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banqdanfnfic · 3 years

Text

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

1K notes · View notes

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys. I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law. Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her. The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time. She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street. Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl. Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years. To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning. And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume. However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment. When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things. The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado. These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in. The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today. I’m the maid of honour. I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath. Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her. What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright. Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice. We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again. It could be a day, or it could be five. If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment. In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old. They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails. From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild. Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused. Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop. Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice. To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur. Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce. Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD. Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack. In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name. It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer. She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N! Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point! I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go! A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already. There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours. She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out. I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands. I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine. We can work around this. We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking. The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room. When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you doing here?” She demands. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour. And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not? It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor. Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her. Alright. So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal. But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything. Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life. While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah. That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened. Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod. She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So? He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her. She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes. We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through. Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room. When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear. If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go. Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks. As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car. Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist. I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car? You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes. Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours. Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts. Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message. Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction. Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright? Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody. Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait. She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her. She knows she shouldn’t take it. And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening. Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N. Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car. Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him. But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them. Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything. However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there. She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt. Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language. You don’t really want him. He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant. Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting his time, too. Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type. Right. What is my type, then? What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road. With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel. Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window. Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own. He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that. And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right? Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date. But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine. But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday. Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail. Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks. She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks. If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment. His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago. Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been. Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself. When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left. It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N. The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms. I got one room left. Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together. No way in hell. They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff. If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which. Now do you want to share the room with him or not? If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own. She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height. When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right. To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned. However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder. She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly. To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in. The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas. Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college. Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N! How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day? Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert? Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass. He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly. If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear. It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it? He named it, Jo. He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating? Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too. I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person. You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that. But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone. On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence. Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated. There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive. Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle. His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes. Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again. For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable. His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips. His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground. He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder. He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest. Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala. His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles. Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot. She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse. I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face. Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it? Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner. Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it. And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason. It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears. Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know. However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites. She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes. There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds. I’m not a fan of big crowds, really. Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff? Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them. Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other. As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile. His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile. It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same. Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight. And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her. Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort. Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle. She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner. The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before. I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really? Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway. If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter. The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower. Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it. She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting. He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back. And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else. Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while. Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory. Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern. Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop. Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them. She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop. Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach. Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen. She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach. Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her. It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly. She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No. I wish something had happened to you. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough. Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice. While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief. Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted. When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table. She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel. She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato. Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips. It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film. As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in. Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID. She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh, alright. Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip? I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though. And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N. Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind. Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day. I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with? Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him. Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t. All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone. Why had she done that, she wonders? She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once. When she talked about the wedding, probably. As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding? About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life? Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read. Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth. She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her. She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado. That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead. Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call. The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call. She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true. She hadn’t lied. And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care? It’s just Harry. There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again. Things are different between them. There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks. They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that. So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right. Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands. He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs. His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning. You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before. Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip. As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel. It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment. The silence between them. It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension. It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion. One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough. I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality. Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering. The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose. I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior. She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes? Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong? It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry! Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal. Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral. While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry. Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him? You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air. It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to. We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you. It’s supposed to be a joke. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends. I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips. His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment. Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way. Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does. It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives. Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes. It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends. Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then. Let’s go.”

…

“Hello! My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away. Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable. After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard. Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together. She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry? Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue. They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news. Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please. And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen. A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before. There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him. Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand. Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately. It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right. Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine. Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them. His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse. His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here. I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away. When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty. I thought it was wrong. I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it. And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same. There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best. If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you. I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me. I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world. I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt. I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were. I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible. I promise to love, period. I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her. Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words. The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you. ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel. ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close. I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing. The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want. I want us to be permanent to each other. Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart. Committing to you isn’t any trouble. It’s as easy as breathing. I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us. I love you, permanently. I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out. I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that. I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you. You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it. I love you permanently, Laure. I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table. She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right. They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face. His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows? I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

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rosesdrabbleblog · 3 years

Text

I’m Having Sex With A Ghost

Pairing: Ghostbur x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, cursing, 18+ content, wholesomeness?

Notes: Ghostbur my beloved, how is this the first time I write for you? Sex With a Ghost fits his vibes a lot and I just had to use it.

You were sitting in your armchair reading one of your various novels when you heard a rapping at your door. You set the book down on your table gently before walking to the door, opening it. You were a little shocked when you were greeted by Ghostbur, the sweet ghost man who wandered the streets of L’Manburg. While you hadn’t known him when he was alive, you were almost glad from stories you had heard.

You had moved to L’Manburg shortly after the country had been nearly blown up. “It was Wilbur” various residents had told you, “he went mad and blew it up.” You never heard of him before this, which is why you were confused when people regarded Ghostbur as a friend and sort of ally. When you asked why they did if he was the same person, they would either shrug it off or state that they were different people. The whole thing confused you greatly.

You first introduction to Ghostbur was when you saw him struggling to lead a blue sheep around. You went over to offer your help before realizing you could see through the man. Startled, you had backed away and tripped on something, falling onto the ground with a pained cry. The man whipped around at the sound, looking at you with worry. “Oh dear, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes wide. Still in a bit of shock, you nodded and got up slowly, regarding the site in front of you.

From his transparency, you assumed he had to be a ghost. Despite this, you could see his features clearly. His hair was on the shirt side and curly, a soft brown color. His eyes were white, which was something that would catch anyone off guard. He wore a light yellow sweater with a white buttoned shirt. Despite behind afraid of him at first, you now began to realize he was actually rather cute.

Sensing you were a bit startled, he smiled widely and offered a hand. “Hello! I’m Ghostbur! I don’t know if I knew you when I was alive, so apologies if that’s an issue. I seem to have some memory problems since my passing,” he said almost sadly. Before you could get a word in, he continued, “oh! Here, take some of this!” The ghost offered a small blue material, which was a bit confusing. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Have some blue! How it works is it pulls the sadness out of you!” he explained cheerily. You looked at the dyed material in your hands, wondering why it was already blue. The blue staining his hands explained why that was the case.

Since that moment, he regarded you as a friend. He introduced you to his blue sheep whom he had named Friend, and you even offered to put up a small area for him. Ghostbur acted like that was the kindest thing someone had done for him, and he cheerily showed Friend the area. When he had to travel and hand out blue, he left Friend with you. You had taken a liking to the blue sheep, feeding it and keeping it company whenever Ghostbur was away. Your life felt a lot less lonely with the two around.

You smiled at the ghost on your doorstep, “hello Ghostbur! What brings you here today?” You took in his sight, noticing he was holding something behind his back. After a moment, the man moved his hands and showed that he was holding an array of flowers. Not the kind you would purchase from a store or vendor, but the ones that were picked just for you. You noticed that the array had many of your favorite flowers in it. You couldn’t remember if you even told him what your favorites were or not.

“I wanted to bring my friend some flowers! Friend is not with me today, but he misses you greatly,” he said with a smile. You took the flowers from him gently, returning the smile. “Aw, that’s awfully sweet of you Ghostbur. Would you like to come in and have some tea?” you offered. The man nodded, and you stepped aside to let him in. The young man floated slowly into your house, looking at all the intricate things you had in your various bookcases. His hands running softly over volumes of novels, whispering the names to himself. Ghostbur loved books, and you often found you were missing books when he came by. How he got away with it without you nothing, you never knew.

He turned to you, a shy expression on his face. Realizing why he looked confused, you gestured to the couch, which he sat down on. You stared a bit too long, trying to figure out how a ghost could sit on the couch like that. Nevertheless, you went to your kitchen and began making tea.

