did make it to their rickety little home. Yakko showed Wakko where his bed was, Dot went to her own, and then Yakko sat down on his bed to think about what they were gonna do next.

He couldn’t believe he had let himself believe that all of his worries would disappear with Wakko’s return. He should’ve known Plotz could sniff all happiness and money from 50 miles away and should’ve warned Wakko to put it away. Now they were never going to be able to-

N-never be able to-

Oh god...

Dot was going to die, wasn’t she?

Without the ha’penny, they could never afford the surgery a-and-

She was going to die.

Yakko was going to have to bury her a-and then i-it would just be him and Wakko.

Yakko buried his head in his hands and wept.

He wept for Dot. He wept for Wakko. He wept for his parents and he wept for the promises he was unable to keep.

After a very, very long time of crying, he heard a small knock on his door, and immediately tried to regain his composure. There was no way in hell he was letting his sibs see him like this.

He took deep breaths, wiped his face on his blanket, breathed some more, and put on a weak smile before opening his door.

“Yes Wakko?” He asked.

“You said you wanted to talk about what to do next when we got here. We gave you some time a-alone and well...” Wakko looked at the ground. Yakko internally facepalmed, not believing he let himself forget.

“Right, of course. lead the way,” Yakko gestured and the brothers walked back to the “fireplace” and sat on boxes.

“S-so...” Wakko said.

“So...” Dot said, glancing at Wakko, then Yakko, then at the ground. Yakko sighed.

“Look, I’m going to be frank, it’s going to be rough, but-”

“-But i could go out again. To a different town this time! Maybe I could even leave the country- there has to be better opportunities-”

“No.” Yakko shut him down. “You aren’t going anywhere and I am not going to be persuaded this time.”

“Yeah Wakko, how can you say that?” Dot looked hurt. “We just got you back, you can’t leave!”

“But it wasn’t enough! I failed! I-i didn’t get enough money...” Wakko’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at the ground.

“Wakko, you didn’t fail,” Yakko put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes I did, I didn’t bring home enough for her surgery, which was the whole reason I left in the first place,” Wakko sniffled.

“You left home to help provide for us, which you did. Look around Wak,” Yakko gestured around. “I was able to buy Dot a shawl to keep her warm in the winter, some hay for her bed, new blankets for all three of us. You leaving helped us a lot, even though we missed you every day, right Dot?” He looked at his sister for moral support.

“Yeah Wakko! It’s because of you I’m still okay,” Dot smiled sweetly, but Yakko could see she was holding back a cough.

“See Wak? Your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, and we’re plenty glad to have you back, understand?” He said, distracting him from noticing what Dot was doing. Wakko slowly nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Sorry...” Wakko apologized. Yakko sighed and stood up, pulling his little brother into a hug.

“You did the best you could Wak. I’m really, really proud of you,” Yakko said. Wakko nodded, and hugged him back.

Despite everything, Yakko smiled a little.

It was good to have his brother back.

Yakko waited until Wakko let go to sit back down. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and thought for a moment, before getting an idea.

“I have an idea you two: While you’ve been gone, I’ve been working on making a special sled for Dot. I say tomorrow we take it out and have some fun in the snow, does that sound okay?” He asked. Dot nodded and managed a little smile.

“That sounds like fun, right Wakko?” She asked, glancing at him. Wakko only nodded.

“I’m gonna go for a sec... I’ll be back soon,” Wakko said, walking out of the home. Yakko nodded.

“Try not to stay out past dark,” He advised, unsure if his brother heard or not. Guess he’d have to see.

“Is Wakko okay?” Dot hugged Yakko’s arm.

“Today was really rough for him, but I’m sure he’ll feel better after a good night’s rest,” Yakko hoped. Dot nodded.

“I hope so,” She said. “He looks really tired.”

“I’m sure everything will be better tomorrow. Here, it’s getting late, you should get going to bed,” Yakko said, looking at the sunset. Dot agreed with a yawn, and together they walked into her room. She coughed a little as she laid down, and he tucked her in.

“Goodnight Dot, sleep tight,” he whispered, smiling warmly yet tiredly.

“Yakko, tell me the story,” Dot grabbed his arm before he could go. Yakko sighed. She had grown awfully attached to the story he had spun to comfort her about their parents and how they fell in love and eventually had Dot.

“Okay,” He said, before grinning mischievously. “There once was a man from Nantucket-”

“Not that story,” Dot shot him a look and Yakko laughed a little.

“Look Dot, it’s late. You should go to sleep,” He said, knowing that he was definitely going to lose this argument.

“Oh come on, Yakko. Tell me the story... please?” She pleaded with her signature puppy dog eyes.

"Oh come on, dont look at me like that," He thought. Yakko sighed, he was always a sucker for her.

“Oh, alright,” He smiled, and rolled his eyes as Dot scooted over in excitement.

He then told the tale of how his parents met, how their father was a handsome knight, and there mother was a beautiful princes, and how they had two sons but wanted a little girl, and told her that she was born in the spring with the prettiest flowers. He then turned to face Dot and talked about how every night they’d ask “Who’s the cutest girl?” and Dot would reply, “Me!” and then they’d ask “how were you so cute” and she’d reply, “I was born with it.” He then said they’d demand for her to “tell us your name young lady” and Dot would list off her very long name with perfection. He’d then tickle her and she’d kick and giggle until she tired herself out and curled back into her bed.

“I like that story,” Dot smiled as she closed her eyes.

“Goodnight sis,” Yakko smiled a little too.

Was it a story full of lies and half-truths? Yes.

But did it always manage to bring a smile to Dot’s face, even on the hardest days? Also yes.

And besides, Yakko didn’t mind remembering his parents in a positive light.

He then blew out the candle in her room and left, and stumbled into Wakko, who had been watching anxiously.

“How is she?” He asked. Yakko shrugged.

“She seems to be okay tonight, but who knows,” Yakko admitted. Wakko’s eyes felt to the floor as he turned away.

“If only I had earned more...” Wakko muttered to himself.

“Hey,” Yakko turned and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “You did your best Wakko. We’ll pay for her operation some other way,” he said, not really knowing how, but forcing himself to hope anyway.

“I guess,” Wakko sighed and went over to a springboard that he had somehow turned into a functioning harp. Yakko stared at it and admired the craftsmanship.

Despite Wakko’s claims that his trip had been for nothing, Yakko knew it had turned into a skilled craftsman.

“You turning in?” He asked softly.

“To what?” Wakko didn’t look back at him.

Yakko considered arguing with him for the snark, but was too tired.

“Good question,” he said instead. “See you in the morning,” he added before going into his room.

Once he did, he all but collapsed onto his bed. Today had been exhausting, and even worse, the swirl of emotions in his chest still hadn’t left. He was still mad at Wakko for not writing more often and not giving more of an explanation, but he figured he’d just have to ask him about that and more details about his trip tomorrow. For now, he’d have to try and get some sleep, despite how impossible it seemed.

They didn’t have any money. Dot wasn’t going to get the surgery she needed. Things were looking bleak, and not just for them, the whole town- the whole Kingdom.

Well, at least they weren’t alone in this anymore, Yakko supposed there was some comfort in that.

Plus, despite everything, Yakko was still happy to see Wakko again, despite how much skinnier, tired, and worn out he appeared. He was confident his return would mean good things for them.

It had to.

Yakko didn’t have any other options.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

#animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #wakkos wish #my fics #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner

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pixie-cocaine · 4 years

Text

ATEEZ Reaction To: their S.O. wearing baggy clothes

ateez reacting to their gf wearing a short plaid skirt with a super oversized sweatshirt that goes down to almost their skirt length

Theme: different dates :D

Hongjoong ♡:

• You were both were going out to go to a famous planetarium

• You always did like looking at the stars and how they hung in the sky, sparkling like the moon’s reflection in any body of water

• So this was a cool little experience that both you and Joong could have together

• You wanted to dress casual, so settling with a roomy beige sweater, decorations of black diamonds sewn in, along with a red plaid skirt was what you went with

• By roomy, you meant damn-near covering the skirt, which gave the look a lax, puffed out appearance

• That shit was B I G

• His reaction?

• The softest eyes ever omfg I’m sobbing-

• No dramatic gasps, no squealing (I’m looking at you. Mingi)

• Just being able to see his indifferent expression melt away into a pure puppy face as you emerged from the hallway into the living room

• All you were wearing was a skirt and sweater but to him, every single outfit brought out more of your beauty

• You never failed to amaze him

• Allowing a small smile, he’d use his hand to gesture toward you

• “You look lovely”

Calm outings with Joong are always the most wholesome smfh I’m so mushy because of this goldfish-looking bit-

Seonghwa ♡:

• A sweet picnic-esque date in a secluded flower meadow with Hwa?

• You’d be mad to say no

• It was a nice warm-air temperature outside, so you settled for a yellow loose knit sweater and a matching yellow plaid skirt to go with it

• The sweater swallowed up most of the skirt, resulting in only a small bit of the skirt being visible, but you thought nothing of it

• Seonghwa certainly did

• He’d been eyeing you all the way to the picnic spot, face shadowing over with pleasant surprise when you came to stand in front of him, and sparkling eyes flicking over to your direction every couple minutes

• god can you imagine feeling his gaze on you?

• looking over at him, and watching as he would catch your eyes, only to quickly focus back on the road in front of him

• I’m gonna turn your kneecaps to dust if you don’t fucking speak up, Hwa

• Eating cutely-packaged lunches on top of the pastel pink blanket turned into Seonghwa’s head lying on your lap as you plucked the various flowers and placed them in the silky tresses of his inky black hair

• Sweet peas, Marigolds, and Hydrangeas flecked Hwa’s locks, complimenting gorgeously against the slight tan of his skin, as well as the patches of sunlight gleaming onto his face through the leaves of the tree you sat against

• He was truly stunning, especially when he opened his previously closed eyes to stare up at you, a smile slowly tugging at the corners of his lips

• You brush a thumb across Seonghwa’s cheek, “Why were you looking at me earlier?”

• “Because of your outfit,” The hand already resting hand against your thigh began to play with your skirt

• “What about my outfit?”

• “It makes you look adorable”

Yunho ♡:

• You already know fairs and amusement parks with Yunho are gonna happen

• Like are you kidding me?

• Baby LOVES doing wild things with you

• It was in the afternoon, pretty cool weather, and you kinda just threw on what you saw

• What you saw, being a very big black cotton sweater and blue plaid skirt

• Nothing too much, nothing too less

• Bruh, he really couldn’t stop calling you cute

• Even as soon as you came out of the room, he was like

• “aWAWAWWWWW LoOk AT yoU”

• Loud as hell, as usual

• Walking around and playing all the games, as well as riding the rollercoasters and such, Yunho couldn’t stop staring at you every now and then

• You were beaming; neon lights and vibrant colors glowing against your face as you both roamed around

• Adorable UwU

Yeosang ♡:

• This man is a freak

• He’s literally so weird lmao

• But that’s what you find so damn goofy about him

• Anyways, bowling! :)

• “How cute,” he smiled from his spot on the couch, cooing upon seeing your outfit of an oversized wine red sweater and black plaid skirt, barely visible upon the sagging top

• You giggled, giving him a small spin before you guys were off

• He really did like the look, and he wasn’t afraid to tell you either

• A couple hours after getting your ass handed to you in the rounds of bowling, you and Yeosang took a seat with a couple of fries and rootbeer floats

• You could feel his eyes on you, so you looked up from your food

• “Yes?”

• He grinned and pointed to your exposed legs

• “I just never noticed how pretty your thighs are”

I still can’t believe he stirred eggs for +2 hours. A literal crackhead.

San ♡:

• Karaoke night, y’all

• Hitting high notes? Girl- a breeze

• Just scream into the mic and turn people deaf, they won’t be able to tell the difference

• Anyways

• Your choice of outfit?

• A pink fleece sweater and black plaid skirt

• You were stunning omg

• San would be melted, bro

• “Oh!”

• Literally couldn’t say anything else besides that you were fluffy-looking. Jus wanted to cuddle you right there and then, yanno?

• Turning up to the karaoke bar would be wild. You’d stand on that mini stage and be doing little dances here and there

• San wouldn’t be able look away from how small you looked in that sweater

• Like a liddol lamb

• A proud hubby

Mingi ♡:

• When I said he squeals, he SQUEALS

• He’s loves soft things, and so when you come out looking like a purple marshmallow in the puffy oversized sweater and slate grey plaid skirt, it automatically makes him let out weird noises of adoration

• Tackles you in a hug

• Babbles on about how huggable you are and random things in general while pretty much crushing you

• After he’s done squeezing the life out of you, he’ll be all bouncy

• Roller skating tiiiiiiime

• Y’all gonna get CRAZY crazy

• Cuz I already know this man right here is gonna be falling on his ass a lot

• But he’ll make sure to stay by you, always giving you a push and hyping you up

• “You look like a little fairy. Pose!”

• After your ankles are bouta pop off and you guys sit down, he’ll be looking at your outfit again

• “You should wear stuff like that more often. You look really cute”

Wooyoung ♡:

• Bumper cars, bitch

• Cuz every other idea I had involves not being able to wear a skirt unless you wanna flash everyone casually walking by

• I’m not judging if that’s what you want tho

• After rummaging through your closet for a bit, you settle for a plain white knitted sweater and black plaid skirt

• Woo would find you absolutely darling, bro

• “Aww, cute, cute”

• But wouldn’t be mulling over it too much

• Because you always look good, and this is only one of the many cute outfits he’s seen you in

• Still, he’d give you some up-and-down’s a couple times throughout the night, probs compliment you a couple times, too

• Other than that, the date would be very fun

• [insert Woo’s devil laugh]

Jongho ♡:

• Big big babie

• A simple ice cweam and city roam date with Jongie

• god it’d be so soft

• Also, he’d be in love with how your sweater was so big that i gave you sweaterpaws, as well as the drape of it over your form

• He’d just wanna put you in his pocket and take you everywhere with him

• HAND HOLDING OMFG LEAVE ME TO CRY ALONE

• “You look really nice”

In a nutshell, Jongho deserves the world

#ateez reactions #requested #ateez fluff #fluff #kpop reactions #kpop fluff #jongho fluff #hongjoong fluff #seonghwa fluff #yeosang fluff #mingi fluff #wooyoung fluff #san fluff #yunho fluff

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hq--fics · 4 years

Text

How The Captains Started Dating An Athletic/Sporty Fem!S/O

A/N: This is my first time doing this so decided to pick something at random. Feel free to request scenarios/head canons and I’ll do my best!

Characters: Daichi Sawamura, Kuroo Tetsuro, Bokuto Koutaro, Oikawa Toru, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Daichi

Sport of choice: Football/Soccer

- You first met in the summer before starting middle school. You’d just moved into the house next to his. Naturally he came over with his parents to welcome you to the neighbourhood.

-Became friends almost right away when you appeared with a ball in your arms and asked if he wanted to play in the garden (anything to break up the boredom of unpacking) and got to know each other more, both finding your mutual love of sports an easy connection along with your open and friendly personalities.

- Your nervousness about starting school in a new area eased after finding out Daichi was going to be going to the same school as he was. At least you’d know one face in the sea of strangers. It was an even bigger relief when you were in the same class as him. Both of you swiftly becoming inseparable and best friends, though many classmates immediately assumed you were both a couple within your first month of school. Who could blame them with the way you both looked at each other?

-The gossiping was only intensified when they saw you walk to and from school together every day, both in your own little happy bubble. It wasn’t your fault that football and volleyball practice ended at the same time, even when you guys got home you both found yourselves in one of your back gardens talking about anything and everything while passing a ball around.

-A confession occurred naturally in your final year. You were both walking home and talking high schools. Daichi became nervous, worrying how a different school might change things but you surprised him by laughing softly and putting your hand in his stating and ‘Isn’t it obvious by now? Where you go, I go.’

-Both of you are a power couple at Karasuno, excellent captains of your teams and cheer for the other at all matches. He is very vocal and worries immensely when you and another player come into contact over the ball. He’s the one to help patch you up and soothe your bruises after a particularly intense match.

Kuroo

Sport of choice: Tennis

-You both met in second year of high school after being partnered together for a large science project. Up until then you barely had any interaction. Of course you had both looked at the other idly at times, you noticing his hands while he took an interest in your legs.

-After you were partnered you spoke briefly at lunch to work out what days and times would be best to get together and work on the project. He suggested the school library after school but you immediately declined stating firmly that you had practice, which caught his interest that only grew when you said it was tennis.

-‘Oh? You mean like the short white sports skirt and suggestive grunting?’ he asked showing you his trademark grin. ‘Can I come watch?’ He expected you to blush but instead you wrote your number on a slip of paper and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

‘Well if you’re as sharp with biology as you are with sports, we may actually pass.’ You told him with a smirk before throwing him a sly wink and left to have lunch with your friends and he couldn’t help but watch you go with a growing grin.

- On your first session together you both split the work evenly and begin on your respective sections and he wastes no time and immediately starts flirting with you in the hopes of getting some sort of reaction. You give him a witty remark in response most of the time or smirk. It’s entertaining and helps fill in the time you’re both researching through textbooks and notes.

-After your first session he insists on walking you home, managing to make you laugh out loud as he tells you about the antics he’s gotten up to at the training camps with the other schools. He could listen to that sound all day but his smile lessens when you sigh.

-‘Must be nice. Compared to volleyball, tennis is a lonely sport. I’m jealous.’ After that Kuro stops by during your practices, working on his side of the project and keeping you company. It works out well that your practice days don’t conflict with his so you can return the favour. Although both of you find it incredibly difficult to focus on the work in front of you, not when the other looks so good.

-You confess mutually to each other after school when you celebrate passing your project, both going into a tight hug after the bell rang gaining a lot of attention from the rest of the class.

Bokuto

Sport of choice: Gymnastics

-You both met as a result of his overly enthusiastic and energetic afterschool practice. He had spiked the ball so hard it shot out of the gymnasium and across the walkway, rolling to a stop outside the gymnasium you were in.

-‘You’re the one who hit it, you go get it.’ Akaashi had instructed him, refusing to throw another set to him until he went to retrieve the ball. Bokuto rushed out immediately and grabbed it, pausing when he heard music playing. Noticing the door was opened he peeked in.

-His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he watched you twist and leap on the balance beam, moving in ways he never thought possible but it was so hypnotic he all but forgot about the sport he was meant to be playing which is saying a lot.

-At one point it looked like you were about to slip and fall he felt his own stomach lurch but let out a sigh when you arced and continued with steely determination and grace he realised you were okay. When you leapt from the beam and onto the mat he let out a cheer that made you jump watching with wide eyes as he ran toward you already praising you.

-However he was quickly stopped when Akaashi appeared from behind him and took a firm hold of his captain’s shirt. He apologised to you making Bokuto stop and watch the exchange with lessening enthusiasm. Why did he already know your name and he couldn’t even introduce himself? He was beginning to pout heavily.

-‘We’ll let you get back to your practice, come on Bokuto.’ He lets himself get dragged away but he’s looking over his shoulder at you until you’re out of view. It isn’t until he’s back in his own gym that he interrogates Akaashi, finding out your name and that you’re in his setter’s class.

-Your poor classmate somehow becomes the middleman between the two of you. Bokuto begs him relentlessly to ask if he can have your number and is shocked when you approach him at lunch to sheepishly ask him for Bokuto’s. Blushing you said it was flattering that the ace had complimented you so much.

-After numbers are exchanged you’re both texting non-stop and poor Akaashi has to listen to you both gush about the other constantly.

Oikawa

Sport of choice: Volleyball

-You both know each other since middle school through reputation and watching each other play in tournaments and you’ve both hated each other since the first meeting. No one really knows how it came about it’s just always been there.

-He’s the Grand King that the girls scream and swoon over? You’re titled the Goddess of the Court by the boys. (It annoys him so much that your nickname is a rank higher than his but would never say it out loud.)

-You’re both the same year and spent your entire first year doing all you could to avoid the other. Class projects, trips, tournaments, festivals? You both point blank refused to be in the same group at all costs.

-When you do interact it’s snide comments and intense staring contests with Iwaizumi watching the two of you like it’s his favourite soap opera. He can feel the tension between the two of you and knows not all of it is fuelled by negative emotions. Far from it. While it’s his favourite thing to watch he can’t help himself but poke the hornet’s nest one day when both teams are at a tournament.

- ‘We should go watch.’ He suggests lightly tapping the roster and Oikawa clicks his tongue so sharply the first years flinch. ‘Our match isn’t for a while yet. You got a better idea to pass the time before we have to warm up?’ Some of the others speak up, eager to just look at the girls in general but won’t pass up a chance to see the Goddess play as a bonus.

- He joins the others regardless and when he takes his seat he realises he hasn’t seen you on the court since you were kids and now he’s taking notice of everything. The way you move, your presence on court, your silent but powerful dominance of the opponents that makes them lose hope with every point your team takes under your wordless command. You’re amazing.

-He finds you when your match is concluded and he’s on his way to his match and asks to speak to you in private. Iwaizumi has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his smug grin as he passes.

-You’re curious about the sudden change in him when he begins to apologise for his previous behaviour towards you and asks would you consider spending time together outside of the tournament. You agree on the condition he wins his next match, which he does that starts the beginning of your unstoppable relationship.

Ushijima

Sport of choice: Kickboxing

- Probably the most unexpected and unintentional of meetings for you two as dating was never really on either of your radars, both minds set on your ambitions and nothing else. Both of you were in the same year and knew of the other’s standing in their sport and respected that but there was no other interaction.

-That was however changed on one of his runs, his teammates far behind him as usual. Then he heard the muffled sound of music behind him and saw you pass by him with headphones on. Given the weather was starting to get colder he was surprised you were just wearing a tanktop and shorts but it did let him notice your toned body. (he may be stoic but he’d definitely notice the results of hard work and dedication.)

-He also notices the suspicious looks some people on the street throw his way and then he sees it; a guy his size running behind a young girl who doesn’t realise his there? Yeah that’d send warning bells ringing anywhere so he speeds up to overtake you. Last thing he needs is for the police to be called. Then he blinks to see you out of the corner of his eye taking the lead again which he does his best to avoid you in succeeding at.

- It goes back and forth until you both have to stop at the traffic lights. That’s when you pull your headphones out to throw him an incredulous look. ‘There a problem?’ you ask wondering were the sudden racing competition came from.

-‘I don’t want people to think I’m chasing you like a pervert.’ he answers so matter-of-factly you blink and let out a laugh. You can’t argue with that and when the light turns green you lightly punch his arm.

- ‘You’re welcome to run beside me…if you can keep up.’ You challenge playfully and start running again. It takes him a moment to register your words and feels where you hit him as his lips quirk into a brief smirk and sets off after you catching up in no time.

-This ritual of running together starts after that day and after a while Ushijima notices you’ve stopped listening to music completely on your runs and notes his observation aloud one day.

-‘Why would I when I’m spending time with you?’ you answer before throwing him a teasing grin. ‘Besides I need to listen out for potential perverts chasing me.’ ‘Not while I’m here.’ He answers simply and you smile, sensing the deeper meaning to his words. You both fall into a relationship easily after that. While you both can’t attend all of the other’s events you both support each other fiercely and loyally, knowing you’re both more than capable of keeping up with the competition.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #hq imagines #daichi #daichi sawamura #daichi x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x reader #bokuto #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #oikawa #oikawa toru icons #oikawa x reader #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader

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btsiguess · 4 years

Text

Self Indulgence (m) - Oneshot

Summary: Professor Yoonji can’t help but notice that the teacher’s pet is looking quite attractive today...

Pairing: Yoonji/Reader

Genre: PWP. JUST SMUT.

Word Count: 2905

Warnings: PROFESSOR YOONJI.....uhhh professor/student relationship which is soooo inappropriate even if it’s lowkey hot... ahhh. Choking, sweet sweet lesbian action

A/Ns: I’m so sorry guys. I’m actually druNK right now. Like so drunk i couldn’t even give it a read through at the end........so please forgive......... everything....

“It’s weird that you want to fuck the teacher.” Seungmin says, eyeing the way your stare follows professor Min around the classroom.

She knows you’re absolutely not paying attention to the class lecture. The way your hand doodles crudely drawn vaginas on the page in front of you does enough to illustrate that. You’re not quite sure why it was vaginas today. Maybe something about wanting to shove your face in one had something to do with it?

“And what do you all think?” Your ears perk up at your professors words. Dr. Min Yoonji, standing at the front of the class, asking for your attention even though she can tell all of you are bored. “What do you think about cultural hybridization? Is it a reality or simply a connotatively positive term for American imperialism?” You sigh happily at her words. She looked so good when she was speaking dense academic language. You press your thighs together.

Professor Min was probably somewhere in her mid-forties. Although it was near impossible to tell since she dressed so hip. You had an inkling that she might be queer as well, but nothing definitive. Perhaps that’s why you were drawing pussys on your class notes… hoping she just might see it and know.

“I think it’s absolutely different! Hybridization is all about globalization.” Juahn says. Of course he does. He was such a fucking brown noser. He had his head so far up Min’s ass, even you didn’t want to stick your tongue there. And that was impressive, because you’d take what you could get. He was wrong too. Just speaking so that Min would look at him. God you hated that stupid fucker. Sometimes he sent professor Min articles. You’re not saying that it was necessarily bad to engage with your teacher on the class work, but you knew that it was because he was vying for her attention. Attention that should have gone to you. And you thought it was disrespectful anyway, since she treated her as if he knew more than her. Like she didn’t have an entire PhD in the fucking field. What a cuck.

Your sneer doesn’t go unnoticed by Professor Min, who singles you out immediately.

“Oh? Y/N. Do you disagree? Speak your mind.” It wasn’t unusual that she call on you. The class was relatively quiet when it came to class discussions, apart from you and Juahn. Still your heart fluttered at the attention.

“I just think it’s hard to say whether it’s either or. It depends how much each culture has influenced the specific, like, new culture. I’m not sure if it’s quantifiable?” Your professor hums at your words and you watch Junahn’s back straighten slightly in aggravation. It was no secret the two of you didn’t like one another. And you had the text message arguments to prove it. You weren’t even quiet of your distaste for the boy in the class and the professor seemed to know it and thrive off of it. Was it hot? Absolutely.

“Right, well,” Dr. Min says, cutting the conversation short, “that’s all the time we have for today, unfortunately.” The class sighs in relief. “Make sure to do the readings. And Y/N? If you could stay after class. Thank you.”

Seungmin shoots you a look as a slight flush of red colors your cheeks. It’s a look that says “don’t be excited our teacher wants you to stay after. That probably means you’re in trouble.” ... At least. That’s what you imagine the look would say, if looks could talk.

You make your way to the front of the room, standing quietly as your professor wipes the board. Once the classroom is completely empty, she turns to you again.

“Perhaps if you were more focused on class instead of drawing female genitalia in your notebook, you might’ve done better on the midterm.” She says simply. Your mouth drops open. You had done well on the midterm! You’d gotten a 37/40. A 92%. 7 points above the class average.

“You did well,” Min continues, “but you weren’t the highest grade in the class. You were second. Behind Juahn.” Your blood boils and she smirks—full on smirks—at you.

“I thought that would get your attention.” She said. “Just understand. I like pussy too, but class isn’t the time to be thinking about it so thoroughly.” You bite your lip as your cheeks color red with embarrassment and slight arousal at the way Min Yoonji’s mouth had curled delicately around the word pussy.

There’s a slight pause in the conversation as Yoonji lets her eyes watch the way you worry your lip between your teeth. So cute. In Yoonji’s youth, you were exactly her type. Shy, nervous, … totally devoted. If Yoonji had been any younger she would’ve had you already; had your body arching underneath her, your pussy clenching around her tongue and fingers. She knows you have a little schoolgirl crush on her. How could she not know? You practically wrote it across her forehead. She had an inkling during the first semester you had class with her. You had even titled your final essay “Every time I read Kipling I remember why I’m gay” just to get her attention. And get her attention it did…

Originally, she had done her best to ignore it. You were her student, after all. But Yoonji had always been a bit reckless. It’s that fact that leads her to ask you the worst possible question she could have.

“Why pussy? Were you thinking about someone eating yours? Or you eating someone else’s?”

The older women can’t help but smile as your face goes bright red. Yoonji imagined that while you had been hoping desperately to get her attention, you’d never actually thought you’d have it.

“P-Professor, I’m sorry about not paying attention! It won't happen again!” You turn to flee from the room, but Yoonji catches you gently by the elbow.

“It’s alright, Y/N. You’re not in trouble. And you didn’t answer my question.” Yoonji isn’t proud of herself for succumbing to your coy temptation. She feels altogether too much like all the skeezy old men that used to solicit her. But she also knows she’d treat you better than all of them. Teach you more than all of them.

Yoonji should’ve realized that you would be a problem from the very first month, when she had wound up checking the school’s database for your age. You were nearly 23, almost graduated, but that meant little. You were well past too young for her, and she knew it.

But Yoonji knew she was past waiting. She couldn’t help that she wanted you. She didn’t want to deny herself, either. Yoonji wasn’t a good person, and she didn’t pretend to be.

“Both, Professor.” You finally say. And Yoonji’s eyes follow the way in which your thighs squeeze together.

“You know,” Yoonji says, and you try your best to focus on her voice, despite how distracted you are by the thought of her going down on you. “I know you have a little bit of a crush on me.”

You wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Don’t look so embarrassed.” Your Professor scoffs. “I like the idea. Much more than I should. And I think you’ve teased me for far too long, hmm? Why don’t you hop up on that desk there. Be a good girl for me.” You scramble to follow her instructions. Knowing that it’s wrong and not caring in the slightest.

Yoonji wastes no time pushing your knees apart so that your skirt rides up your knees and reveals your underwear.

“You’re wet already, I can see it.” She teases. “Is it just from my voice? Do you sit in class all wet like this for me every day?” Her thumb begins to delicately trace over the wet patch on your underwear. Making your hips twitch in desire. You must be dreaming. You must be.

Yoonji slides her fingers past your panties, and finds your clit with practiced ease.

“Ahh,” she sighs. “You’re so delicate. So perfect…” She shuffles in between your knees, getting close enough to brush your nose with her own.

Her thumb, moving in easy circles, is driving you mad. You’re helpless in her arms, whimpering quietly as the woman you’ve been lusting after for the greater part of two semesters begins tracing softly up and down your core.

You lament briefly the loss of stimulation on your clit, but bite your lip hard at the feeling of your professor’s teasing. With each slow pass of her fingers, her index finger catches against your swollen nub, making you shake with want.

Something about the way that her ministrations are altogether too light to actually get you to cum makes you crazy. You can’t help but let your mind run wild. You were putty in Yoonji’s hands, completely at her whim. She could keep you here for hours. Just slowly tracing you up and down, watching you pant and sweat, desperately wanting to cum but being unable to.

“Do you like this, Y/N? I’m hardly giving you anything at all…” She tuts quietly. “No one’s ever treated you right before have they?”

“P-Professor--” You try to respond but suddenly the girl in question presses two fingers inside of you, the stretch making your head fall back and your hands grasp at Yoonji’s wrist.

“Can you hear yourself, sweetheart?” Yoonji says, pressing her mouth against the exposed column of your neck. “Can you hear how wet you are? All for me, right?” The squelching of your sex turns the both of you on. You because it’s finally happening, and her because… well, of course she likes the sound of you aroused for her.