As you made the two of you a cup of tea, you could hear the clap of excitement followed by the strum of a guitar. It seemed he found your guitar by the closet. Soon the random string plucking turned into a tune that seemed almost nostalgic. You had never heard it before, but it was quite lovely. You took the two cups of newly made tea and walked back into your living room. Ghostbur sat on your couch, fingers gliding over the strings of your guitar. His face scrunched as he concentrated on getting the notes right, letting out a small “fuck” every time he messed up.

He glanced up at you after a moment, blinking at you as he continued playing. Soon, he he began to sing along to the tune he was playing. You couldn’t really hear what the lyrics were, as he was singing them so softly, but you didn’t mind one bit. He suddenly stopped, staring at the guitar for a moment before starting again. Ghostbur began playing a differ song, his voice now loud enough for you to catch a few of the lyrics.

“I'm gettin' hickeys from my bed bugs

I'm gettin' busy with a bad perfume

I'm stickin' kisses to a pen drug

I'm makin' friction with a sad vacuum.”

You set down his cup of tea in front of him, and he stopped playing it again to grab at it. As he drank the tea, you really began questioning how ghosts worked. You sipped yours as well, finishing it quickly and setting it onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Ghostbur set his down as well, looking into his lap as he held onto the guitar.

“Wil-Ghostbur, why are you here?” you asked. The flowers he had given you now sat in a large vase on the dining room table, right by a window for light. The man looked up, a slight blush on his cheeks. You didn’t expect him to answer. “I- I feel that the two of us have gotten awfully close. Now, I can’t remember if I had any affairs when I was alive...wait no, there was Sally,” he said, his words trailing off after he remembered he had a fish mistress at one point. You weren’t sure if that story was even true, but hell, you had met Fundy. That made the fish story even more confusing. “I can’t remember anything about kissing from when I was alive, but I do think I would like to do it with you,” he continued as he took one of your hands into his.

I'm getting jiggy with a rifle I'll pull the trigger with my eyes closed Hoping to hit you somewhere vital And when I miss, you come and kiss me with a smile

You were a bit shocked at that. Ghostbur didn’t seem the type to want physical affection like that, but then again, he was an ever changing man due to memory loss. You paused before responding, “I think...I think I would like that too.” And with that, Ghostbur leaned over and kissed you. His lips were cold, not like ice, but more like the air of a crisp October morning. One of his hands made its way to your check, clutching it lovingly. You practically melted into him. You pulled away to take a deep breath, and you laughed quietly at how flustered he looked. Well, as flustered as a pale ghost would look. You could swear you could see his cheeks reddening, but you hadn’t the time to double check because he pushed you into the couch, latching his mouth onto yours again hungrily.

You felt his hands rest at the side of your shirt, and he pulled away panting to ask “can I? Please?” You nodded, grimacing as he almost tore your shirt right off. Ghostbur did nearly the same to your pants, his fingers shaky as he unzipped your pants and threw them off the couch onto the floor.

Ghostbur began to tease you through your underwear, “look at you...so beautiful...” he whispered to himself as he tore them off after just a few moments. He sunk a finger into you gently, watching you intently to make sure you were still okay with everything. “Let me know if I need to slow down, love,” he said softly, his finger pulling out before being pushed back in. You nodded, letting out a small moan. He kept at this for a moment before sticking a second one in, expertly thrusting them into you and hitting all the spots that made you whine.

I'm havin' sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a

Sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a ghoul

Ghostbur began thrusting them into you at a faster pace, desperate to see you cum. His own pants were tight as he watched you come apart on his fingers. They finally reached the spot that made you cry out, and his eyes lit up as he realized. He kept thrusting them there until you nearly sobbed out “Ghostbur, I’m gonna-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence before you came on his fingers, hiding your face in the couch. You panted out as he slowly removed his fingers, and looked up to find him licking at them with a face of pure lust and bliss. He removed his own pants and boxers at once, desperate to be inside you. You could see how desperate he was, watching his hard cock spring out. You reached out and stroked it slowly as he unbuttoned his white shirt, smiling as he let out the neediest whimper. He threw the last of his clothes onto the floor, moving your hand off of his cock gently. “Please, need to be inside you, I need you..” he whimpered out, positioning himself at your entrance. You moaned as he thrust against you a couple of times before his cock sunk into you. You gasped at the intrusion while he let out a whine, clutching at you desperately as he stilled, letting you get adjusted. Not even a minute later, you rolled your hips against him, “please, please move Ghostbur.”

The man pulled out of you before thrusting in again, whimpering out, “god, you’re so tight, love. I just- fuck you feel so good around me.” Ghostbur began to thrust into you harder, leaning down and biting at your neck. You moaned into his ear, not caring about the bruises you’d wear tomorrow. Why would you when he was fucking you so good? One hand gripped at your hip, pulling you into his thrusts while the other grasped at your hand. When you took his hand into yours, he let out a groan and his thrusts became erratic. Ghostbur eventually found that spot he knew made you cry for him, and he pounded into it without a care in the world.

He could feel himself get close, your whimpers and cries for him sending him spiraling down. But he was a gentlemen. He didn’t want to cum until you did. And he knew you were close from the moans you let out. So the hand that was gripping your hip moved down to circle your clit roughly. The pads of his fingers surprised you, and you came before you could warn him. You tightened around him, making the man cry out, “so good for me love, so good. That’s it, that’s it. Milk my cock love... oh fuck.” And with a few more sharp thrusts, he came inside you, moaning into your ear. He continued thrusting as he did, overstimulating the two of you. He nearly collapsed onto the couch, slowly pulling out of you before settling beside you. He stroked your hair, whispering how much he adored you, about how good you did. You fell asleep soon after with a smile.

Ghostbur watched you with interest as you slept. He continued to stroke your hair and whisper to you. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, after all.

You would never know how much the man truly adored you.

#c!wilbur #wilbur soot x reader #ghostbur #ghostbur x reader

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helloalycia · 3 years

Text

teenage dirtbag [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: when you're paired with the most popular girl in your grade for Chemistry class, you definitely don't expect to start liking her like that...

warning/s: none i don't think??

author's note: okay so i have a ton of requests to work through but i got sidetracked and before i knew it, five parts of this imagine were written.

It's based off the song 'Teenage Dirtbag' and idk, i thought it was cute to write! Who doesn't love the popular girl!wanda and loner!reader concept?

Here’s a cover of the song to listen to because i really liked it and a girl sings it so it immediately made the song 10x more gay, just how i like it 🥰

"Are you all comfortable?"

The class stayed silent, watching our Chemistry teacher, Mr. Hale, as he looked to everyone with a raised brow.

"You all like who you're sat with?" he asked again, as if expecting an actual response from someone.

I exchanged questioning glances with my best friend, Y/BF/N, who was sat beside me. It was the first day back in Chemistry class of our final year of high school and we were just waiting to begin.

"Anyone?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah," a few students mumbled in response so we could move on.

He clapped his hands together. "Great! Well, don't get too comfortable because I made a seating chart."

A chorus of groans erupted from the class, including from me and Y/BF/N. Every other class had successfully managed to not give us a seating chart. I'd heard that Mr. Hale was an awkward teacher who hated students (ironically), but I didn't think he'd stoop so low as to pair us with students who weren't our friends. These new seats were also our partners for the rest of the year and were non-negotiable, so any projects or work we did would have to be with our seat buddy. Fun.

Students began to shuffle to their newly-assigned seats reluctantly as Mr. Hale read out the chart. When Y/BF/N left my side, I frowned dramatically, waving goodbye to him.

"Wanda Maximoff, you're now partners with Y/N Y/L/N," said Mr. Hale, making me look up at the mention of my name.