You nod, your breath hitching as she sinks her teeth into your skin.

Yoonji works her fingers hard within you. Curling to find the spot that has you writhing against her.

Yoonji knows what she is doing. You’ve clearly never had a good fuck from anyone before, and Yoonji is a bit smug over the way she’s worked you up so easily. She’d never fucked someone so young before. And she had definitely never fucked one of her students. But somehow, she didn’t feel as guilty as she should, too would up in the way you were biting your lip to keep from moaning out loud at the pleasure she was giving you.

“P-Professor,” You groaned, wanting to say something more, but not having the strength to.

Yoonji was surprised at how malleable you had become at the touch of her fingers. She felt herself start to get wet at the feel of you around her fingers, feeling the tight clenching which signified your earnest participation in the illicit acts she had finally succumbed to. God, she couldn’t decide whether she should stop, or whether she was mad at herself for not having done this earlier.

Yoonji decides it’s definitely the latter as you pussy clenches around her fingers, and a small moan presses its way through your lips.

Yoonji had never been the one to play favorites. She almost always didn’t have preferences among her students. Usually in her courses everyone was so quiet. But you and Juahn had been so vocal. Juahn had frustrated her, putting his nose in business he didn’t belong in, trying to weasel his way into a good grade despite the fact that it took almost nothing to get a passing grade in the course--Yoonji hardly cared, good grades reflected kindly on herself. But you? You seemed to go to bat against the stubborn boy for no reason other than to protect Yoonji’s honor.

It was absolutely unnecessary, but still made Yoonji smile to herself every time. She didn’t need anyone’s help, but she liked the way you blushed when she called on you. And even more so she was charmed by the fact that you always had something to say, even when you didn’t volunteer for fear of seeming like the teacher’s pet.

But as Yoonji curled her fingers inside of you, wrenching a moan from your plump lips, she couldn’t help but admire the way this particular teacher’s pet seemed so eager for her good graces.

“Professor,” you gasp with as much brain power you could muster. “Professor, I wanna make you feel good too!” yoonji laughs quietly. She isn’t surprised by your eagerness to please, in fact, she relishes in it.

“Oh yeah?” Yoonji says, withdrawing her fingers from your heat, drawing a slight whimper from you. “Then get on the floor baby, tongue out.”

You follow her instructions as quickly as you can, and Yoonji wastes no time in shuffling her dress up, just a bit, so she’ll be able to see your pretty eyes as she cums on your tongue.

You look desperate and hopelessly infatuated as Yoonji shimmies her underwear down her legs, and positions herself above you.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” She says, watching you melt under her pet name.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been ready.” You reply, softly wiggling your tongue at her.

“Have you done this before?” Yoonji questions, tilting her head to the side.

You shake your head in denial, but the challenge in your eyes shows Yoonji that you couldn’t be more than ready to learn now.

Yoonji grasps the back of your head and pulls you into her pussy, sighing in relief as your tongue slides along her core. You’re sloppy and messy as you begin to eat her out, but for some reason Yoonji can’t help the shiver that runs along her spine at the unrefined way your tongue caresses her.

“You’re perfect, baby,” Yoonji sighs, beginning to rock her core against your face. “Can you put your tongue inside of me?” She asks, and you follow her instructions to the letter, just like you always do.

Yoonji rocks her hips against your face over and over again, allowing your tongue to pierce the deepest part of her. God, she should have been doing this all semester. Even professors need to release built up tension.

You’re moaning against her folds, as if there is truly no place you would rather be than lapping up the nectar between Yoonji’s thighs, and the thought makes Yoonji gush even more. There’s something so hot about the way you gasp and pant against her pussy, as if there was nowhere else you could imagine being. As if you were all Yoonji’s, ripe for the taking.

Yoonji is getting close, but as much as she’d love to make you drink her cum, she’s absolutely desperate to see you come apart beneath her.

“Stop.” She orders, and you do, just like a good little slut, looking up at her with those big doe eyes, questioning her.

“Lay on the floor.” Yoonji demands, and while you seem confused, you follow her directions regardless.

Yoonji positions herself above you, her legs slotted between your own in order to align your sexes. Then she presses herself down into you, eliciting a sigh from your reddened mouth. It elapses into a groan as Yoonji starts rocking against you. Dragging her pussy against yours just right, so your clits bump against one another over and over again. The two of you are blinded by lust, neither of you can think of anything but the way you feel against one another. The messy wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the classroom floor beneath you.

You both know you ought to feel guilty for the travesty you are committing. But it’s impossible as you feel the sparks run up your spine repeatedly. God, why hadn’t you both done this sooner?

Both of you can feel the pressure building. Mounting as it takes over each of your entire bodies.

Yoonji won’t let you get off that easy though, and so she presses her hand over your throat, cutting off your air supply and you twitch and shake beneath her.

“Are you gonna cum, my pretty baby?” Yoonji asks you, rocking her hips faster and faster, almost impossibly fast, against your own. “Are you gonna make your professor’s pussy all wet and dirty? Little slut.” She smirks as your eyes seem to roll back in your head, waves of pleasure washing over you one after the other, over and over, until Yoonji releases your throat to hunch over you, her own orgasm rushing in fiercely, allowing your juices to mix and pulse together into one sinful, noticeable puddle on the floor beneath you.

You’re both panting hard, huddled together, drenched in sweat and cum, when Yoonji takes your face in her hands and kisses you.

It’s a light kiss, so different from the aggressive way she just fucked you. And as you pant together, you feel the older woman’s body mold into your own.

“You’ve always been my favorite student you know.” Yoonji whispers to you. “You don’t have to compete with anyone. It’s always been you.”

You sigh and kiss her again.

“I love you, professor.” You sigh, not realizing what you’re saying.

She laughs quietly.

“Maybe we can go to dinner together, sometime after finals.” Yoonji mutters, and you nod. “I mean, finals are only two weeks away. You can last that long without me making you cum, can’t you?”

You nod shakily. “I can at least try, professor.”

“Alright my darling,” Yoonji responds. “Alright.”

*******

A/N: Again, I am soooo sorry. this is just weird pent up attraction i have to this one professor coming out all over the page ughhiuhjbfsldf bdbfkjedsfncjksdmfn. Tag yourself, I’m the essay title being copy and pasted from an actual essay i turned in to this woman because i was so helplessly into her. FUCK

#bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #min yoonji #min yoongi #yoonji #yoongi #suga #min yoongi fanfiction #min yoonji fanfiction #smut #fluff #dirty talk #choking #drunk fic #help me

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claraoswaldfics · 3 years

Text

Halloween Night, part 2

(Continued from part 1)

It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.

I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.

We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.

I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night.

I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.

The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.

As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh.

If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.

We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.

“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.”

“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”

I blinked; is this really happening?

As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.

I leaned in.

Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment.

Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.

After that the night stalled for a bit.

I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:

“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll join you”

“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”

“I thought you were talking about the shower.”

“No. Do you need the shower?”

“No.”

“Do I need a shower?”

“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”

“So the toilet is…”

“Up the stairs, yeah.”

And then I shut up for a bit.

Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it?

Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about).

Why did I say “I’ll join you”? Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!

And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…

Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.

“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?”

“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”

“Oh, sorry, of course.”

“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”

Mood ruined. Again.

From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!

Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!

In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.

(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)

When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.

“We’re watching this”

I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie.

I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.

“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”

“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered.

“It’s okay to be…”

“I’ve never been nervous”.

“Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.

“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”

“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”

I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking?

Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.

We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.

“Wine?”

Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.

“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”

I spat out my wine.

“What??”

“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”

“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”

“Are they not, Clara Oswald?”

She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.

“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.

All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.

A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.

I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.

“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”

The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.

Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.

“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”

“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”

“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.

With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.

Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body.

I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline.

All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!

Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.

As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.

“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”

I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.

The thought alone could have got me off.

But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!

But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.

“Upstairs,” I replied.

I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.

“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.

“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.

I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.

“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”

“Shut up!”

I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.

“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”

Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.

“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”

With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.

“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.

I squealed.

She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.

“Amy” I squeaked.

“Clara” she moaned.

She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.

When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.

The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy.

And her eyes…

Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.

The woman is me.

The woman on her neck is my lover.

And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.

There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips.

“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.

“Oh shut up”

I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in.

For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...

Oh God I was so close…

“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”

Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.

“Cum for me, Clara”

And I did. Oh how I did.

The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.

I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.

My vision went white.

“Jinkies”

And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll.

End of part 2.

#clamy #Amy!Clara #Pondswald #femslash #doctor who #clara oswald #amy pond #femslash fix fairy

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isabilightwood · 3 years

Text

THE PROBLEM WITH AUTHORITY - CHAPTER 5

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

AO3[1][2][3][4]

Wen Qing knocked the mortar and pestle to the ground as she jumped to her feet, the red-orange powder scattering across the ground.

Belatedly, Jiang Yanli realized she had stepped into view.

“Who are you?” Wen Qing demanded, reflexively reaching into her sleeve for a needle. She came up empty. “This is a warded house. You can’t be here.”

Wen Qing was wan and pale, like the sun had not touched her skin in long years. Dark circles ringed her eyes, though cultivators could manage on little sleep. A woman for whom the nightmare of their youth had never ended.

“I -” Jiang Yanli’s voice caught, and she pressed her hands to her throat. Her umbrella dropped to the ground, and the downpour rapidly soaked her through. “You’re alive.”

“How did you get through the wards?” She demanded again, scrutinizing Jiang Yanli as though trying to place her.

She must be wondering why a Jin is happy to see a Wen alive. Qin Su cut through her shock.

Her thoughts inched into motion, like wading through the muddy shallows of a lake after a long day in the unforgiving sun.

Of course. Wen Qing was not trying to place Jiang Yanli, but Qin Su, who she had never met. She should say something, to allay her fears. Something, anything to explain. But she could do nothing but stare at those suspicious eyes, in that impossible face.

A stirring of air against her neck heralded Nie Huaisang’s arrival at her side. “Wen Qing? Now this is a surprise.”

Wen Qing laughed, harsh and rough, like she hadn’t had reason to in a long time. “Six years in the same rooms and I’ve finally lost it. Nie Huaisang is not standing outside my prison.”

“Nie Huaisang is standing outside your prison.” He swept his fan outwards, giving a shallow bow.

Wen Qing considered this, and let her shoulders slump. “Ok, then. Who are you?”

Jiang Yanli hesitated.

Maybe you shouldn’t have this conversation out in the open. What if a servant comes by with dinner, or something? Qin Su suggested, gently coaxing. Jiang Yanli was reminded that though she usually thought of her like a shimei, Qin Su had been a mother. And from how the young disciples ran to her excitedly, trusting and curious, she had been a good one. However acerbic she might have become, Qin Su still had a good heart.

Qin Su flinched, and closed herself off even as Jiang Yanli gathered herself together. And so she did not hear Jiang Yanli wonder if the same could be said for her.

“Before I say, may I come inside? If anyone comes by...” She glanced over her shoulder, and saw a servant dash past, carrying a lidded tray, unprotected under the rain.

Wen Qing studied her, and Jiang Yanli stared back, unblinking. Finally, she sighed.

“You might as well. But I’m not making you tea.” Wen Qing agreed, shockingly apathetic. Though Wen Qin had often pretended indifference, it had never felt like she meant it before. Now, she accepted an apparent stranger with unknown motives entering her room like it was nothing.

Once, in the calm before the storm after the Sunshot Campaign, A-Xian had joked that if someone tried to kill him, it would be the most interesting thing to happen that week. When he saw how distressed the idea made her, he’d rushed to assure her he didn’t actually want to be assassinated, and never repeated the sentiment. But it had been the truest thing he’d said in those months.

In spirit, this felt the same.

“And you’re going to sit on a towel.” Only as Wen Qing spoke did she realize rivulets of water were dripping from her hem and sleeves, and the pins in her hair dragged heavily at her scalp.

In her own body, Jiang Yanli would have spent the next week lying fevered in bed at least. Now, she would simply have to change before returning to the conference.

Reaching into a cabinet, Wen Qing retrieved not one, but an armful of towels, and lay them out as Jiang Yanli maneuvered herself over the windowsill. As she retreated to her desk, Jiang Yanli dripped her way into a seat on the towel across from her.

Nie Huaisang perched on the windowsill, one leg hanging outside. He, unlike her, had remained mostly dry. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, though he posed like he expected to model for a painting.

But then, maybe Wen Qing was his witness, and he was lying. She couldn’t be sure. The fact that they were both liars did not mean he would be honest with her.

“Explain.” Wen Qing demanded, folding her arms and setting her jaw in a way that did not scream willingness to listen.

And there was the question. Was it safe to reveal her identity? Was it any more dangerous to tell Wen Qing she was Jiang Yanli than Qin Su? If there was a chance she would tell Jin Guangyao, either would crumble her nascent plans, and she’d be lucky to flee to Yunmeng with her life.

Yet she did not believe that Wen Qing would ever be won over by Jin Guangyao’s act.

Well. Wen Qing had always appreciated bluntness. She’d grown up in a snake den, and could smell deceit from a mile away. If Jiang Yanli wanted Wen Qing to trust her, there was only one option.

“I’m a dead woman in a living woman’s body. This,” She gestured at her face. “Is Qin Su, Jin-furen. As for me, you once sheltered my brothers and I at your Wen Ning’s request, and it cost you everything.”

An inscrutable collection of emotions passed over Wen Qing’s face, settling on anger. “That isn’t po—” She cut off, jerking back.

“So you know it is possible.”

Wen Qing’s brows narrowed further. “Prove it.”

And — that was a problem. Nie Huaisang had caught her in a slip of the tongue. That would not work with Wen Qing. She couldn’t say which stories A-Xian might have told her, or which might have entered common knowledge. She and Wen Qing had been friendly, but not close. “It’s not well known that you helped my brothers and me. But if anyone was actually listening...”

“I did,” Nie Huaisang volunteered, grimacing as he once again admitted to possessing knowledge. “I imagine your late husband’s friends do as well.

These are trying times for him. Qin Su, who had been slowly emerging, surfaced fully to say. If people know he uses his brain, they might expect things from him.

Her guard frayed from recent revelations, Jiang Yanli giggled aloud. “Sorry, Qin Su said something.” And I’m sorry to you as well, she told Qin Su, though she could read the feeling within her.

Qin Su’s exaggerated good humor deflated. I can’t keep running away from him — from the memory of my son forever.

“A joke at my expense, no doubt.” Nie Huaisang tilted his head back to rest on the frame, his mouth curled upwards.

“Did you say Qin Su is within you? But —” Wen Qing snapped her jaw shut.

“That’s not how the array works? Yes, I noticed that. Nevertheless, here we are.” Her hands fisted in her soaked robes, replacing body-warmed fabric with the cold drape of her skirts. Shivering again, she forced her hands to let go, and smoothed out the fabric. “But you wanted proof.”

Wen Qin nodded sharply, retrieving a worn, threadbare red pouch that had been hidden behind the pile of books. She clutched it in her hands.

Jiang Yanli had not, yet, thought of anything truly conclusive to offer. “Anyone could guess we mostly spoke about our brothers, under the circumstances. I must confess those days are something of a blur, thanks to my fever.”

“That doesn’t prove your identity, no.” Wen Qing agreed shortly, but Jiang Yanli barely registered her tone.

The open book to Wen Qing’s left was new, a half-labeled diagram of a person’s meridians on the page. A still wet brush and bowl of ink sat nearby. She didn’t recognize the herbs that had spilled from the mortar, despite her experience in both cooking and field medicine. But the stack of thin volumes with deteriorating bindings were too low quality for even a non-cultivating Jin servant to purchase.

Yet she had seen their like in Koi Tower before.