I didn't get chance to register what he'd said as the aforementioned girl soon approached me, settling her bag on the table beside me. I looked up and saw Wanda Maximoff smiling my way before taking a seat on the stool.

Huh. Wanda Maximoff. She was one of the most popular girls in our grade. Everybody loved her, either wanting to be friends with her, be with her or be her. I'd personally never crossed paths with her apart from the few classes we shared. She seemed nice enough, but I guess I had preconceived notions of what she was like since she'd made the very poor decision to date the most obnoxious guy ever. Anyone making decisions that terrible definitely had a flaw.

She had a twin brother, Pietro, who was also in our grade and played on the football team alongside her boyfriend. Her parents were good friends with mine, through mutual friends, I think, as I recalled my mum mentioning 'Mrs. Maximoff's boy' or 'Mrs. Maximoff's girl'. And I remembered when her family moved into our town back in second grade.

Admittedly, Wanda was the star of the show back then, too. We were only kids, but child Y/N wasn't blind. She was the first girl I'd crushed on, an innocent child crush – the crush that made me realise I liked girls. Apart from that, and the fact that she had a locker behind me in the hallway, I never really thought about her.

I glanced behind me, catching Y/BF/N's gaze across the room as he sat beside some other kid. He frowned, implying he wished we were partners, and I knew just how he felt.

Once Mr. Hale finished assigning seats, he gave us five minutes to get to know our new partners as he struggled to find the powerpoint for today's class. If there was anything worse than getting assigned seats, it was ice breakers.

"Er, well, hi," Wanda greeted, turning to face me. Green eyes sparkled brightly behind a friendly smile. "I'm Wanda. But, I mean, we already know each other."

"That we do," I said with a nod, returning her smile. "How're you doing? Your summer go well?"

She ran a hand through her hair, adjusting herself so she was comfortable on her stool. And as she did, a waft of her perfume washed over me and I blinked, trying to ignore how nice it smelled. Floral. Subtle. It suited her.

"Good, yeah," she answered with a nod. "Could have gone on longer for all I care."

I chuckled. "I feel that. I'm definitely not ready to be back."

"Right?" she said with raised brows. "It's gonna take a while to get back into routine, that's for sure. But I guess I did miss seeing my friends everyday."

I hummed in agreement, eyes flickering to Mr. Hale as he attempted to tackle the oncoming stream of animations on his powerpoint. I tried not to laugh as I looked back to Wanda, who clearly noticed the same thing as me and stifled a smile.

"Have you had Mr. Hale before?" I asked, nodding his way.

She shook her head. "Nope. You?"

"Never."

"Sucks that he makes seating charts," she said with a sigh, before realising what she said and looking to me with panicked eyes. "Not that I don't like you or anything–!"

"It's fine, I get it," I cut her off with an amused smile. "I wanted to sit with my friend, too."

She breathed out quietly, a hint of relief in her eyes, and scrunched her nose with an apologetic smile. Okay, yeah, maybe that was kind of cute. Older Y/N wasn't blind either. Wanda Maximoff was beautiful, with long brunette locks and matching hazel eyes that seemed to change from blue to green to brown in a kaleidoscope of colour. A winning smile and soothing voice was enough for anyone to fall for her unintentional charm, but it was purely admiration. Everyone pretty much had a mild crush on her, you'd be stupid not to.

"If we're gonna be working together, d'you wanna get the whole awkward number exchange out the way now?" she asked, half joking, half not.

"I– er– sure," I stumbled out rather carelessly, before cringing internally. Where did that come from?

Thankfully, she didn't seem to pick up on it (or just saved me the embarrassment of acknowledging it) and was already writing her number on a slip of paper. Sliding it my way, she capped her pen and gave me her signature smile.

"Thanks," I said with a nod, accepting the paper and pocketing it. "Can't wait to start those lovely science projects we've got coming up!"

She let out a quiet laugh at my sarcasm. "It'll be fine. You're not dumb, right? So, we'll be fine."

"Can't promise you that," I joked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"Maybe if we–"

But she was cut off when Mr. Hale spoke up loudly, interrupting everyone's conversations.

"Five minutes are up, let's begin!"

I wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing as me – that was not five minutes.

"So it begins...," I mumbled to myself, facing forward.

Wanda breathed out, a stifled laugh, probably having heard my comment, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. Maybe I judged her too harshly. She wasn't actually that bad.

—

Since being paired with Wanda, I was surprised by how much she'd made an effort to befriend me outside of class. We'd always been back to back with our lockers though not quite speaking, but since becoming Chemistry partners, she'd wish me a good morning if she caught me, or greet me briefly as we collected our books.

She didn't have to, but I could see why everybody liked her now. She was just genuinely nice. Due to circumstance, we'd become partners, but rather than leaving it at that, she made a genuine effort to befriend me. And not even just me, but also Y/BF/N, who was at the locker next to mine. He was as surprised as I was, expecting Wanda to mind her own business as we weren't exactly in the same social circles.

This was, I guess you could say, the start of our friendship. And it was a good one at that. I grew to learn how funny she was, how much she loved her brother, the passion she had for art and painting... she was a wonderful person. Which is why I didn't understand why she was with her boyfriend, Nate. He was a grade-A dick and everything Wanda wasn't. How were they a thing?

It sounds like I'm being a bitch and judgemental, but he really is the worst. The few unfortunate times I shared a class with him or caught sight of him around school, he was causing some sort of trouble with the teachers or picking on students in a way that made it seem like a joke but everybody knew it wasn't.

For example, there was a time when Wanda and I were studying for an upcoming Chemistry test we had. We decided to just help each other study since we already worked together in class, so knew we could motivate each other to actually put in the work. It was, maybe, the fourth studying session we had, and I was going over some notes when I felt her eyes watching me.

"You need a hand?" I asked, unable to take the staring any longer. I looked up at her, quirking a brow.

She seemed to fall out of her daydream and straightened up, eyes flickering to mine. "Huh?"

I gave her an awkward smile, unable to maintain her gaze. "You're staring."

She didn't seem fazed as I called her out, instead leaning back in her seat and continuing to study me curiously.

"Did you do something different with your hair?"

Subconsciously reaching for my hair, I straightened up my ponytail and shook my head. "No...?"

She chewed on her lip, saying after a pause, "You tied it up. You usually leave it out."

Did I? I wasn't sure. I just knew that her noticing something like that made me feel self conscious all of a sudden.

"It looks good," she decided, before offering up a small smile. "You should do it like that more often."

Quickly, I felt warm. Was it stuffy in here or was it just me? God, compliments already made me feel stupid. And compliments from pretty girls made me feel ten times that. It didn't help that she was watching me with an endearing expression, making me focus on my book before me.

"Thanks," I got out quickly. "I– yeah."

Her smile widened before she looked back down to her own book. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the way her leg brushed up against mine under the table.

Thankfully, the strange fuzzy feeling following her compliment faded and we were able to get back to work without her tuning out again. As we were going over each other's practice questions, an annoying voice shouted from across the library.

"Wanda, head's up!"

"Hey, no talking in the library!" a librarian hissed at the voice.

Wanda and I looked up just in time for a football to smack me in the side of the head. I didn't even see it coming until I felt the thing slap my head, giving me an instant urge to strangle whoever threw it.

"Fuck," I cursed, holding my head and closing my eyes to breathe through the pain.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Wanda's voice made me open my eyes and I saw her leaning forward, hand resting on my shoulder and the other on top of mine that was clutching my head.

"Been better," I admitted, trying to make light of the situation because as angry as I was at the idiot who threw it, I was also embarrassed because it hit me.