“Quite the quandary,” Nie Huaisang shifted to put a hand behind his head, his other reaching out to brush the finally slowing fall of rain.

Perhaps not. “Those tattered journals — You’re the one who’s been transcribing A-Xian’s work, aren’t you?” Wen Qing’s eyes widened, and she knew she was correct. “Would it convince you if I read one?”

“His journals may as well have been written in code for all Jin Guangyao and his minions can make sense of it.” Wen Qing shifted on her knees, her posture losing its perfection in a way that somehow conveyed challenge. “I suppose it would. I haven’t worked through this one yet.”

Selecting a volume from the middle of the stack, she held it out to Jiang Yanli.

She took it with trembling hands, wary of which of A-Xian’s secrets she might find within. Flipping it open, she found lotuses. “He tried to grow lotuses in the Burial Mounds?” She asked, but Wen Qing remained impassive.

Jiang Yanli would gain no sympathy, without sufficient proof. “This describes his attempts to grow less-hardy crops in lands tainted by resentful energy, beginning with the ‘noble lotus’, because ‘as Shijie always said, lotuses are a vital part of any diet, and radishes are rabbit food.” She couldn’t help but smile, almost able to hear A-Xian say those words. Certain, for the space of a breath, that if she turned, he would be standing behind her, grinning and no older than ten. “I definitely never said that last part.”

Lotuses; however, should be a part of any diet. They were, objectively, the best vegetable. Less popular in seafood-loving Lanling than Yunmeng, unfortunately.

A-Xuan’s pond had been maintained, but only as a memorial. No one who truly knew them had been involved in that decision.

“He predicted lotuses could only tolerate a certain level of resentment, and calculated that the levels of the patch of land must be reduced by 60%. He played Chenqing to draw out spirits bound to the plot and — there’s a drop of spilled ink there— the bound spirits willingly moved on.” She turned the page, hoping to find the missing link. “Oh. This is.” There was an unusually detailed piece of artwork filling the next page, depicting Wen Ning and a boy who must be a younger Lan – no, Wen – Yuan elbow deep in a muddy pond of lotuses in full bloom, Wen Qing with an overflowing basket of laundry on her hip, watched them fondly. Smaller figures were grouped together in the background, bent over in the fields, or sitting together over the mending.

This had been the Burial Mounds they all so feared.

“What is it?” Wen Qing asked.

Wordlessly, Jiang Yanli turned the book towards her.

Wen Qing took a shuddering breath, and looked away.

It was a reminder, Jiang Yanli realized, that Wen Qing was the only one left.

Except that she wasn’t. “The boy, A-Yuan. He’s alive.” She said, breathless. “Lan Wangji adopted him. No one else would have guessed, but...”

To her, it had been obvious.

Wen Qing met her gaze, disbelief warring with naked hope. “You’re not lying. And you’re really —”

“I can cook for you if you need more proof.” She smiled, looking down at her hands. “The servants would get a shock out of Jin-furen in the kitchen.”

Soup-making is not a required skill for Qin cultivators. Qin Su said. I could not be trusted not to poison myself.

Only the basics had been required of the Jiang. But Jiang Yanli had taken to it, latching onto the skill instinctively. A young girl who had finally found something she was good for, beyond a marriage alliance.

“Jiang Yanli.” Wen Qing breathed, her lips parting as her grip on her needle tightened.

The sound of her name on Wen Qing’s lips felt like a warm embrace, though Wen Qing had never touched her in anything but a professional manner. The first time she was recognized by someone who mattered to her before everything went wrong.

She shivered, but not from the cold.

Concerned, Wen Qing got to her feet. “I’ve changed my mind. Since you’re not a stranger or a lying impostor, I will make you tea.” She slapped a heating talisman on a cast iron teapot with a peacock motif emblazoned on the side and turned to grab a folded robe from a nearby cabinet. The robe, she handed to Jiang Yanli. “And put this on, or you’ll catch your death.”

She held the robe away from her body. “I won’t. While many of my problems carried over into my new body, my health ones did not.”

“How did I never notice you’re just as bullheadedly stubborn as your brothers?” Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian told me he invented his drying talisman to hide the evidence when he pushed Jiang Wanyin in the lake, but he never figured out how to make it work while someone was still wearing the clothing.”

Letting her will be faster and less suspicious than going back to the Fragrance Hall to change, Qin Su pointed out.

They were both right, but — since when had accepting help become so difficult?

Maybe she was just like her brothers, when she wasn’t spending all her time as their moderating influence. “I am a Jiang. But I appreciate the gesture.” She hurried behind a folding screen to change, and attached the offered quick-drying talismans.

When she stepped back out in Wen Qing’s robe, she said, “I have some questions.”

“I can guess them.” She poured a cup of tea for Jiang Yanli as she knelt on a fresh, dry pillow.

Jiang Yanli cradled the cup close to her chest, savoring its warmth. “I missed much of what happened while I was -” shell-shocked and unable to summon the expected wailing sobs, terrified for her brother, while still hoping Zixuan would walk through the doors, and it had all just been a big mistake — “attending to my husband’s mourning rites. You turned yourself in?”

“They promised Wei Wuxian and my clan would live if A-Ning and I turned ourselves in, and then killed everyone except us.” What might have been a broken, bitter laugh tore from Wen Qing’s throat. “Though I don’t think Jin Guangshan ever knew about me, since his son used me to make his heart give out.”

“What on earth made him think it was a good idea to keep you around?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Meant in an entirely complimentary way of course.”

Jiang Yanli grimaced. “What Nie-zongzhu means ask is—”

“Exactly what he said. It’s fine.” Wen Qing rolled her eyes. Nie Huaisang awakened Jiang Yanli’s eldest sibling instincts simply by existing, so perhaps Wen Qing was experiencing the same phenomena. “They wanted A-Ning as a tool, to figure out how Wei Wuxian made him, and how to control him. Me, well — there’s no one else in the world who knows more about golden cores.” She wasn’t bragging. The woman who had kept Wen Ruohan in a semblance of stability for years and kept company with the Yiling Patriarch had no need for boasting. “My familiarity with Wei Wuxian’s work was merely a bonus, he said, though he’s gotten more out of my translations than his original goal.”

“His original goal?” Jiang Yanli took a careful sip of tea. It was a rich golden color, with the fermented taste of a pu’er, of mushrooms and dried fruits and honey. Wen Qing had left the box out, and its label read Qishan, and a date two decades earlier. A purposeful reminder, then, of everything Wen Qing had lost.

A tea or a wine might age into readiness, but Wen Qing lived on borrowed time.

“To strengthen his golden core.” She said. Knocking back her own tea like it was wine, she poured another. “A lack of proper instruction and years with a fake manual left his stunted. Of course, I’m his prisoner. I’d prefer he stay that way. So he doesn’t trust anything I come up with.”

“Greedy.” Nie Huaisang said, “Meng Yao would never have kept you around.”

“If Jin Guangyao erred, it’s our gain.” This time, when Jiang Yanli reached out, Wen Qing let their fingers brush before pulling away.

Shaking her head, Wen Qin continued, “If you’re hoping to use my skill against him, that would be difficult. He takes my methods and has them tested extensively before use. Especially on himself.”

“I’m certain you could find away around that,” Jiang Yanli busied her hands with the teapot to keep from offering unwelcome comfort. “But you’re A-Xian’s family. You are worth finding, whether or not you can be of use.”

Rather than risk eye contact Wen Qing stared at Jiang Yanli’s hands. “Though Jin Guangyao understands it’s not so easy to correct his block, he’s starting to get impatient. Now that his known enemies are out of the way, I don’t know how much longer he’ll take to accept I’d need to treat him directly to have any effect. He would never allow that, of course. I’d kill him.”

Qin Su made an offer to hold him down that Jiang Yanli did not repeat.

“Speaking of murder, did you help kill my Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang asked pleasantly.

“Unless he used something a second time, no.” Wen Qing said. Then startled, “Chifeng-zun is dead?”

Pointedly, he hummed a tune that sounded… off, somehow. When Wen Qing just stared at him, he huffed. “He used an obscure musical cultivation score.”

Wen Qing raised her chin high, and stared him down. “I am the last person anyone would ask about music. My attempts at a lullaby made A-Yuan cry. I couldn’t even clap a rhythm when Wei Wuxian needed one for his cultivation. He had to ask Popo.”

Nie Huaisang did not loose his flippancy when he said, “Then you can live. Perhaps, if you’re willing to trade some information, I could do something about your brother’s situation.”

Wen Qing looked him over, calculating. Glancing at Jiang Yanli only briefly, she nodded. “I doubt there’s much you can do for me, but if you can find a way to free A-Ning, that would be worth it.”

“We came here looking for a witness to Jin Guangshan’s murder.” Nie Huaisang leaned towards them, balanced precariously on his perch.

I’d almost forgotten. Qin Su said softly. Jiang Yanli had forgotten.

“Well, I mixed the poison. But the person you came for might be upstairs. I was restricted to this floor a year ago now? Or so? It’s difficult to keep track of time, these days.” At that, Wen Qing seemed deeply disturbed. Jiang Yanli could understand why — days passing in infrequently interrupted isolation could be no less disorienting than waking up one day to find her infant son reached her waist. “Sometimes, I hear footsteps overhead.”

“Excellent!” Nie Huaisang snapped his fan closed, and jumped down outside the window. A gray flash blasted upwards a moment later.

In his absence, silence crept in. Wen Qing’s hands shook as she reached for her teacup, and she let them fall in her lap.

“I should return to the banquet soon.” Jiang Yanli said, finally. “But I am wondering. What is Jin Guangyao using to keep you here?”

One of Wen Qing’s brows quirked up. “You must have noticed the wards.”

“Yes, but they’re based on A-Xian’s work, and you know it better than anyone else alive.” And after his complicity in her family’s murder, Wen Qing must be unable to overcome his means on her own.

“If it was only those wards, yes.” Grimly, Wen Qing pulled up her sleeve.

An inky blackness ringed her wrist, a chain of distorted characters that wavered before her eyes. Unthinking, Jiang Yanli reached out to touch, but the characters dissolved and scattered up her arm as her fingers connected with warm skin. There was an intake of breath, and Wen Qing hurriedly drew back her hand. As she did so, the characters began to creep back into place, now somehow less comprehensible to her mind. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine.” Wen Qing refused to meet her eyes. “This is evidence, I think, of the only time Jin Guangyao lowered himself to personally research demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian filled dozens of journals with his inventions and theories and half-baked ideas he dreamed up at three in the morning. But he never would have come up with anything like this, and Xue Yang couldn’t have managed it.”

“What does it do?” She asked, certain she wouldn’t like the answer.

“If I take a single step out that door, A-Ning will not only die again, but his soul will be shredded.” At that, Jiang Yanli gasped. Wen Qing’s face crumpled. “They — they kept him for experiments. Like he’s nothing more than a mouse.”

“Oh, Wen Qing.” Jiang Yanli wanted, instinctively, to hold out her arms, and let Wen Qing fall against her shoulder. But she knew better than to offer. Wen Qing hunched inwards, clasping her arms at the elbows.

A thump from outside the window startled them, but it was only Nie Huaisang, resuming his perch. “There’s a woman upstairs. She didn’t notice me. But you, Wen-guniang, must have much more interesting information.”

“There’s a problem with that.” Wen Qing had straightened her posture while Jiang Yanli was turned away. Unwilling to show Nie Huaisang weakness, where she’d let some of what she was feeling through when it was only Jiang Yanli. “You can’t come back here. Not when Jin Guangyao is in Koi Tower, at least.”

Jiang Yanli thought she might have a solution. “Are you familiar with A-Xian’s papermen?”

“The ones he pranked the Lans with back in the Cloud Recesses? Of course, but he never had cause to use them in the Burial Mounds. I don’t know the talisman.”

“I do. Here, let me demonstrate.” Once, her mother had confined A-Xian to his room for a month, and for the week it took her father to decide the punishment was too harsh, the talismans had been their only contact.

Jiang Yanli borrowed a talisman paper, since her own were ruined by the rain and cut out the shape of a paperman. She focused, but the world didn’t swirl down into a mouse’s perspective. She registered the empty feeling in her mind at the same time as the paperman twitched, and stood. “Qin Su?”

The paperman nodded. <This is weird> Qin Su’s voice said, as though from a strange distance. Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang startled.

“You can hear her?” She asked, breathless.

Wen Qing stared, open-mouthed at the tottering paper figure “You said she was still around but — this shouldn’t be possible.”

Qin Su’s little paper body wobbled from the center of the table towards the edge, but before she got halfway, it fell, inert. Qin Su was back in her mind. I lost my hold on it. Looking at a giant version of your own face is extremely disorienting.

Much in the way seeing a face that didn’t belong to her in the mirror every morning was disorienting, she imagined.

Still, that was amazing! I need to try it again. Qin Su continued. I wonder how long I could last in there with practice. Just being able to move again…

“You’re welcome to try to figure out what happened.” She told Wen Qing. If anyone living could figure out what had happened to Qin Su’s soul, and if it had affected Jiang Yanli’s, it was her.

“Another time. You said you needed to go.” Wen Qing urged.

“Yes.” She agreed. She’d stayed far too long as it was. “After you make one of your own."

Jiang Yanli returned to the banquet in talisman dried robes, with Wen Qing’s paperman in her pocket. It was uneventful, in comparison. Her absence had gone largely unremarked. the dramatics of Nie Huaisang were universally understood to be time consuming. That she returned without him only helped sell the ruse.

That he’d been cagey about what he wanted to speak to Wen Qing about without her was less comforting.

It was another few hours before Jiang Yanli could retire for the night, but she absorbed little of the conversation.

Finally sliding open the door to her bedroom, Jiang Yanli lit the candles with a wave of her hand. The thrill that went through her at the fact that she could turned to terror at the sight of a figure sitting cross-legged in the middle of her floor.

Until she saw that it was Nie Huaisang. Which wasn’t entirely reassuring, but was unlikely to end in bloodshed.

“I’d appreciate if you could remove your sword from my throat.” He tapped Chunsheng’s edge.

Jiang Yanli was startled to realize she’d drawn the sword. Qin Su’s instinctive panic had bled into her, and she’d acted without thinking. Her ears rung from the force of Qin Su’s scream, visions of splattered blood flashing with each blind.

She sheathed the sword with a sigh. “I’d recommend not hiding in our rooms in the future. Traumatic experiences. Qin Su still wants to gut you.”

She was actually stuck in the panic stage, her volatile emotions ricocheting around the confines of Jiang Yanli’s mind like a coin caught in a crevice. But a part of Jiang Yanli wanted to gut him for her, a heretofore unknown bloodlust that crawled back with her from the grave.

I think that’s just me, Qin Su managed. But Jiang Yanli knew better. I don’t think I could have stopped in time.

“Yes, well. That’s nothing new! Someone tries at least once a week.” Nie Huaisang waved her off, unshaken. “Wen Qing and I came up with a brilliant idea! Just a tiny seed of a suggestion, really.”

She’d been working with Nie Huaisang for one day, almost to the minute, and he’d already begun involving her in schemes that would probably get her killed. A second time. Dragged Wen Qing into it too, as though she weren’t in a dangerous enough position already.

Rather than sit, Jiang Yanli crossed her arms, taking up a position between Qin Su’s two ink paintings. “I’ll listen, if you promise this won’t happen again. And leave, after.”

“If you still want me too!” He agreed brightly. “You should get Wen Qing out for this. The lynchpin was her idea. Very clever. I would have just found someone convenient. I’m nothing if not lazy, after all. But she thinks we can take out two birds with one stone.’

As he was speaking, Jiang Yanli had reached into the seam of her robe, and retrieved the paperman. It stirred in the palm of her hand, as though Wen Qing had been waiting for the right moment.

<I’m flattered.> Her little paper arms folded over one another. <Not that you managed to say anything with all those words.>

Nie Huaisang’s sly smile broke as he grimaced at the paperman. It returned, as he tilted his to look at her from the corner of his eye. “What would you say to bringing back Wei-xiong?”

“Yes.” The part of Jiang Yanli that crafted dark, twisted schemes for that very purpose responded before she could stop herself. She shoved it back into the dark corner of her mind where it belonged. “But the sacrifice summon doesn’t work without casualties, and I can’t —”

“Yes, that is a problem.” He agreed, at odds with his breezy tone. “Who would buy into trading their life for vengeance, and deserve to have their soul ripped apart? Or at least, that’s a problem for you. I care about getting the job done.”

I miss being able to think that pleasant-seeming people were just pleasant people. Qin Su grumbled, and Jiang Yanli wholeheartedly agreed.

Yet Nie Huaisang wasn’t volunteering himself, she noticed. “It wouldn’t be difficult to convince someone I was Qin Su, possessed by my own spirit. But unlike you, it is the destruction of the soul that concerns me.”

<Would you still be opposed if the sacrifice did deserve it?> Wen Qing interjected.

Jiang Yanli’s first instinct was to say that no one deserved that. It was even more unlikely that someone so monstrous would agree. But when Wen Qing explained her suggestion, Jiang Yanli found herself agreeing.

“You don’t want to bring your brother back?” She asked, later, after Wen Qing’s paperman lost its animation. It was not a serious offer. Though Jiang Yanli had not disliked Nie Mingjue nearly so much as most sect leaders, she could not help but think that if he had not been quite so intransigent, A-Xian might not have been driven to the lengths he had.

She would not trade her chance to bring back A-Xian for Nie Mingjue. She simply needed to know if Nie Huaisang was going to be a problem.

You can be kind of scary sometimes, Yanli-jie. Qin Su was likely reconsidering her stance on Jiang Yanli’s general level of bloodthirstiness.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes went wide before he sputtered into a fit of laughter more bitter than a mouthful of lotus pits. Wiping a tear from his eye, he said, “Are you kidding? Dage would murder me. Which would be worth it, except he’d immediately undo all my hard work and send himself into another qi deviation. Resurrect Dage, really.”

He tsked, and laughed again, but this time there was something wistful in it.

Longing, perhaps, for what he could not have.

“And you? You don’t want to bring back your husband?” He asked, startling her.

“Zixuan? I hadn’t even thought about it.” She had loved her husband, and lost him far too soon. But she was, she felt, capable of grieving him, where the place A-Xian belonged was a gaping hollow inside her. She’d practically raised A-Xian, watched him grow and change into a brilliant young man. A world of difference lay between him and the man she’d admired from afar, and only gotten to love for a single year.

There was, she thought, another key difference between them. A-Xian was like her. He’d never move on peacefully to his next life, while those he cared for were unhappy or in danger. Zixuan, on the other hand… “If I know my husband, Zixuan will have already been reincarnated.”

His soul probably belonged to a child not much younger than A-Ling now. One with doting parents and many siblings, for whom the worst thing in the world was sitting inside to memorize characters.

Or so she hoped. “But A-Xian… he’s still waiting. I’m certain of it.”

“Waiting? Not a restless ghost, or in…?”

“A-Xian’s anger never lasts- lasted. He’s always burned bright and hot. If he took revenge, that was it.” The longest grudge he’d ever held was against Zixuan. It had also been his pettiest. There had been Wen Chao, of course, but something had stopped A-Xian from getting to him faster, though he’d never told her what. Otherwise, A-Xian’s anger was like a firework: a spark, an explosion, and gone, as insubstantial as smoke. “And if the kings of hell are as quick to condemn as mortals, then what’s the use of the justice he loved so much?”

Justice that had been stolen from him in every turn in life. Jiang Yanli could only hope that this new life she might — just might — be able to offer him would grant her A-Xian everything he’d been denied in the first.

Nodding, Nie Huaisang produced a jug of wine from his sleeve, and raised it towards her in toast. “To brothers with too many morals and bringing yours back.”

Qin Su spent the night practicing slipping in and out of a paperman, wobbling around on tiny paper legs and indulging in her newfound ability to move and speak, of her own volition. She lasted longer each time.

Each shift kept Jiang Yanli alert and awake, the feeling of being alone in her mind now as strange as sharing it had been at the start. Jiang Yanli didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

Even as she hoped to see her brother again, she felt the empty space in her bed more viscerally than ever. A-Xuan would not have had advice she could use. Likely, he wouldn’t have approved. Certainly, he wouldn’t have understood. But he wouldn’t judge her, or try to stop her. He would hold her close, stroke her hair, and give her a place where it was safe to feel.

Jiang Yanli hadn’t known that was something she was missing, before him. It was something she would likely never have again.

The paperman Wen Qing had left lying inert on the table surged back to life. <Oh, you’re still awake. Or did I wake you?>

“Couldn’t sleep.” She whispered, propping herself up on one elbow, softly enough that Qin Su — busy scaling the shelving near the door — could not hear.

<I couldn’t either.> Wen Qing admitted. <You gave me a lot to think about.>

“Questions of morality?” Questions like, who was Jiang Yanli to condemn a soul to be torn apart by trickery? Who was she, if she purposefully eliminated a living person’s soul, a line only Xue Chonghai had admitted to crossing? What, then, separated her from Jin Guangyao?

Qin Su had caught her wondering this, as her thoughts cycled through those questions on one of her returns, and scoffed. The difference is you’re not murdering innocents for power.

But Qin Su’s anger was scalding and freshly kindled; her own was a low, steady flame. She had the clarity to stare down the path she’d chosen, and ask where she’d draw the line, if not here.

Jiang Yanli couldn’t help but wonder how much blood she’d have on her hands when the dust had settled. Whether anyone else would be able to see it.

Wondering wasn’t enough to stop her.

But Wen Qing surprised her.

<You gave me hope. I haven’t had hope in a very long time.> She took a flying leap into the air, the little paper figure drifting unevenly down from its peak to land on the bedframe, near Jiang Yanli’s head. <I’m sorry if I’ve caused you inner turmoil.>

She giggled a little into her hand, surprising herself. “Turmoil. That’s a good word for it. But I think — I’m glad you did.”

The silence that settled between them felt warm and comfortable, like she’d just put on a broth to simmer. Like if she waited for it to be ready, maybe she wouldn’t be so lost after all.

After some time, Wen Qing asked, <Would you mind telling me about A-Yuan?>

What she knew wasn’t much. But to Jiang Yanli’s surprise, she drifted off in the telling.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring the return of wen qing #and plotting wwx's resurrection #finally my yanqing tag is relevant #posting multiple days after i uploaded to ao3 whoops

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chain-unchained · 3 years

Text

October 24th

“Shane! Phone!”

Still half-asleep, Shane cracked open the bathroom door with toothbrush in mouth to answer Marnie’s call. “Kin’a bushy—tell ‘em to call ba’ in like, a few minutes.”

“Alright,” she held the phone to her ear, “sorry Ashe, he said to call back in a few minutes.”

“Wai’ wai’ wai’, you di’n’t say it was Ashe—”

Hurriedly Shane spat the foamy toothpaste in his mouth into the sink and opened the door wider, hand outstretched to take the phone. Marnie stifled a laugh behind her hand and returned to the kitchen to give the call some privacy.

“What’s up, chickadee?”

“Shane you need to come over and see this right now, I need to know if what I’m looking at is real or not, it just popped up out of nowhere overnight—”

Ashe was frantic, speaking so quickly that Shane almost couldn’t keep up with him.

“Ashe, I’m having a slow start today. What’s going on?”

He could hear Ashe take a deep breath on the other end.

“Okay, so,” he began, slower this time, “you know my pumpkin patch?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Well, when I went to bed last night everything was just fine, and this morning—you have to come and see it yourself. You’re not going to believe me if you don’t.”

“There’s a literal wizard living in a tower in the forest and monsters in the mines. Trust me, I can believe a lot.”

“And there’s a shadow man living in the sewers!” Jas piped up from the kitchen.

“Right, and the shadow man—” Shane did a double-take. “Okay, that’s a new one… And quit eavesdropping on me.”

“Not my fault you’re talking so loud!”

Jas sure was getting an attitude lately. He stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door as much as he could without severing the phone cord.

“Look, bugaboo, I’m happy to come and see you this morning. You just gotta give me like, twenty minutes to wake up. I haven’t even had any coffee yet.”

“Okay…” Ashe sighed. “Sorry, I know it’s early still… It’s just, calling you was the first thing that came to mind when I saw this.”

“And trust me, I’m more than happy about that.” A grin split Shane’s stubbled jaw. “I’ll be over in a bit.”

###

Shane didn’t know what to expect when he made the trek up to the farm, but it certainly wasn’t the carriage-sized pumpkin sitting snugly right in the center of Ashe’s prized pumpkin patch.

“… Is that a giant ass pumpkin?” He asked as the farmer jogged down the dirt path to meet him. “Or are my eyes playing tricks on me?”

“See?! That’s what I thought too!” Ashe gestured for him to climb over the fence surrounding the patch so they could both see the behemoth up close. “And it’s not just this,” he waved a hand to the rest of the patch, “all of these just ripened overnight.”

“Jesus fuck,” Shane rubbed his freshly shaved chin, “where was this at the fair? You’d have won the grange for sure… What are you gonna do with it?”

“Well… Hm. I didn’t think about that yet.” Ashe rapped on the outside of it with his knuckles—a nice, deep sound resounded throughout—and took a step back, pursing his lips in thought.

Shane gave him a few minutes as he tried to warm his cold fingers with his breath. Come to think of it, he only just now noticed that Ashe had taken to wearing some… untraditional clothing on the farm. It was mostly girly clothes, lots of pastel colors and frills and bows—one day he went around doing his chores in a skirt, even.

“… Bugaboo, can I ask you something?”

“Hm? Ask me what?”

“It’s just… Hoo boy, how do I say this…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I… noticed you’ve been wearing some different clothes lately. Today too,” he nodded towards the outfit he was in now, a lavender tunic and leggings, “and I just—if you’re, y’know—I mean, what I’m trying to say is—I don’t know a lot about LGBT stuff, but you know you can always tell me if you’re using different pronouns, or you want to try out a different name, or… yeah.”

“Oh.” Ashe looked down at himself. He seemed almost… embarrassed.

“And that’s not to say that there’s anything wrong with you just wanting to wear girly clothes, either,” Shane added hastily in response. “You do you. I’ll support you no matter what.”

“… Thank you…”

Ashe wore a bashful little smile as he lifted his face to look up at Shane. “But I’m not—I’m happy as a guy. It’s just,” he uncomfortably tugged at the scarf wrapped around his neck, “Haley’s using me as a human dummy for her clothing and photography. I really don’t like wearing most of this stuff, honestly.”

“Well--- tell her that, maybe?”

“… You don’t tell Haley no.”

“Get Emily to tell her then. Hell, I’ll march down there and bring it up for you if you want.”

“Nonono, that’s okay! It’s not a big deal, I can put up with it! It’s just until Haley gets into this college she’s been eying.”

“Bugaboo, give people like her an inch and she’ll take a mile.”

Ashe sighed. “I know… I’ll… talk to her. Eventually. I’ve got too much other stuff to worry about right now.”

“… Yeah, that’s fair.” He paused, then, “For what it’s worth… you look cute no matter what you’re wearing.”

A red hue flared up on Ashe’s cheeks. “Hehe… thanks, Shane.” He looked back to the giant pumpkin. It was reassuring to know that, even if he did start to question himself, Shane would be right there with him the whole time. It meant a lot.

And then, an idea came to him.

“I’ve got it!” He clasped his hands together. “I can make this pumpkin into a giant carriage prop for Spirits’ Eve!”

“We.” Shane nudged him with his elbow. “You can’t hollow this thing out by yourself before the festival.”

“I could ask Rasmodius to help.”

“… Okay, what is the deal with that guy?”

#stardew #sdv #stardew shane #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #stardew farmer #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #fanfiction #sdv fanfiction #sdv fanfic #stardew fanfic #stardew fanfiction #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction #stardew valley

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insfiringyou · 4 years

Text

BTS - They orgasm unexpectedly (all members)

Contains: Smut. Oral sex. Masturbation. Anal sex. Handcuffs. Strip tease. Dirty talk. Lots of mess.

*Trigger warning for mature themes and slightly dubious consensual scenario taking place between a long-term couple *

[This scenario was inspired by the anon prompt of the members cumming without warning and feeling guilty about it afterwards.]

Although these scenarios can be enjoyed by themselves, we imagine them as taking place with their headcanon girlfriends, with them all being the next scenario after the events of ‘The Reunion’ for each couple.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

V (& Cassandra)

The door slammed loudly as he entered the hotel room, ears ringing as he slotted the safety lock through its frame and made a beeline for the double bed. He had known asking Ji-eun for details had been a mistake, but had pressed on anyway, unable to shake the feeling that she knew something he didn’t. He turned sharply, clutching bunches of his own dark hair as his eyes roamed around the small space, hovering momentarily on the sparsely stocked mini bar, before deciding against it. The older woman had smelled of alcohol as they met on the porch, her eyes a little glassy as he begged her to tell him what she knew. His cheeks felt hot now, remembering that detail; how pathetic he must have sounded. Cassandra hadn’t been replying to his letters, he explained, not knowing whether the hurt in his voice was reaching the other woman’s ears through her tipsy haze, or if she even cared. He had texted her when he arrived at the hotel, he continued, and when she didn’t answer he tried calling her. The number was out of service.

Sourly, he recalled going to Cassandra’s studio apartment shortly before the dinner and knocking impatiently on the door. Hearing no answer, he enquired with the neighbour from the room below who informed him that he hadn’t seen her for several weeks. A few hours later, Ji-eun’s slurred protest made his chest ache.

Flopping heavily on to the bed, Taehyung brought out his cell phone from his trouser pocket, and inputted his password as the conversation swam through his mind.

“What did she make you promise?” He had asked, vaguely aware that people were moving around in the corridor behind him, probably on their way to the bathroom, but uncaring about being overheard. He had to know. “Please Ji-eun…” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

The woman seemed to ignore his question as she tugged on the hem of her skirt, subconsciously covering the smooth line of skin which was visible between the seams of her long dress. “Don’t think she want to…” She frowned, trying to find the right way of putting it. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

His mouth opened, a little winded. “But, Ji-eun…”

“You’d be better off if you found someone else.” A touch of sympathy crept into her voice but, in that moment, it sounded more like pity. “Like she has…”

It felt as though he had been stabbed. Back in the hotel room, Taehyung found himself clicking on the photo album icon on his home screen, scrolling past the photos he had taken on his last night with Jungkook, before he had entered service, before finding what he was looking for.

“She’s seeing someone?” He had barely heard the words leave his mouth and, now, he felt the sting of Ji-eun’s reply echo through his mind all over again as he slid his hand beneath the waistband of his open trousers, clutching himself tightly. He selected a black and white photo he had stored on the memory card and tightened his grasp at the sight on screen. Cassandra gazed up at the lens from the covers of the bed, the vivid colour of her hair obscured by the filter as she smiled breathlessly. It had been taken perhaps a year ago, moments after orgasm; the darker patches on her cheeks still visible. His eyes roamed to her breasts, bare and full, lingering on the erect buds of her nipples.

“I don’t know…” The sound of Ji-eun’s voice cut through his sweet memory, tainting it bitterly. “She mentioned on the phone, I’m not sure…”

He flicked his thumb across the screen, moving to the next picture as he untucked his cock from the front of his underwear. The picture was taken from behind, though the stark filter remained; the base of his erection just visible between her fleshy arse-cheeks as he slammed into her folds. She loved it when he took photos of them during sex; knowing he would look at them later when they were apart and recall, in perfect detail, how her body felt as he touched and loved her. The following image had him in her mouth, her gaze fixed on the camera as she sucked his thickness.