Wanda seemed concerned as she gently pulled me hand away, not letting go as she got a better look at the side of my face which I was sure was burning red. At least that's what it felt like.

"Shit, I'm so sorry."

I looked up and saw none other than Nate Green, Wanda's boyfriend, hovering and stifling a laugh as he looked at me. He had his stupid varsity jacket on and I was tempted to strangle him with it.

"I thought Wanda would catch it," he explained stupidly, before moving around the desk to collect his football.

Breathing out through gritted teeth, I pulled away from Wanda and nodded reassuringly. "I'll be fine. Just need an ice pack."

"You're such an idiot, Nate!" Wanda snapped, looking to him with a glare. "You need to watch what you're doing!"

He smiled sheepishly, making me roll my eyes and clench my jaw at the heat on the right side of my face. Fuck, that really hurt.

"What did you want?" Wanda asked him with a quirked brow. She definitely wasn't impressed. I'd hate to ever be on the wrong side of that condescending glare.

"I thought we could go out," he said like it was that simple.

"I'm studying," she quipped with crossed arms.

"I'm happy to wait," he said, toying with the ball in his hands.

Knowing I definitely didn't want that, I closed my books and said, "It's cool. You guys go. I think we're done here anyway."

Nate grinned. "See? S'all good."

Wanda ignored him and looked to me with worried eyes. "Y/N, are you sure?"

"You know your stuff," I said, referring to the work. "You'll be fine in the test. I'm sure."

I offered her a small, forced smile, before standing up to pack my bag. She did the same, beginning to pack her own things, but her eyes kept flittering towards me.

"D'you want me to go to the nurse's office with you?" she asked, shame laced in her voice.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," I said, hurrying up with my actions so I could just get out of here whilst I still had (some of) my dignity left. "See you in class tomorrow."

She nodded, sending a guilty smile my way. "See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Without giving either of them a look, I shouldered my backpack and left the library. Just another reminder of why Nate Green was literally the worst person ever.

—

Liking Wanda as more than a friend wasn't something that happened for a while if I'm being honest. I guess I started to enjoy her presence more and more the longer we spent time together.

I'd come to appreciate it whenever she'd say something completely out of the blue that made no sense whatsoever, or whenever she'd laugh at something I'd said that was arguably not funny but she didn't want to make me feel bad, or even whenever I teased her about something stupid she did, resulting in her doing that cute little nose scrunch she did. But I didn't think of it as liking her, more just a randomly-formed friendship that I was glad to have.

Maybe it was this misinterpretation that didn't make me see how I was acting around her, such as the time I was in the dinner queue at lunch when I realised she was stood behind me.

"Oh, hey, Y/N," she said when she noticed it was me in front of her. Her usual bright, friendly smile was on her lips as she looked to me. "You good?"

I nodded, returning her smile. "Yeah. Just getting some doughnuts for Y/BF/N and I. You?"

"Same," she said, before nudging the guy next to her, who I recognised as her brother. "Pietro and I thought we'd treat ourselves."

At the mention of his name, Pietro looked down to his sister before his gaze fell on me. A mischievous smile appeared on his lips as he put out his hand.

"Pietro Maximoff," he introduced. "You must be the Chemistry partner, Y/N, right?"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise as I shook his hand. "You, er, know who I am?"

He glanced at his sister with a cheeky smile. Wanda was avoiding both of our gazes, her cheeks dusting pink.

Clearly saving face for Wanda, he said, "We've been in the same grade since kids, right? 'Course I do."

Despite the truth to his words, something told me that wasn't how he knew who I was. Especially since I was sure I'd never spoken to him in my life. But, to save Wanda the embarrassment of clearly having spoken of me at home, I nodded to Pietro.

"Right," I agreed with an amused smile. "Duh."

I moved down the queue and grabbed two doughnuts from the display, putting them in two separate paper bags.

"Dibs the last one!" Pietro exclaimed as soon as I returned the clippers to the display. He reached around his sister immaturely and bagged the last doughnut.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "You know I can ask for more, right?"

Pietro grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Go on then."

The two were twins, but they couldn't have been more different. I simply revelled in their interaction, finding it adorable.

Wanda did as she said, asking the dinner lady if there were any more doughnuts in the back. Unfortunately for her, those were the last for the day, making Pietro laugh as Wanda pouted.

"Sucks to be you," he teased her, as I paid for mine and Y/BF/N's doughnuts.

"I hate you," she mumbled playfully, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes as he lovingly but annoyingly waved his bag before her eyes.

Without even thinking much of it, I held out one of the bags in my hand. "Here. You can have mine."

Wanda looked to me with surprise. "Are you sure? I can live without a doughnut, if that's what you're thinking."

I chuckled, grabbing her hand and making her take it. "It's okay. I wasn't in the mood anyway."

Plus, you look better when you're smiling and not pouting, I added in my head.

She accepted the bag reluctantly. "I– thanks. At least let me pay for it–"

"It's just a doughnut, Wanda," I teased, before nodding her way. "See you later."

Leaving her and Pietro to it, I headed back to the table Y/BF/N was sat at and took a seat opposite him before giving him his doughnut.

"Sweet," he said, quickly opening the bag before realising I didn't have one. "Where's yours?"

Over his shoulder, I saw Wanda and Pietro taking a seat at their lunch table, doughnuts in hand and a heartwarming smile on Wanda's lips.

"They ran out," I answered Y/BF/N. "Wasn't in the mood anyway. Enjoy."

He shrugged before digging in. I'd like to say I didn't spare glances in Wanda's direction every now and then for the rest of the lunch hour, but I'd be lying if I did.

—

I'm in the art department. You okay to bring it here?

I read over the text Wanda sent me before shooting her an 'okay' and heading to the Art department. I'd grabbed her notebook in class earlier on, only realising as I was studying with Y/BF/N in the library and pulled out an extra one, so I was going to give it her back.

I guess, when you realise you like someone, it comes randomly, suddenly, without warning. Liking someone isn't instant, it's constant and gradual and subconscious. I guess I'd been falling for Wanda for a while, without even realising, but today was the day I acknowledged that fact.

The Art department wasn't somewhere I frequented regularly – give me a paint and brushes and I'd probably present you with a finger painting – but it was definitely worth the visit. Art pieces from current and past students were hung on the walls, a mural of the school was spray painted on another, and sculptures stood around. The whole department brought a smile to anyone's face with its bright colours and open space – I could see why Art students always hung out here, Wanda included.

Speaking of Wanda, I found her in one of the classrooms sat at a stool in front of a series of canvasses. The room had a few other Art students littered around, working on their own pieces during their lunch period, otherwise it was empty.

"Hey," I called, getting her attention as I approached her.

She followed my voice and straightened up with a cheery smile. "Y/N, hey. Thanks for coming. I'm working on my Art project, so I couldn't pull myself away."

I waved my hand dismissively, joining her side. "It's all good, don't worry." My eyes wandered to the series of canvases on easels she was working on and widened. "Holy shit, these are so good."

Three unfinished hyperrealistic portraits of people were before us, one whom I recognised as Pietro. The paintings were so detailed, despite their medium-size, and I couldn't imagine how long they must have taken.

"You think?" she asked, glancing between them. "I think I messed up the nose here." She pointed with the back end of her paintbrush to the nose of Pietro. "It's a bit bent."

I almost laughed as I looked to her with disbelief. "Are you kidding? Wanda, these are amazing. How did you even do this?"

She looked down bashfully, a nervous smile on her lips. "I don't know. It's for a project. I chose to do family portraits." She pointed to each one as she said, "My mum, my dad and my brother."

I was in awe of her talent, jaw dropped with amazement still. I always knew she was an artist, but I'd never actually seen her work. I was starting to wish I'd come here a lot sooner.

"So, you got my notebook?" she asked, pulling me back into reality.

I looked away from the paintings reluctantly before getting her notebook from my bag and holding it out for her. As she accepted it, she must have forgotten she was holding her paintbrush as the tip brushed my wrist, leaving a swipe of red there.

"Oh, my bad," she said with a laugh, before setting her notebook and brush down and grabbing a paper towel from beside her.

Wetting it with water from her bottle, she pressed it to my wrist and swiped the paint away. It was such a mundane action, but the way her fingers gently held my wrist and emanated a warmth only she seemed to carry sent shivers down my spine.

I glanced up at her, letting her do it, and noticed the swipe of paint she had across her cheek, as if she'd touched her face without realising.

Now that I paid attention, I noticed how cute she looked in her Art getup. An old, oversized shirt covered in paint was being worn to cover her clothes, sleeves loosely rolled up to her elbows. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail, but her baby hairs framed her forehead adorably.

When her hair wasn't in her face, her eyes only seemed more intense, glistening with excitement and happiness. I almost forgot to breathe when they met mine briefly, a hint of embarrassment there from when cleaning me up. She was in her element here and it made sense to me now.

I knew I'd fallen for her.

—

"You don't get it," I was saying to Y/BF/N as we hung about the school gym, waiting for the teacher to start the lesson. "It's bad. I like her. Like, like like her."

Y/BF/N laughed, clapping me on the back with pity. "You're screwed."

I frowned. "I know."

As he stretched for class, he continued, "I mean, I get it, I do. She's super nice. Pretty. And you guys seem to get on."

I chewed on my lower lip worriedly.

He gave me a knowing look. "There's one problem though."

I groaned, running a hand down my face. "I know, I know. She's got that dick of a boyfriend."

He chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

I sighed, crossing my arms with annoyance. Since realising I liked Wanda as a little more than a friend, things weren't going well for me. Whenever we worked together, I'd forget what I was thinking because I was too busy admiring her side profile or getting lost in her eyes. If she spoke about the work, told a joke or was simply speaking her thoughts aloud, I'd focus on every little thing she was saying, knowing I could listen to her speak all day. It was bad, but thankfully I hadn't stumbled over my words or made a total fool of myself in front of her. I was determined to not let it get that far.

My eyes wandered around the gym as Y/BF/N tried to give me advice, but admittedly, his words flew in one ear and out the other when I caught sight of Wanda.

She was standing with her friends, smiling and laughing to whatever they were saying. Like everyone else in here, she was wearing her gym kit – black athletic shorts and a blue and white tee shirt, the colour of our school. It wasn't anything special, yet she made it seem that way, outdoing anyone in here. Her brown hair was tied back, the ponytail falling down her back, showing her stunning profile and making my mouth go dry.

Another clap on the back from Y/BF/N pulled me from my reverie and I looked to see he was laughing at me.

"Majorly screwed," he corrected his previous comment.

He was definitely right.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu #wanda maximoff au #Spotify

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amysteriousmessenger · 3 years

Note

May I request some fluff RFA headcanons? 🥺🥺

I hope these are okay!! I added Saeran and V just for the sake of it!! <3 these will be a random mixture of with and without MC!

Random Fluffy RFA + Saeran and V Headcanons

Yoosung Kim Fluffy Headcanons

He asks you to marry him in LOLOL, since there’s an expansion pack where you can set up a little house for extra storage. He gets really nervous and a bit sweaty about asking you to do it, he takes it oddly seriously and Zen almost passed out when he thought that you were actually engaged.

He tries to make you coffee every morning, especially if he’s trying a new style out. He thinks it’s really fun and he loves to greet you with it for breakfast. After a while, you come to associate the faint smell of coffee with Yoosung.

At the start he starts sneakily using little bits of your shower gel because they smell so much nicer than the one his gamer student budget allows him to buy. Eventually, he’ll just cave and buy a bottle of the one that you use because it means he gets to be reminded of you all day and it’s a lot better for his skin anyway.

If you play with his hair when his head is in your lap, he’ll absolutely fall asleep. Yoosung is a little bit like a puppy in that way, it just makes him feel so happy and loved.

Zen/Hyun Ryu Fluffy Headcanons

Zen’s a big person for morning kisses, especially sleepy ones. He’s an early riser and definitely feels extra needy in the morning. He’s also always the big spoon, he likes to feel as though he’s protecting you even when he’s asleep.

Whenever you’re crying and cover your face so he can’t see, Zen’s the kinda person who would gently pull your arms away so he can get a look at you and figure out what’s wrong. He’ll kiss at your eyes and cheeks until you either stop crying, or let him get close enough to pull you in so you can cry on his chest.

He loves doing skincare on you. If he thinks you’ve had a hard week, he’ll do your moisturiser, clay mask, face mask, eye mask- you name it, Zen wants to pamper you with it. He knows the importance of skincare and he thinks it’s a great way to relax and pamper you.

Zen’s ‘Happy Place’ that he thinks of when he gets stressed is the two of you, beers in hand, spending an evening in the kitchen trying to cook food. He can hear the laughter, smell the ever-so-slightly burning food, taste the traces of beer on your lower lip. It just makes him so happy to think about and he can feel the desperation in his limbs to sprint home at full speed and make the daydream real.

Jaehee Kang Fluffy Headcanons

Saturday mornings are Jaehee’s favourite out of the whole week. She’s just worked 5 hellish days and Saturday is the day where she gets to have a bit of a lie-in. Usually, Jumin doesn’t ask her to come into the office on weekends and it’s usually just a case of working from home. Jaehee tries not to oversleep too much because she doesn’t want to throw off her schedule but sometimes she can’t help but pass out for 10 hours straight and undisturbed.

She really enjoys bubble baths with you. When you first start doing it together, she’s a little shy at being seen undressed so intimately, but she still really enjoys the time alone with you. It’s a great way to unwind and she likes being so close to you.

Jaehee isn’t much of a cuddler when she’s asleep, she tends to just sleep flat on her back out of exhaustion. However, if you wake up for any reason during the night, you’ll frequently find her hand holding yours, whether she did it consciously or not.

She collects really nice and cute stationary. She doesn’t really take them to work because she doesn’t want to be seen as unprofessional, but once she runs the coffee shop, she gets to write in her little hot-drinks-themed stationary and decorates the little cups with tiny stickers for the frequent customers and especially for whenever Zen comes to visit.

Jumin Han Fluffy Headcanons

Sunday mornings are Jumin’s favourites. He usually wakes up really early by routine, but on Sundays he spends a little bit longer curled up in bed with you and Elizabeth the Third, watching you both sleep. Jumin’s also usually the big spoon if he’s sleeping on his side, but when he sleeps on his back he typically still has one arm around your waist so you’re pulled next to him with your head on his chest.

He personally donates to many different cat shelters all over the country. He takes the money straight out of his own bank account and gives generous monthly donations to make sure that there’s enough funding to both feed the cats already there, and take in extra cats of the streets along with getting them adopted. Jumin’s staff actually has a company policy that if they adopt a cat from one of the shelters that Jumin supports, the vet and adoption fees are covered by him, he counts it as philanthropy.

Jumin has a bottle of wine in his cellar from the date you met, the date you first kissed, the date you got engaged and the date you got married. He hasn’t quite decided when he’ll share those wines with you, he just knows at the moment that he wants to keep them for a very special occasion.