“You’re broken up...why do you care?” Ji-eun’s final line came to him as his brow furrowed, motion frantic as he pumped his cock. She had said it softly, but it hurt nonetheless. Without saying goodbye to the others, he had taken to the street, his legs carrying him back to the hotel in a jealous swarm of anger. He wondered if Ji-eun would reveal the conversation to the others; would explain why he had left the reunion dinner so suddenly, and realised he didn’t care. They must have known how much she meant to him; how much she still means to him.

With a regretful sigh, he squeezed himself one final time, casting a guilty glance at the screen of his phone when he realised it had taken the brunt of his moody pleasure. The image of Cassandra was obscured behind the creamy liquid, and he groaned at the sight, not recalling whether the aim had been deliberate.

He put it down on the bedstand and he got to his feet, stripping slowly in the quiet room which suddenly felt eerie. He realised, as he stood naked in the middle of the floor, that he honestly didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.

Jungkook (& Young-soon)

The sheer curtains seemed to float on the gust of wind which filtered into the bedroom; the ocean air making Young-soon’s naked skin prickle with goosebumps as she detected the scent of salt and, in the distance, the calming lull of the sea.

Jungkook ran his hands along the gentle curves of her hips as he felt his orgasm approach, appreciating the silhouette of her body from his vantage point above her. Perhaps she had been right when she lamented of putting on weight since moving out of the capital. But he wouldn’t have noticed had she not brought it up, and either way, the slightly exaggerated shape of her peachy bottom and the slight quivers it made as he thrust into her was undeniably sexy. If she wanted to take up her twice-weekly pilates classes again, he wouldn’t stop her, but until then, he wasn’t going to complain.

“I’m so close…” He whined, gritting his teeth as she silently clenched around him, squeezing his cock between her walls and encouraging him to finish. He was unable to take his eyes off her; moving from the outline of her shoulder blades, along her spine until they focussed once more on her backside. The pleasure came to an acute edge as his entire body grew warm and, suddenly realising if he didn’t do it now it would be too late, he tugged himself from her warmth, the lubrication of her tight cunt allowing for an easy release before he pressed his erection upwards, holding himself tightly at the base as he slipped the head of his cock into her other opening.

“Is this okay?” He groaned, a little belatedly as he felt himself spurt.

“Yeah…” She gasped, moaning at the sensation as he came inside her, the shallowness of his depth causing his seed to drip around the edges of his engorged and sensitive tip.

His orgasm was intense, but over too soon and he took a moment longer to appreciate the feeling of her wrapped around him, groaning once more in pleasure when he noticed how sexy she looked with his seed dripping out of her.

“God...your arse feels so good…” He whispered, closing his eyes as he slowly became soft in his hand and reluctantly pulled away.

She turned around, flopping onto the thick duvet and enjoying the way Jungkook’s gaze moved immediately to her breasts as they quivered against her chest. “Why did you switch?” She asked with a smile, parting her thighs and reaching between them.

“I’m sorry…” He murmured with a blush, realising how the idea had only come to him seconds before, and how he had been unable to control his impulse.

“About what?”

His cheeks turned a shade darker and she laughed gently.

“I like it too you know…” Slowly, she brushed her fingers against her opening, watching Jungkook’s eyes follow her as she collected the pearly liquid with her fingertips, trying to prevent his semen from staining the material as it continued to leak from between her legs.

“I should have warned you better..” He admitted, shaking his head slowly.

Shrugging, she sat up against the quilt. “I feel a bit sore.” She murmured softly. “It’s just been a while…” Her eyes flickered to the cabinet in the corner of the room. “Can you grab me a tissue?”

Jin (& Min-seo)

“Are you sure you feel okay now?” Jin voiced his concern as Min-seo slipped him from his shorts, nestling closer between his parted thighs as he sat back on the sofa.

“Fine.” She smiled reassuringly, moving her hand softly against him. “I told you, it was just for a moment. Certain food still makes me a bit nauseous.”

His brow remained furrowed for a moment but soon smoothed out when he felt her lips close around him. “You really don’t have to…” He protested gently, already knowing his point was lost when she sank down further, taking him completely into her mouth before moving back; his cock slick and upright when she broke free.

“Are you kidding?” She smiled, the tinkling sound of her breathy laughter filling the room. “I love doing this to you…” Confirming this, she took him back in; her hand wrapped around him as her head bobbed up and down his cock, controlling the depth carefully by moving her closed fist against her lips. His head eventually lulled back, eyes closing as he lost himself in the sensation, unaware how much or little time was passing until he began to notice the fragrant scent of cooking filling the air from the adjoining kitchen.

As if reading his thoughts, Min-seo moved back and let him go with a soft pop. “Jeong-sun and Yoongi will be around soon.” She murmured, lips pressed gently against the tip of his swollen cock as she spoke, pumping him slowly. “I’d better check on the oven.”

Before she could pull away, Jin let out an unexpected groan as he felt himself let go; his orgasm taking him completely by surprise and giving him no time to warn her. It took her a moment to realise he was ejaculating; the white liquid dribbling half-heartedly down his cock and staining the front of her t-shirt as he let out a startled and gaspy laugh. With an amused and equally shocked smile, she continued her motion against him, milking the last of his seed from the tip of his penis and ignoring the mess he was making against the exposed upper half of her chest.

When she was certain he had expelled all that he had to give, she pulled away slowly, uncurling her fingers from around his thickness as he calmed down.

“Was it me or the chicken that set you off?” She asked with a timid smile.

As if on cue, the beeping sound of the timer on the oven began to ring, making them both laugh uncontrollably.

“Both.” He grinned, cheeks stained pink.

Jimin (& Ara)

She wrapped her fingers lovingly around the head of his cock and gave it a playful squeeze, her eyes roaming to the pair of fluffy handcuffs which were currently keeping him fixed in position against the foot of the bed. Jimin moaned, his eyes fluttering closed and lips parted. If his hands had been free, Ara knew, he would have used them to brush what remained of his hair back from his forehead.

“Do you want me to dance for you?” She whispered, kissing his mouth gently as his eyes opened. He whined at the loss of contact as she silently walked to the edge of the bedroom, turning to face him and resting her hands between her breasts, where the silver flash of a zipper caught his eye.

“Is that the costume you will be wearing on KBS tomorrow?” He asked breathlessly. It was a short, PVC number; with pink and purple hearts adorning the pleated skirt. The smallest hint of cleavage was visible above the V-cut neckline as she pulled the fastening down a fraction of an inch.

“Yes…” She murmured. “We all have matching outfits.” Slowly, she pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, uncovering the strip of skin which ran down to her bellybutton as she swayed her hips gently. “Do you want to touch me?” Her voice uttered breathily as she smiled teasingly, her index finger pulling aside the shiny fabric to reveal a small, pink nipple.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as she observed his silent reply; his cock twitched deliciously against his stomach as he grew hard, his eyes never leaving her body as she edged aside the other seam, pressing the round swells of her breasts together as she clasped her hands together in front of her, her nipples hard and pretty. “Well, you can’t.” She grinned teasingly, taking a step closer to prove her point.

“You’re so mean Ara.” Jimin groaned, his cock now fully erect as he watched her dance for him, slowly pulling up her short, pleated skirt until he could see she was completely naked beneath; the small, neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair visible between her slender thighs. Turning around, she ran her hands over the soft, round cheeks of her bare bottom, teasing them apart until he could see her pink slit between.

“What do you want to touch?” She moaned, the grin in her voice obvious.

He licked his lips, suddenly wishing for a glass of water. They felt chapped beneath his tongue. “Your pussy…” He uttered breathlessly, watching in awe as she bent further over, arching her back and slipping a single digit between her thighs.

“This?” She sank it in to the knuckle, slicking the finger before pulling out. He watched as she turned around to face him and sat down on the carpeted floor. His cock rock hard at the unbelievable sight he was witnessing, he was unable to help the sounds which escaped his mouth as she spread her legs, her feet flat against the floor as she played with her clitoris, brushing it between two fingers and circling it slowly. She watched his erection grow; his tip flushed and rosy as she moved to her cunt, pushing in two fingers and hooking them against her sensitive G-spot as she fingered herself.

“God, Ara…” Jimin whispered as she added a third to join the others, pushing them inside her tight, pink opening with a whine. “I’m gonna…” Before the words had left his lips, he spurted onto his lower stomach, his testacles contracting on their own accord at the sight of his girlfriend on the floor, her fingers deep in pussy. Ara watched in fascination as he climaxed, once again knowing that he wished he could run his hands along his forehead, more out of habit than anything else. Instead, they remained bound above his head, the slight outline of his biceps incredibly sexy as his fists opened and closed in frustration; ejaculate trailing along the wispy hairs bellow his bellybutton and collecting in his dark pubic hair.

Getting to her feet, she moved over to him and captured his soft lips between hers. “That’s my baby…” She whispered against his mouth, moving slowly to the tip of his softening cock which she kissed gently. He looked down at her with dark, blissful eyes; his cheeks and forehead shimmering with cold sweat. “Do you want to stay tied up?” She asked, flashing him a grin.

Exhausted, he remained silent as she stood up, hitching her skirt to her waist as she stood above him; her pretty pussy directly in his eyeline as she moved closer and pressed against him. With a soft moan, he opened his mouth against her pubis, capturing her clitoris in a kiss.

J-Hope (& Nana)

He could tell how much she had missed him from the way her lips met his as soon as she walked through the front door; the sound of her clunky satchel hitting the floor filling the hallway as they pressed together, mouths opening frantically as they attempted to find a comfortable pace. He wondered, as they stumbled into the living room, desperately pushing aside the wooden frame of a chair to reach the table, if the novelty of having him back would wear off soon; if they would ever get used to seeing each other’s face when they returned home from their day at work, whether their matching smiles would ever fade.

His long fingers found the edge of her white blouse, clutching at the soft fabric as he blindly searched for the buttons. They briefly broke apart and she let out a gasp as he quickly uncovered her up to the waist, too inpatient to unclasp the last few buttons and instead running his hands above the trim of her plain bra, his palms skimming the outlines of her collarbones and sternum before tugging the cups down to rest beneath her the gentle swell of her breasts.

“Hoseok…” She cried, unable to help her moans as he ran his parted lips along her exposed skin, his mouth seemingly unable to focus on one place for too long, but making a point of kissing her breasts sweetly.

“Your body is so amazing…” He whined against her, flicking his tongue against her nipple before gently turning her by the waist, encouraging her to bend down against the kitchen table. He hitched up her long, floaty skirt, the excess fabric bunching against her lower back as he untucked himself from the confines of his trousers with a small whimper. He had been feeling uncomfortable for the past few minutes and the cool air which hit him as he freed himself came as a relief. Moving aside the pink crotch of her panties, he slipped into her with ease, his entire cock becoming sheathed by her warmth as she moved her hips back to meet his; their bodies coming together loudly as they set a vigorous pace.

Their moans became less pronounced as he fucked her hard, his hands moving from her narrow hips, around the edges of her blouse and to her breasts which he cupped firmly as they struggled to catch their breath, equally lost in the sensation of each other.

“Feel...so...good…” He managed to gasp between shallow intakes of air, sensing that he was getting close, but unable to completely tell as the sensations and animalistic sounds they were making blended together like music.

Too late, he realised, he had slipped out of her, his upright cock brushing the soft warmth of her panties as he ejaculated with a loud groan. Without thinking, he grasped the bunched material of her skirt between his hands as his seed began to spurt on the smooth skin of her lower back, the pleated fabric catching his cum before it had time to drip down her thighs and make a mess on the floor.

‘Oh shit…” He cried, cheeks staining red as his cock twitched against the make-shift canopy, realising what he had done. Finally catching her breath, she paused against him, belatedly realising he was no longer inside her.

“Oh god…” He whispered, clutching her skirt against the bony rump of her backside, unsure of what he should do. “Sorry…”

“What happened?” She asked, the smile in her voice obvious as she tried to look over her shoulder, her tightly permed ringlets bouncing against her open blouse.

His gaze lingered on the mess he had made and his eyebrows furrowed into his forehead as he winced. “Did you bring a change of clothes?”

“I always do…” She laughed softly. “Why? Did you cum?” She asked bemusedly, slowly straighetning up as she edged her way off the table.

“Yes…” He straightened out the skirt at the feel of her movement, unable to tear his eyes away from the cloth. “It sort of went on your skirt.” He admitted quietly.

“What?” Reaching behind her, she took the edge of the fabric from him and tried to peer over her shoulder at the damage, pulling away when she realised she had gotten some of it on the back of her hand. Hoseok watched on with embarrassment as she promptly dropped the material and wiped it on the waistband.

“You didn’t think to use your own clothes?” She asked, slightly unimpressed but with an ounce of humour beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t thinking…” He cringed apologetically.

Suga (& Jeong-sun)

Jeong-sun’s eyes lingered on the red paperback in Yoongi’s hand as she closed the bedroom door behind her, observing with a smile his square, clear-framed glasses and the thick wedge of pages beneath his left hand. The title was instantly recognisable; he had clearly taken it from her bookshelf in the living room.

“Aren’t you just living the life of luxury?” She quipped with a smile, setting down her purse and edging her way to the double bed. He was propped against the headboard, using a few extra cushions from the sofa to support his back.

“I put up the curtain rail.” He commented, using his thumb to save his place as he lowered the book to follow her with his eyes as she moved across the room.

“Which one?”

He smirked. “The one that’s been sitting in the living room for the past month.”

“Oh.” Jeong-sun hid her smile as she crawled onto the sheets, not bothering to change out of her uncomfortable work uniform as she flopped onto his lap. He couldn’t help but grin as she nestled her head against his lap, shifting on her side to get comfy. She noticed from the moment she stepped through the door that the apartment had been tidied a little; the washing up she had left in the sink dried and put away, and her kitchen floor mopped and polished.

“It’ll stop the neighbours from looking in.” Yoongi muttered, carefully putting the book down on her bedside table, leaving it open so he could come back to it later.

“There’s not much to look at…” She shrugged, playing with a loose strand of cotton on his loose-fitting joggers.

“I disagree.” He replied, voice full of coquetry as he looked at her, the ceiling lights reflecting in her glasses. “How was work?”

“Worky.” She murmured unconvincingly with a small sigh. “Do you want me to see if there are any jobs going?” Her grin made his stomach grow warm as he realised she was teasing him once again for the amount of spare time he suddenly seemed to have on his hands.

“I’d get on your nerves.” He replied, stroking a stand of dark hair which had fallen against the frames of her glasses.

She laughed softly, body softening against him as he ran his hand along her arm gently. “I’m glad you are finally getting time off. You deserve it.” She admitted, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Where are you up to, in your book?”

He thought for a moment, eyes narrowing behind his lenses. “She’s just blown up the gas station.”

Jeong-sun smirked. “A bit of an overreaction if you ask me...all over some pig blood.”

His thumb brushed her shoulder, holding her close. “I don’t think I’d be happy if it happened to me.” He protested gently, letting out a small, breathy laugh.

“I guess not.” She murmured in reply.

“I felt bad for her.” He shrugged.

“That’s because you’re a good person.”

He mumbled, growing quiet as she slipped her hand across his thigh, stroking it through the fabric comfortingly before moving to the space between his legs. He grinned, gums flashing. “Am I boring you?”

She met his gaze. “A little bit.” She teased, moving more purposefully against the bulge, before slowly edging down the elastic of his joggers. He moved his hips from the bed, allowing her to work on his underwear as she slipped out his cock idly, grasping it at the base. He wasn’t hard, but she didn’t seem to mind as she moved it towards her lips. “Should I?” She asked, pausing.