When he’s bored at work but he can’t call you because you’re busy, he pictures taking you to one of his vineyards on the weekend. He’ll picture your smile, you adjusting your hat and lightly squinting against the sun, you smiling at him over your glass of wine. Then he’ll tell Jaehee to clear his schedule for the weekend.

Saeyoung Choi Fluffy Headcanons

Your arms around him, holding him against you, is pretty much the only thing that can bring Seven out of an anxiety attack. If you’re not physically with him, he crawls under the duvet on his bed in hopes of still smelling you. He’ll call you and look through selfies with you that he has on his phone until he calms down.

Seven frequently tries to make you food. He’s never had to cook for anyone before and he doesn’t really cook for himself, so it’s a lot of trial, error and frustrated takeaways. You try to eat whatever he makes though because you can really tell that he’s put his heart into it and you want to show him that you appreciate the effort he’s making.

He loves you feeling his biceps and gushing over how strong he is. He’s not even particularly ripped but you can tell he has strength in his limbs and seeing you give him any kind of physical approval makes him m e l t instantly.

He’s both the big and little spoon, depending what mood he is in. Sometimes he wants to hold you close and never let go, but sometimes Seven needs a little bit of support too and want to feel like he’s needed by you.

His absolute favourite dates are the arcades, the cinema, bowling and carnivals. He has far too much fun on the bumpercars and he absolutely has it out for you, you spend most of the time trying to escape him.

GE Saeran Choi Fluffy Headcanons

GE Saeran always makes very over the top hot chocolates for the both of you. He has an arsenal of whipped cream, syrups, chocolate shavings and sprinkles. His hot chocolate is better than any you could buy in a store. He’ll make one for you whenever you ask, and then sometimes just to surprise you if it looks like you’re having a bad day.

GE Saeran ends up getting two cavities in his first few years of living freely. He does look after his teeth, but he let his sweet-tooth go little bit wild with all the new foods he got to try, it was all so new and fun to him, he just wanted to try everything! He took much better care of his teeth after that, but the trip to the dentist was quite a weird one since he’d never been before.

Slight Angst: Saeran always serves your food first and makes sure there’s always extra helpings if you want it. He usually puts a little bit more on your plate than what you would usually eat. He never quite gets over the guilt of taking your food away at Magenta, so he spends the rest of his time making sure you have more than enough to eat now.

He likes to constantly buy you little gifts that he sees when he’s out and about that remind him of you. A little notebook in your favourite colour? A little forget-me-not necklace? A candle that smells like your perfume? He’d added them all to his cart.

After lip kisses, Saeran loves giving cheek and hand kisses to you. For him, he really loves getting head kisses and he thinks it’s extra cute when you plant a little kiss onto the tip of his nose.

V/Jihyun Kim Fluffy Headcanons

V usually wakes up first, unless he was working late in his studio. He wakes you up with a kiss to the forehead, a cup of coffee and soft words. After he’s put your drink on the table, he’ll climb back into bed with you and cuddle until you’re properly awake.

He actually enjoys baking with you. Well, he likes to help you bake and then he gets to do the decorating. You usually bring a cake to any RFA hangouts and it’s always very obvious when V’s helped you bake because it feels like he goes out of his way to put a piece of gallery-worthy art onto a cake with food colourings and icings. He thinks it makes it tastes better, and you have to agree.

In recent years, V’s been considering trying a more plant-based diet. He thinks he’d like to try vegetarianism, but he’s frequently spend periods of time as a pescatarian, especially after he’s come back from travelling. It also means that he gets to practice cooking more too.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger x reader #saeran choi #saeyoung choi #jihyun kim #jumin han #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #zen mystic messenger #hyun ryu #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger hcs #saeran choi x reader #jumin han x reader #mystic messenger reader insert #mystic messenger self insert

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jimlingss · 3 years

Note

Happy Holidays! Can you write a Jimin hybrid Au? I love you and your fics!

Every day, we stray closer to being a furry.

↳ Floof’s Tail

3k || 80% Fluff, 20% Angst || Park Jimin || Hybrid!AU

You’re beaming with excitement.

The first time you saw her through the glass window, you thought she was just a visitor. You were so happy when she wanted to play with you and only you. And you were even more ecstatic when she came a second time days later. You spent time together for hours on end, just like many of the other humans that came around to keep you and the other hybrids company.

But unlike them, she adopted you.

You still can’t believe you now have a home, something to call yours, and an owner that you love so much.

Soyeon stops in the hall and her hand lifts to pet you, gesture affectionate and eyes loving. You lean into her touch, and she smiles before withdrawing away much to your disappointment.

“This is it, Y/N.”

Her arms motion theatrically to the door, and then she pulls out her keys with a grin. “This is my home and it’s going to be your home from now on too.”

Your tail is practically wagging and you look at the gray door, loving what’s inside already without needing to see it. You don’t remember much of the street name or the apartment building, but you know that it’s the seventh floor, that it seems super nice from the outside, and they’ll probably be big windows looking out at the city. Not to mention from the drive here, there’s also a park close by!

You can’t wait.

The door opens.

Soyeon brings in your small bag along with the other stuff she bought for you at the store, and then she turns around to beckon you to come in, smiling softly. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Y/N.”

This is a dream. It’s all you’ve ever wanted and wished for. An owner. A home. A place to call your own. But you should’ve known, nothing is what it seems.

The moment you step inside, you’re hit with a thick scent. It slams into you, choking your lungs and overwhelming your senses. Warm and earthy, like vanilla and the trees at the park after a rainy day in Spring. You don’t know why you didn’t notice before. It always lingered on Soyeon, a scent underneath her laundry fabric softener and sweet perfume. Maybe you had unconsciously ignored it because you wanted so desperately to be hers.

But of course, someone as perfect as Soyeon would have another dog.

Before you can dart out the door, she calls for him. “Jimin!”

He comes barreling out of the hall with a big smile and his tail wagging.

Only, he stops short a meter away with his eyes pin-pointed on you. His grin instantly falls, ears drooping. His brows furrow as if to ask ‘what the hell is this’.

Soyeon smiles. “Y/N, this is Jimin.”

Jimin is a dog hybrid just like you. You can tell by the triangle ears on the top of his head that’s a slightly darker shade than the blonde hair that falls over his forehead. His face is round, cheeks full and his lips are pouty. But his brown eyes are mean. They’re half-lidded and glaring at you.

“Jimin, this is our new puppy, Y/N.”

“Leave!” he suddenly barks at you, growling at the back of his throat. You yelp, ears pressed flat on your head and you jump to cower behind Soyeon who’s bigger and taller than you are.

“Jimin,” Soyeon scolds in a low tone.

But he isn’t dissuaded and steps closer to you with one large stride.

Your back hits the door, fear making your eyes grow round. He’s much larger than you are and his scent is thicker too. Jimin’s nose twitches, but before he can get to you, Soyeon blocks his way.

More sternly than before she commands, “Jimin, stop.”

Soyeon takes your hand, turns around and shushes you. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry,” she coos and then shifts to the other hybrid. “Stay right there, Jimin.”

He glares as Soyeon leads you away, down the hall into a room. But he doesn’t move.

“This is my room and the place that’ll be yours too.” She shuts the door and realizes your distressed expression. “Everything will be okay,” Soyeon tries to reassure and comes to brush a hand through your hair. Then she looks over to the small bag she had dragged with her and lights up. “Oh, here’s your kitty cat.”

It’s a tattered stuffed toy you’ve had since you were born in the shelter, but the moment she passes it to you, you hug it and find comfort. Your heart begins to slow back to its normal pace and Soyeon smiles, seeing that you’ve eased.