He felt a little breathless as he looked down at her, her face inches from his groin as she settled in his lap. “If you want to.”

Instead of taking it in, she shuffled closer so it lay across her mouth, opening her lips against its length, and moving her tongue slowly against his skin. He let out a quiet moan as she cupped the tip in her palm, pumping the head ever so slightly and touching her lips to the base, sucking it lightly. Taking her time, she ran her fingers along him, following the trail with her wet, warm tongue as he quickly swelled in her hand. He tilted his head to look at her languidly.

“You look nice today…” He whispered honestly, mouth parting in a silent moan at the feel of her lips momentarily closing around his sack, touching her tongue to the textured skin, before pulling away.

“Thanks. I ironed my shirt.”

He laughed softly as she sucked his cock gently, pushing it between her lips and allowing her saliva to pool a little, slickening him before she continued to lick along his shaft, moving her mouth from side to side.

“Where feels best?” She eventually asked, curling her fist around the centre of his erection.

He let out a breathy exhalation, loving her so completely in that moment he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll let you know.”

She extended her tongue, touching it to his frenulum. “On a scale of one to ten?” She asked jokingly.

His gummy grin remained, realising she was serious. “Eight.” He answered honestly.

She smirked and trailed her tongue down, holding his cock against her lips. “And here?” She challenged him.

He laughed. “Still an eight.” Stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he gazed at her lovingly. “It’s nice though…”

She raised an eyebrow flirtily. “You’re hard to please.” She joked, brown eyes swimming with mirth beneath the flash of her glasses.

Still grinning, he took himself from her, gently holding his cock between his fingertips as he adjusted his position slightly and brushed his spare hand against her lips, stroking them with the pads of his fingers. He fancied he could feel the gentle beat of her pulse beneath the plump skin, and he lowered himself against her parted mouth. “Try this part.” He suggested in a low voice. “Lightly...try to flick your tongue…”

She complied, moving her muscle rapidly against his shaft and enjoying the soft groan which escaped his parted lips as he briefly closed his eyes. Opening them again, he watched her carefully. “You’re beautiful…”

Closing him in her fist, she smirked. “And I haven’t even taken my glasses off yet…” She scoffed.

“Do you want to?” He asked breathlessly, curling his fingertips gently in the thick mat of her dark hair, brushing against her scalp.

She shook her head, observing how wet his cock was in her hand; how it glistened with her saliva as she slickened it liberally; how she could appreciate the clear pools of precum up close which beaded attractively on the end of his swollen and rosy tip. “I want to see what I’m doing.” She admitted, kissing the head sweetly to prove her point. “You know I can’t see for shit without them…”

His stomach fluttered as she moved against him gently, lazily, in no rush to move on. Reaching with his spare hand, he nimbly moved to her buttons, unfastening the tight, work-issued blouse which stretched across her bust until he uncovered the soft skin of her stomach; the flash of her belly button just visible beneath the fabric. Slowly, he edged it away from her covered breasts, his eyes roaming from her face and lips to the magenta lace of her bra and deep swell of her cleavage.

“Better?” She smirked against him, half-expecting him to touch her and realising, when he sat back, he was content just to look.

“Your tits look great.” He agreed, voice low and breathy. “New bra?” He asked.

“I feel like they’re being crushed. I’ll probably try to return it.”

“The colour looks good on you.” He commented. The fit was clearly designed to be a push-up, and it accentuated her already large breasts, flattering their shape.

She laughed softly. “Then maybe I’ll keep hold of it…”

“Please do.” He agreed softly, his voice becoming breathless. “Or find something more comfortable...but the same colour.”

“You like it?”

“It’s different…” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d pick something like this.”

“A change is as good as any…” She mumbled indifferently.

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead gently. “Not always…” He whispered, hoping she knew what he meant. When he pulled away, her mouth returned to his tip, sucking on the edge gently while her hand curled around his base. Without warning, he felt himself let go, his orgasm coming in sharp and taking them both by surprise as he ejaculated a thin, long stream against her face, his groan brief and low, reverberating in his throat. There was a moment of silence as she blinked beneath her glasses, the frames obscured by the substance which covered them.

“Well at least you didn’t get it in my eye…” She said, expression unreadable.

A timid grin crept onto his face as he reached forward guiltily. “I’m sorry…” He took off her glasses and slowly placed them on the bedstand, beside the copy of Carrie, before returning to her. Biting the inside of his cheek at the straight look on her face, he wiped her cheeks with her thumb, brushing his semen from her face and wiping it on the front of his t-shirt.

“If you keep cumming on my face and tits, I’ll never be a mother.” She mumbled drily.

It was too much, and he snapped his head back in laughter as she followed shortly after, chest heaving beneath her push-up bra as she slowly sat up, her back aching a little from staying in the same position for too long. He watched as she got to her knees and gestured to the corner of his mouth with a small smile.

“Oh…” She realised with a blush.

“I really am sorry.” He admitted, shaking his head softly as she wiped the edge of her mouth. He wondered what else he could possibly say, but before he could, she pushed her fingertips between her lips, sucking the ends as she met his gaze cooly.

RM (& Ji-eun)

He had been in a bad mood all evening, but she thought taking a shower together might lighten him up, before his return to the base the next day. The hotel was cosy and intimate, a nice change from the white walls and stark prints of their shared apartment, but his mind had been elsewhere. She knew he had used up all of his vacation days and tried to reassure him that the rest of his time in service would pass quickly; that they would be together again before his birthday in the Autumn.

She had gone commando, but so far, he hadn’t noticed. Slipping off her black dress, she took his hand and stepped into the shower, turning on the stream of water as she got to her knees. In spite of, or perhaps because of his frustration, she found him to be hard when she took him in her warm mouth, moving slowly down his length and cupping his balls gently in her palm. They felt softer than she remembered, and she moved along them slowly, teasing them lightly with the tips of her manicured fingernails as she sucked him; the water from the shower cascading across her spine and over her dark hair which she tied back, using the band around her wrist to keep it from her face.

His sighs were gentle as he closed his eyes against the stream, splashing water across his cheeks and forehead as he tried to enjoy himself, his girlfriend’s mouth as loving as it ever was, and just as talented as she moaned around him, her voice sending gentle vibrations through his body.

She scratched along his thighs, attempting to work him up but being careful not to hurt him as the water continued to flow over their naked bodies, a few stray strands of hair starting to come loose and sticking to her forehead as she continued her motions. Her jaw began to ache and she realised how long this had been going on for. Suddenly, without warning, she felt Namjoon’s hand press against her shoulder, squeezing it to get her attention.

“Stand up…” He murmured. Opening her eyes to look at him, she complied with his request, treading slowly so as not to slip against the porcelain base as she straightened up. She felt his hands on her hips, grasping her firmly and spinning her around to face the wall. Her cheek pressed against the cold tiles and she let out a startled gasp at the unexpected change in temperature as he pushed against her, holding her still. It took her a moment to realise what he was doing and she heard the low, frustrated grunts coming from over her shoulder before she felt his motions against her, his hard cock pressed against her lower back as he jerked himself roughly. Her nipples felt as hard as stones as they connected with the wall, his spare hand keeping her still as he finished, quickly, against the round flesh of her arse, with a groan. His seed was warm as it trickled down her thigh, and he promptly let go of her, his breath ragged and uneasy as he came slowly down from his high.

“I’m sorry…” He murmured, voice low as he stepped back.

The lines of her forehead wrinkled in a solemn frown, she turned to face him, reaching behind to wipe herself clean and running her hand under the tap. “I don’t think I liked that…” Her voice came out a little shaky; baffled and a little put out, as she watched him breathe in heavily, his gaze fixed ashamedly on the floor, wondering what had come over him. “You could have just said if it wasn’t working for you.” She continued, brushing the remainder of the tap water from her eyes as she pushed open the shower door.

“I’m sorry…” He repeated quietly.

Steam filled the otherwise bright room, and he followed Ji-eun’s form as she stepped out of the shower and walked, naked, into the adjoining bedroom, searching through her small suitcase for a towel. Turning back to the wall, he switched off the tap and silently waited for his breath to finally slow. As he watched the last of the water drain down the plug; he contemplated what he had done, the look of hurt on his girlfriend’s face and felt like the world’s biggest arsehole.

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

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mandadoration · 4 years

Text

know your place

summary: Mando catches you with intentions to turn you in for your bounty, but you’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with someone like him. You’re determined to make the Mandalorian beg.

word count: 5, 128

pairing: mandalorian x smuggler!reader

warnings: slight dub-con elements (aphrodisiac), non-consenual drug use, smut, handjob, sub!mando, use of bondage, mentions of drugs, praise kink, thigh riding, dirty talking, teeny tiny pain kink, explicit sex

a/n: I guess I really have a thing for his cuffs? Also, don’t ask me where this fic is in terms of timeline- I have no idea.

“She’s dangerous,” Greef Karga warns. “You aren’t the first bounty to have gone after her, but I trust you’ll be the last.” He slides a fob and puck over the table.

“What is it that makes her so dangerous?” Mando asks. He views your puck. You aren’t particularly threatening. Hell, you’re even smiling brightly as the hologram of your face spins around. If he’s being honest, Mando wouldn’t have pegged you for a criminal. A farmgirl, maybe, or some handmaiden to some nobility in the Core Worlds. “She’s just a spice runner, right?”

“All spice variants. And death sticks, snuff, sweetblossom, rissle stick, slick,” Karga adds on. “That’s not even all of it. If you can smuggle it, she’s got it.” His tone is unusually serious. It’s no wonder why; this bounty is definitely one of the higher ones. The price tag on her head was lucrative. It’s enough for a month or two’s worth of rations, and then some.

“Really? That many?” Mando asks. “Sounds dangerous.” Most smugglers only chose to smuggle one or two things at a time. It was much too risky to try and transport so much across the galaxy. And by the sounds of it, this bounty sounds like she’s practically supplying half the galaxy. Maker knows how many other criminals she knows. “How’d she survive this long?” Karga shrugs.

“The other hunters refuse to talk,” he explains. “And those are the ones that have come back.” Mando watches your hologram bust rotate, your dazzling smile making you look deceptively innocent. He takes you puck and the tracking fob.

“I’ll bring her back,” he says. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Of course you knew that at some point, the infamous Mandalorian would be coming after you. Several people from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had tried to cash you in, but you wouldn’t let them. So when you had caught word that he had your puck, you had been on guard immediately. You make far too good of a living to give it up.

But the Mandalorian?

That’s going to be a challenge.

You’ve heard about him in your little (well, not little) criminal circles, watching as some of your clients have been picked up by him. You’re always quick to leave at any sign of trouble. You didn’t become a major supplier of drugs by being careless, stars, no. That’s why when you’re supplying high quality spice to some big wig, you’re swathed in layers of servant’s robes as you stealth through the town, scarf over the lower half of your face.

You make sure that as you go through the city, you keep an eye out for any shiny piece of armor, making sure you bat your eyelashes at vendors and practically sashay through town, keeping a hand under your clothes, where your package was disguised as a pregnant belly. An old trick, but more effective than people would think, especially if you were in a less-fortunate part of town. You’ve even gotten some credits from sympathetic nannies who coo about your faux-baby in the past. You aren’t going to complain. You guess it does look weird when you go to a club to meet your client though.

The guard at the door recognizes you, of course, and you nod at him as you slip through the back door. “Slythmonger,” he grunts. Just because you knew each other doesn’t mean he thought that you were lowly, especially when he eyes your fake belly.

The club is filled with barely-clothed aliens and humans alike, all sickly sweet smiles and big eyes. You stick out like a sore thumb even more, but your clothes blend in with the dark. As you walk through the club, sticking close to the walls, you slip deathsticks to familiar customers who slip you credits in return. You get to a closed off room, knock three times, and slide in, squeezing your belly as you do.

And you stop.

Because your client is staring at you with wide eyes as the Mandalorian sits across from him. If you thought you were out of place, the Mando looks like it even more, shiny beskar stark against the velvet cushions. You immediately slide your expression into one of anger, narrowing your eyes.

“Honey,” you grit out, glaring at your client who gives you a look of confusion. You huff and put a hand on your belly, rubbing it as if you were really with child. “What did you do this time?” You motion to the Mandalorian. At this point, you can hope that your scarf covers your face well enough, and that your client will be smart enough to catch on.

“What?” he asks stupidly. Apparently not.

You slowly stick your hand into a side pouch containing magic powder as you advance to your client.

“You obviously did something, sweetie,” you say, voice low, “if a Mandalorian is here.” You see the Mando tilt his head as he looks at you. You eye him from the side. “Are you with the guild?” you ask him, voice dripping with false fear, protectively covering the package. He gets up, and you tense, but he pulls out a puck and activates it, showing your face. And suddenly you’re glad for the loud, pulsing music because if it had been quiet, the tracking fob you’re sure he holds would be beeping loud and clear.

“I’m looking for her,” Mando says. “She delivers spice to your… husband here,” he says. “Have you seen her?” Either he’s a really good actor, or you’re a better one than him and have him fooled. You gasp and whirl to face your client.

“Spice?” you hiss at him, who honestly looks more scared at you than he did at the Mandalorian. “You’re doing spice?”

“Um, yes?” he stammers out. You sob dramatically, turning away as you try to scan for more exits. Looks like the door you came in is the only one, unless you can somehow fly up and go through the vents before the bounty hunter can snag you.

“I cannot believe this!” you cry out. “I’m due in a month! A month! And you’re out here doing drugs.” Your wailing makes Mando wince. “Where’s the money?” you demand. Your client scrambles to dump out the credits onto a nearby table and you scoop them out and count quickly. “So this is where it goes?” you screech. You tuck them away. The most he could do was pay you for the horrific acting you had to do, pretending that he was your husband. “I was reluctant for you to even start up this… this harem!” you say, motioning to the dark room and the door. “But I draw the line here!” You turn to slap your client, but in the middle of your theatrics, your fake belly drops down and out under your skirt, spilling carefully measured bags of spice all over the floor. The room falls silent as you stare, and turn back to look at the Mandalorian.

“Oh dear,” you say weakly, “the baby.” And you blow a handful of powder into his face, ripping off your servant garb and dumping it over his helmet. Although it wouldn’t as potent with the helmet on, you can disorient him. You burst through the door and sprint out of the club and side door, ignoring a very disgruntled guard as you dash into the streets.

“Get back here!” you hear him shout. Shit, he got out that faster than you thought, but at least the powder worked somewhat. He ran straight into a cart as he left the alley. But you have no time to gloat.

You dart through the annoyed crowd, and you can track where the Mandalorian is from how fast the people part behind you. As you run, you dig in your pockets for anything you can use. You curse when you realize that your only syringe was empty, and you didn’t have a replacement medshot. And you really didn’t want to waste your last vial of love-wallop. That shit was expensive on the market right now. You skid into another alley way, but you go cold as you realize it’s a dead end. You don’t stop running, even as the wall gets closer. At the end, you can see a door on the left. If you got there in time, you did have--

You trip when something tangles around your legs. You yelp as you go down, palms scraping against the dirt. Scrambling back, it tugs on you, and the Mando drags you closer to him.

“Nice acting,” he says, his voice rough behind the modulator. He’s out of breath and taking deep inhales. “Almost had me.” You scowl, and he throws cuffs at your feet, keeping his blaster trained on you. “Cuff yourself.”

Glaring at him, you untangle your legs from the wire he used and snatch the cuffs up. There’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught without a fight. He’s watching you carefully, but you’re fast, faster than him at least, and you chuck the cuffs at him and blow another handful of powder in his face. As he doubles over in pain and disoriented from another dose, you kick his blaster out of his hand and expertly dump your vial into the syringe, and tackle him, climbing on his back as you grit your teeth and try to find a patch of skin. He tries to buck you off, but you stab your needle into his neck before he can. Mando yells in alarm and does eventually manage to throw you off, but it’s working fast, and soon he’s swaying on his feet.

“What... what did you--” he slurs, but he tips over before he can finish. You huff as you toss the empty vial and syringe aside. It shatters as it hits the wall and you crouch down next to him. Mando reaches up, but you simply push his hand back down. He’s too weak to fight back. “What’d you put in me?” You purse your lips.

“Love-Wallop serum,” you answer. “That was expensive, Mando. That’s gonna cost you.” You admire his get-up. If that was really beskar he was wearing, you could afford to hide out for months while you gather more supplies and lie low. “It’s not usually meant to be injected,” you hum, grasping his helmet and tilting it as it glints in the sunlight. “Although, maybe I can change the formula a teensy bit.” You peer at the injection site. It’s a little irritated from the rough jab, but it fades away as a flush creeps up his neck.

“I thought…” Maker, his mouth is dry, and he feels floaty as the serum works through his system. “I thought you were just a slythmonger.” You chuckle.

“When you’re in this trade for as long as I have,” you say, leaning in close, “you learn a thing or two.” You watch as he moans and attempts to get up. A simple nudge discourages him as he plops back on the ground with a soft thud.“Now, how am I gonna get you out of here?” you murmur.

The last thing he sees is your frowning face as you get up to pat the dust off of you.

When Mando finally comes to, his head his aching, and he’s burning up, an ache deep and low in his gut. He’s sees you lounging casually across from him with a watchful eye. Mando jerks and tries to reach for his blaster, but his hands are tied above his head. With his own cuffs, magnetized and stuck to the wall.

This is what they call irony, he supposes.

A quick glance tells him that he’s in some kind of hideout, junk and trinkets lining the wall, and a pile of crates pushed up against another. It’s dim, the only source of light being a lamp next to a cot and what little sunlight that’s being mostly blocked by curtains. He shifts, and realizes all his gear has been stripped from him, including his vambraces and armor so that he’s left in his shirt and pants. Not even his boots are on him. He worries for a quick second in this moment of disorientation that his helmet’s been taken off when you speak up.

“Your helmet is still on, don’t worry,” you say, shifting legs so that one is crossed over the other. You’re not stupid, after all. “What’s your name?” Mando doesn’t speak, but instead scans the room for anything that could help him get out of this situation. There’s a door or some kind of hatch in the far left corner, and another to what he thinks is the refresher, but everything surrounding him is moved far out of his reach in every direction. “Let me ask you again,” you say cooly. You get up, and run your boot up his leg, sending tingles up it and up his spine as he lets out a soft groan. “Tell me your name,” you say, sweetly.

“Din. Din Djarin,” he gasps out before he can stop himself. It’s hot. Much too hot in here even though he sees that you’re wearing a leather jacket to protect yourself from the slight chill. He’s aching, and he wants to dig his hands into your soft flesh.

Where did that thought come from?

“Well, Din Djarin,” you say, and it should be illegal how sinful his name sounds coming from you. “You’re gonna be my little experiment. How about that?” you murmur. You crouch down next to his and rub your thumb on his upper thigh. He bucks up into the air, and you hum when you notice the bulge in his pants.

“What did you put in me?” he grits out, straining against his cuffs. You remove your hand and get back up, and Mando has to bite back the whine that threatens to leave him at the loss of contact. You take off your jacket, sling it over a chair, and pick up a vial of shimmering pink liquid.

“Love-Wallop,” you answer. “It’s usually in a pill form, but my customers complained it took too long to dissolve, so I made it into a serum.” You glance at it and then to him, rolling the vial in your fingers. “Although I am starting to wonder if I can safely make it for injection.”

“You roofied me?” he asks. You make a face.

“No!” you protest. You huff and roll your eyes. “What it’s supposed to do is make you more… susceptible to suggestion and seduction,” you continue. You place the vial down on a table and squat down next to him, and run a warm hand up his shirt. “Enhance what’s already there,” you continue. “You’re burning up,” you note, and use your other hand to palm him through his pants. He lets out a low moan, grinding up against your hand.

“Yeah?” he groans, “That’s what happens when-- stars -- you get drugged.” You laugh, and pull your hands away, laughing harder when he struggls against his bonds to follow you.

“I guess you’re right,” you say amusedly. You reach for your jacket. “Shall I leave you here?” you ask coquettishly. “Let you ride out this little drug trip? Mind you, I don’t know how long it lasts or what happens when you don’t deal with... this,” you warn. You dig the heel of your boot on his erection, just barely enough pressure, but enough to tease him, to make your point. But a moan drags itself from his mouth. His head rolls back, and you’re willing to bet your entire stash of alderaanian snuff that his eyes are rolling back as well. You kneel down to unbuckle his pants and slide them over his hips, grinning when he subconsciously lifts his hips to help you. Maker, you wish you could just snatch that helmet off of him, see who it was and stick your fingers in his mouth. You think that he must have the softest lips, judging from how sweet every sound he makes is.

But you aren’t that cruel.

You are, however, cruel enough to pull his cock from his underclothes and let it go, watching it as it bounces up and leans against his belly. The trail of hair that leads up his hair only fuels your desire to see if the curtain matches the drapes. You absentmindedly rub the tip of cock with a single finger, smearing precum around as it twitches under your touch. You sigh dramatically and wipe your finger on his stomach before getting up, knees cracking as you turn away.

“But you’re right!” you say. “You’re drugged, and I shouldn’t help you anyways, Din Djarin.” You voice drops to a whisper. “Even though I would very much love to help you and your little problem.”

“You can’t- You can’t leave me here,” Mando protests, voice raspy and thick with desire as he eyes your figure. He feels hotter than ever, and sweat is dripping down his neck. You swing your leather jacket back on and turn to face him with hands on your hips.

“Of course I can,” you say. You lick your lips as you drink in how desperate he looks. If it were anyone else, you would leave them, but this Mandalorian intrigues you. Maybe you can… Just this once… “But I will reconsider,” you propose, “if you ask nicely.”

“You expect me to beg?”

“I expect you to ask nicely,” you correct, but your face splits into a feral grin. “But begging would be nice.” Mando doesn’t speak. He’s mulling it over, considering the pros and cons of ‘asking you’ to help him. The need is bubbling in his belly, and his cock is painfully hard. And you know it. Even if you can’t feel what he’s going through, he’s telegraphing his thoughts as he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, squirming where he’s sitting on the ground of wherever he is and canting his hips towards you. “What do you say?” you ask, the smile on your face reminiscent of the one on the puck, bright, but with an edge that screams predatory. He wants to, Maker knows how much he feels like he needs you, but his pride--

“No.”

-- gets the better of him.

As soon as he says it, as soon as he sees your face drop and harden, he regrets it, he wants so desperately to please you, but he bites his tongue and keep quiet, even as his breath comes in pants as he’s thrusting into the air. You tilt your head, frowning. You want to ruin him, make him come apart under your hands; you probably want this as much as he does, but instead you shrug.

“Okay.” And you sit down back in your seat in front of him, legs spread as you watch him.

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Mando asks. He burns with shame under your gaze, and his cock twitches again. You shake your head.

“No,” you say. “I said that you were going to be my little experiment,” you remind him. “I make good on promises, Din Djarin” and give him a sly wink. Mando grits his teeth, and directs his gaze somewhere else, anywhere but your piercing eyes and searching gaze. You hum and lean back. You can wait this out. You’re patient.

This will be interesting.

The sun has set far below the horizon, and Mando’s cock is still hard by the time he finally speaks up.

“Can you…” He clears his throat. He’s absolutely parched, and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Can you let me go?” he asks. You look up from where you have been mindlessly scrolling through your data pad.

“Hm?”

“Can you let me go?” he repeats. You furrow your eyebrows.

“And why would I do that?” you ask. You put your data pad on the table next to you and get up to stand next to him, looking down. Mando scrambles for an excuse in his rattled brain. He’s pretty sure with the way his temperature is soaring his brain is fried by now.

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he says, and cringes with how unconvincing it sounds, even to him. “And have other things to do.” He doesn’t think too long on that, though, because you take a seat next to him and he catches a whiff of your scent, and he’s yearning for your touch again. He wants you so bad, or your hand, at this point he’ll take anything.

“I am doing something,” you say simply, and lean forward so that you’re leaning against your hand. “Watching you.” You trail a finger up his side. “Waiting. Thinking.”

“Waiting for what?” he breathes.

“Something,” you say with a sigh.

“Thinking about what?”

“How much I would love to wrap my hands around your cock,” you say bluntly, and you scratch your nails down his side. “How I would make you beg for it,” you continue, leaning in close so that you’re right by where his ear would be. “How you would beg for me to fuck you, or beg for my mouth or anything to let you cum.” You slide your hands up his shirt again, palms smooth across his scarred torso, and you tweak a nipple before pulling them back out again, and give his cock one, two, three pumps before you let him go. The lust makes his head cloudy, and at this point, he would let you do anything to him. You lean away from him.

You tease, he thinks. And he can’t take it anymore. His resolve breaks.

“Please,” he whines, and you freeze.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he mutters, but your grin is hungry as you lean back in.

“Say it again,” you command, and once again, he feels the inexplicable need to tell you everything as you scent fills his nose again.

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Oh Din Djarin,” you whisper, and the effect your voice has is devastating, “all you had to do was ask.”

Mando nearly cums right then and there when your unyielding grip wraps around his cock, stroking him in long, tight motions as you swing your leg over him to get a better angle. The pleasure is overwhelming. You reach over him, somewhere he can’t see, and you pull out a vibroblade and point it at the base of his throat. His pulse quickens, thinking that you’re about to slit his throat, but instead you catch the top of his shirt and slice it off. You throw the blade over your shoulder and you run your free hand all over his tanned skin. He growls when you twist your hand, and he bucks up.

“You’re doing so good,” you moan, grinding against his muscled thigh as it flexes. “So good, Din Djarin,” and it’s true. Although you can’t see his face, you see how his chest is flushed and warm, the blush crawling up his neck, and the way he moans is beautiful. “I wish I could keep you,” you mutter, and hiss when you rub your clit just right against him. “Stars, you’d let me do anything to you, hm?” You kiss his chest and start peppering little nips and bites up his neck, sucking a particularly dark mark right on his pulse point. “Answer me.” You cup his balls and stare at him.

“Yes,” Mando gasps. He’s nearly sobbing from the pleasure, the relief of finally having his cock touched overwhelmingly good, and preening under your murmured praises. “A-anything, fuck, just don’t-don’t stop please--!” His words are choked out as he suddenly cums all over your hand, thick, white ropes coating it and splashing onto your jacket. You don’t stop stroking him, grinding against him as he cums, and the sound he makes is pitiful. It’s only when you cum, white-hot pleasure making your ears ring as you finally stop moving against his thigh, and you’re both heaving in breaths. You pull away, and wipe your cum covered hands in the scraps of his ruined shirt, and you get up to leave, but then you stop when your eyes trail down.

“Are you still hard?” you ask him incredulously. He came so much, but yes, there it is, his cock is still hard and nearly purple at the tip. As if you didn’t do anything at all. The little noise he makes only further confirms it. You gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at his marked chest and neck, and you think that you have another one in you.

Definitely.

And so now you’re shucking off your jacket and unbuckling your belt, slick with desire. Mando is watching you, following your movements and watching as your deft hands push down your pants and kicking off your boots. As you sink down, taking his cock in one fluid motion, and the scientist in you vaguely wonders if the dose of love-wallop you gave him could be transferred via bodily fluids.

That thought is kicked out of your brain as he snaps his hips up and hits that spot inside of you, going deep and so wonderful and it feels like he’s punched the breath out of you. You gasp out a breathy moan.

“Holy shit,” Mando hisses. He manages to get his feet under him, giving him better leverage to thrust into your pussy, watching as you bounce on top of him.

“Yes, yes,” you moan. You hold onto his shoulder, all hard muscle and tensed with how he’s pulling at his cuffs to make sure he doesn’t slip. Mando wishes that he could wind his hand through your hair and pull your head back, to bare your neck and mark you, but his hands are still above his head, and he’s sure he’s rubbed his wrists raw. Your toes curl as he fucks you, eyes glazing over as you spy your reflection in his helmet, and your eyes widen when you see how debauched you look. “Din Djarin, I am never letting you leave,” you groan, rubbing your clit. “Stars, your- your cock,” you yelp at a particularly hard thrust, “fuck!” With your free hand, the one not preoccupied with playing with your clit, you dig your nails into his shoulder for leverage, and dig harder still when he moans in response.

“Do you- Do you do this to all the hunters?” he manages to gasp out, and you shake your head. “Do you let them, let them do this to you? Fuck you?”

“Just you,” you say. “Only you.”

The squelching that fills the otherwise silent room is absolutely disgusting, his hips slapping up against yours, your shirt still covered in his cum. You’re beautiful like this, he thinks, or at least tries to, but all he can do is try and commit the image of you, flushed and hair messy, as you bounce up and down to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling your hips now and then, his mind too jumbled to form worthwhile thoughts.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Soon, shit, if you keep doing that I’m--”

“Cum,” you breath out, face twisted up in pleasure. There’s coil deep in your core that’s been winding up, and you know you’re close to making it snap. “Cum in me.” And he’s consumed with the desire to listen and hang on to your every word, and he cums. That does it for you too, the feeling of him filling you up, and you grind against him as you nearly wail with pleasure as you orgasm, rubbing your clit in fast, small circles, pleasure rolling through you in waves.

When you finally come down, Mando is gasping for breath as he slumps back down, and you pry your iron grip from him and get up, his soft cock slipping out of you, but you think you see it twitch again as cum drips out of you. As you pad to the refresher, Mando is overcome with sleepiness and exhaustion. He’s been wound up for hours, he sure, that when he finally got his release, his energy is spent. Mando nearly dozes off when you come back with a warm, wet rag, and wipe your cum and his from his body. You wipe the sweat around his neck, running it gently over the crescent-shaped marks from where you had dug your nails in, and he’s taken aback from how tender and gentle you are with him. There’s a soft look to your face as you’re focused on cleaning him up to the best of your abilities, and he thinks that you’re not even aware he’s looking at you. When you pull away, he yearns for your touch, but in a different way this time, and you give him a small smile.

“Sleep,” you command him, and he tries to commit this image in his mind, not the one before, of you in the warm light of the lamp in the corner, glowing with the drips of moonlight filtering in, and once again he listens to what you say, and closes his eyes.

Mando wakes up with a start, neck sore, and he scrambles up when he realizes he’s no longer cuffed, and remembers the events of the night before, dropping the blanket that had been placed over him.

The hot desire that had consumed him is gone now, and instead his legs and arms are aching, wrists raw and irritated like he knew it would be, and he looks around for you.

But any trace that you were there before are gone.

The crates of drugs, your leather jacket and pants, hell, even the furniture and lamp that was in the corner are gone. All that’s left is his armor and a replacement shirt next to him. When he bends down to pick up the shirt, a little jar tumbles out. He reads the label.

Salve, it reads, in what he presumes is your handwriting. For Din Djarin. Compensation for partaking in my experiment. He cracks a grin and puts it back on the floor, pulling the shirt over his head and starts the process of buckling his armor on again, trying to ignore how disappointment rises in him when the tracking fob linked to your chain code doesn’t even let out a single blip. Before he puts on his gloves and vambrace, he smears the salve over his wrists, and watches as the irritation almost immediately disappears. It works better than most commercial brands, he notes, and much better than the one in his medpack, so he tucks it away for future use, then freezes as he pats his pockets. He curses when he realizes.

You had taken all his credits.

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