“Get yourself settled, okay? I’ll be a second. I just have to talk to Jimin.”

“Okay.”

Her room is large with plenty of space. There’s a massive bed bigger than you’ve ever seen and a TV opposite of it. By the other wall, there’s a bookshelf, vanity, and desk with a computer. There’s a walk-in closet, dresser and another door to a bathroom too. It’s everything anyone could ever need in one room.

You marvel at your surroundings before staring out the enormous glass window.

But your ears perk. Outside the room, there’s muffled voices.

You shuffle your feet over the door and you pick up what’s being said.

“—your friend and heat partner.”

“I don’t need a friend or a heat partner!”

“Jimin. This….this isn’t the way to act.”

There’s a long sigh and you hear steps coming down the hall. You step back and Soyeon opens the door before shutting it. She looks at you with your eyes on the ground, tail drooping and your ears pressed to your head again.

“It’s okay,” she suddenly says in a higher-pitched voice. You head lifts to her and she smiles, petting you softly behind the ear. “Jimin’s really sweet and kind, I promise. You just have to get used to each other.”

You nod.

Soyeon asks, “Do you want snacks?”

Your eyes widen and your head bobs more enthusiastically.

...

Soyeon does a good job of distracting you. She pets you, plays with you, shows you her room and the connected bathroom. The TV has you especially captured for a while, but you’re broken out of your trance when you hear knocking on the door. Followed by scratching.

And then there’s Jimin’s whine.

Soyeon looks at you and says. “I’ll be right back.”

She slips away and you’re left by yourself again.

Deep down, you know you shouldn’t get too comfortable. This isn’t your home.

…

“Yes. I tried to introduce them, but it isn’t going as well as I thought it would.”

Soyeon’s voice is quiet, barely above a murmur. Yet it’s enough to stir you from your sleep and your eyes flutter a few times before you see her outline standing in the corner. She’s facing the wall with her phone pressed to her ear. You don’t know what time it is but it’s still dark outside.

“My other dog, he’s a guard dog, but he’s more possessive than I thought—….okay…..okay. Oh, alright. Yeah.”

She stops talking and you shut your eyes again, pretending you didn’t hear.

When Soyeon turns around, she doesn’t see the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

The sheets, the pillow, the blanket, it all smells like Jimin. Even if you’re stowed away in this room for the rest of your life and kept separate, the walls have already been plunged with his scent.

...

You don’t realize you’ve drifted back to sleep until you wake up with the sunshine on your face.

And your heart feels full when you see Soyeon right there with you. You’ve never been taken care of so closely by someone before, never been solely doted on, never had someone call you in such a soft voice and look at you that lovingly. And she chose you. But you don’t let yourself become too happy. Not when there was someone else on the other end of the apartment.

Still, you very much like it when Soyeon smiles and sweetly chimes, “Rise and shine.”

You rub your eyes, voice still sleepy, “Morning.”

As you sit up from your spot on the bed, your nose twitches. Your pupils instantly dart to a wool sweater draped at the back of the desk chair. It smells strong. Stronger than the rest of the room.

Soyeon follows your line of sight. “Oh. I thought you looked cold in that dress. I ordered you new clothes, but they’ll arrive later tonight. Do you want to wear that for the time being?”

“M-Maybe later.”

She nods. “Are you hungry?”

You nod enthusiastically and the corner of her lips quirk.

As she leaves to get you food, you stare at the sweater. It looks softer than the blankets and much warmer too. Before you can think twice, you approach slowly, feet cold on the floorboards.

You hesitantly sink your hand into the plush fabric of the sweater.

It doesn’t bite you. No one yells.

You pick it up and bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply. It actually smells….good. Comforting.

Soyeon grins when she returns with a tray of food, noticing the sweater slipped on top of your dress.

Halfway through your meal, she looks at your stuffed cat and boops its black nose. “Hey, Y/N. Would you mind if Jimin took a look at this? I think he’d really like it.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

“I have other toys for you, like the sheep.” She plops down the white stuffie next to you that looks like a huge cotton ball. You picked it out yourself, but still… “I’ll only borrow this one for a few hours.”

It takes a second, then you’re nodding. “Okay then.”

Soyeon’s hand lifts to gently ruffle your hair. “Thank you.”

…

After breakfast, you watch TV as Soyeon cleans up and probably attends to Jimin on the other side of the wall. But no later is she returning to play with you. The two of you end up reading a story as you cuddle up to her. She shows you how to play a game on her laptop too. But then all of it is interrupted when the phone rings.

Your ears perk and you flinch from the loud sound.

Soyeon picks it up and stands in the corner of the room. “Hello?” There’s silence and then she’s sighing. “What do you mean, Taehyung? I put the file on your desk before I left.” A long pause has you worried. “It should be somewhere in our email correspondence. Figure it out.”

“No. I can’t come in! I’m on personal leave for the next two weeks, remember?” Her voice moves up a pitch and you wince. Soyeon’s clearly upset and you hate it. “Ugh. I hate you. I swear to god, Kim.”

She hangs up.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“I have to go into work, but I’ll be back in an hour.” She’s frantically rushing around, entering her closet and emerging with a blouse, pants and a coat. Still, she finds the time to come over to you and she presses a kiss on top of your forehead. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s okay. I can wait.” You muster a smile, trying to make her feel better. After all, she’s done her best to comfort you. Now you want to do the same to her.

“It’ll just take a jiffy. Be back before you know it.” Soyeon steps towards the door. “Don’t leave the room, okay, Y/N?”

You nod.

Soyeon leaves a few moments later. You hear footsteps in the hall, muffled voices and then the larger door shutting. Instantly, you become drowned in silence without the television or the laptop or Soyeon’s comforting voice and soothing hands petting you. You’re abandoned.

On the other side of the wall is someone who hates you and wishes you were gone.

The truth that’s been blaring in your head becomes noisier than ever: this isn’t your home.

Maybe what she said was just an excuse. Maybe the phone call was an act and maybe Soyeon hates you too. Maybe you’re more problematic than she expected, and she’ll return you to the shelter tomorrow or even today. You wouldn’t blame her if she did. Soyeon probably wanted someone to get along with Jimin and you’re too much of a handful for her.

You don’t realize you’re crying until it’s gotten so loud that it’s deafening to your own ears. But you can’t help the wails choking out of your sobbing chest or the tears streaming down your face. You lay curled up in the bed, ears pressed to your head as you clutch your toy to your chest.

Through your clouded vision, you don’t notice the bedroom door opening. Not until you hear—

“You know she’s not leaving forever, right?”

Instantly, you jolt and scramble back on the bed. Until your back hits the headboard, pillows bent underneath you.

Jimin looks at you, eyeing the way you’re wearing his sweater, and he swallows hard. “She’s supposed to leave five to six hours a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But she always comes back.”

You whimper and he frowns.

“Stop making those noises.”

“I can’t help it,” you hiccup and rub your eyes. “W-Will she make me go back?”

“What?”

“The shelter. Will she leave me if we don’t get along?”

Jimin shifts his weight from one foot to another, expression almost uncomfortable. But he says, “Soyeon’s not that kind of owner.”

You hiccup and snivel, unable to make the lump in your throat go away. “I...I just want a home.”

You almost start to cry again, but then Jimin extends his arm. You see him holding your kitty cat. “I think this is yours,” he says and you nod, teary-eyed. He points to your body. “That’s my sweater. You’re not supposed to touch it.”

You look down, not sure if you should take it off. But you’re too scared to move.

At once, the concern vanishes. Jimin takes a step towards you and your spine and ears straighten on reflex. Then he takes another. You whimper and his brows furrow again. “Stop it. I won’t bite you.”

He places the kitty cat on the edge of the bed and in a moment where your courage has swelled, you lurch forward to grab it. Immediately, you withdraw and hold it to your chest.

You frown when you realize how much it smells like him.

You’re too busy paying attention to your toy to see the bed dip. To see Jimin crawling closer to you. Not until he’s facing you, practically nose to nose. Your back hits the headboard once more and your breath hitches. But instead of being barked at or bitten, Jimin leans in. You feel a tickle as his nose sniffs at your neck.

You release your breath, unable to hold it any longer and when you inhale, you smell him.

Jimin’s scent is warm and earthy, like vanilla and trees at the park after a rainy day in Spring. When you’re not scared, it actually smells really nice. Even if you don’t want to admit it.

Jimin sniffs at your neck incessantly with his nose and then at your hair. You whine, slumping downwards, and he practically hovers over you, caging your frame in with his arms, smelling down your body.

The tip of his nose travels from the valley of your breasts down your tummy. He pauses at the apex of your thighs, right where your underwear is and you shut your legs together.

You’re vulnerable beneath him and you’re not sure clutching the two toys to your chest will do much good in protecting you if he decides to attack. But when Jimin’s done, he looks at you and simply says, “You smell like flowers.”

“Is that bad?”

He pauses. “No. But I like it when things smell like me.”

You gasp when he suddenly leans in, brushing his cheek against yours, nuzzling into you. It tickles and you can’t help but giggle. Jimin’s ears perk at the bubbly sound and his tail starts to wag. The toys roll off your chest, and they’re left beside you when you let go. You wiggle and shift away from him, yet he pounces after you with a smile on his face.

You laugh, managing to dodge his arms and slip off the bed.

But Jimin’s much too fast and swift for your liking. He corners you by the closet with an enormous grin on his face, half-moon eyes lit up in mischief. Before you can dart to the left, he snatches your waist and follows after you as you collapse on the soft carpet.

Jimin brushes his cheek against yours, the weight of his body pressed to yours with a knee placed between your parted thighs. You’re never going to completely smell like him, not when you have your own scent, so you’re not sure why he’s trying so hard. But you don’t mind.

You take the chance to smell him too, nose twitching at his neck. A hum leaves the back of your throat as you allow yourself to become immersed in the comforting scent.

...

When Soyeon comes home an hour later, she’s surprised that Jimin isn’t already waiting at the door or doesn’t come barreling out to greet her. It’s much too quiet. She doesn’t have a good feeling.

Blood drains from her face when she walks down the hall and she sees the bedroom door wide open. The woman rushes inside, nearly tripping her feet, mouth falling open.

Yet the words die in her throat and a smile lifts onto her features when she sees Jimin cuddling you. The pair of you are fast asleep.

#bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin hybrid AU #bts hybrid AU #bts scenario #bts fluff #jimin reader insert #cherry-lala #Jimlings #aka. Jimin is a guard dog and our OC is a lap dog :(

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

Note

for the one-shot

tired eyes , bucky

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of shuri warnings: mentions of cryo and death (but no actual descriptions) about: tired eyes a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long to post! i got so busy and i had a really bad day and didn't have any time to edit. i hope you enjoy this either way!

“...in other news, a baby penguin was born at the national zoo yesterday, and the subway goats that i told you about were captured, so that’s good for everyone really,” you laugh, skimming through the rest of the words printed on the newspaper you’re holding. the fingers holding it begin to rub at the edges subconsciously, pressing indents into the typed letters while you flip the page once you’re satisfied that the contents of that one were already summarized. “okay, these are comics and crosswords, so i’ll wait for you on these,” you say, eyes catching on the colored squares, chuckling at the images of snoopy. “i think you’ll like snoopy. you probably haven’t gotten to read much on him since he was created in the fifties, so i’ll save all the snoopy bits for you if you’d like.”

no answer, which you were expecting, but the longing for his voice grows either way, exhaling softly and closing the newspaper you were reading from, bold letters forming the date. you look at the books piled next to your chair, reminding yourself to replace the ones you’ve already read. “so, shuri says she’s close to figuring this out. she thinks you’ll be out of cryo this month, so that’s exciting!”

your smile struggles to stay as a thick silence falls on you and you swallow, looking down at your lap, “um, i-” you clear your throat, forcing your eyes to meet the frozen man. “i don’t know if you can even hear me,” you admit, a small watery laugh falling from your lips. “i can’t really bring myself to ask shuri, because i really hope you can and i don’t know how i’ll do if i find out you can’t. i hope you know how much i love you, and-” you sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut, “and how much i miss you. and how much i know you’ll be okay.”

you smile tearfully, wiping away tears that escape your eyes, watching them soak your sleeve. you run your finger over the fabric, bringing it up to your nose and shutting your eyes shut when you realize the red henley doesn’t smell like bucky anymore. although the rational part of your mind reminds you it's been two years and you’ve been wearing the piece of clothing for most of it. the rest of his clothes also lack his smell, worn so much by you that your perfume seems embedded with the cotton.

“you know how much i miss your eyes?” you ask suddenly, the image of them engraved in the caves of your happiest memories. “you have such pretty eyes- i know i tell you that a lot, but it’s true.” echoes of the azure colors lucky enough to reside in bucky’s irises flood the darkness of your closed eyelids. “they were the first thing i noticed when i met you,” you sniffle, “so blue. it looked like they were glowing in the sun. i completely forgot about the plums i accidentally stole from you.”

“do you remember that?” you question, opening your eyes to see the same image from last time. “i just gave you the plums and stuttered like an idiot. then, when i tried to leave because i was so mortified, you stopped me. i got a really good look at you that time. so handsome,” you pause. “but so tired.”

his image is vivid in your mind, clear enough to combat the actual photographs of him that lay everywhere in your apartment. “you looked so tired, bucky,” you admit, “and i didn’t even know what happened yet- what you had gone through- and all i wanted to do from that point was kiss all that pain away. let you rest until the exhaustion wasn’t clouding the color of your eyes.” your fingers twitch, itching to tangle with his own- desperate to hold him after so long.

physical touch was something bucky struggled with when you both met. his skin was unused to gentle touches, always expecting the worst when your fingertips came in contact with any of him; you showed him gentle touches, tender fingers dragging on his jaw in the morning, careful kisses pressed to his nose to wake him up.

“let me do that when you’re out of there, yeah?” you request, playing with your hands to distract from their want to hold his. “you deserve to just... be, bucky. you deserve to be happy, and i swear i’ll make sure it’s the only thing you’ll ever feel again.” you go silent, picking apart your tangled thoughts and attempting to make sentences of them.

“y/n.”

it takes you a while to notice the voice, its echo reaching you, prying your attention away from bucky. “shuri,” you realize, mouth moving faster than your brain as it falls behind to realize what exactly shuri might be doing here. “it’s ready- he can come out today.”

your eyebrows furrow, the words foggy as your brain decides to take them in late, examining them for their meaning too many seconds after silence has been hanging in the air, waiting for you to break its delicate thread. “what?” you finally say after a moment, not looking for an answer while you jump from your seat, ignoring the items you’d handpicked as they fall to the floor, clatters ignored while you bounce to shuri, “really? he can- it’s really ready?”

shuri nods, beaming smile as the reaction she was hoping for bounds out of you, albeit a bit later than she’d expected. you’ve turned, eyes on bucky now as your anticipation grows, arms motioning towards him gently, “well, then… please- please,” you beg, unable to finish the plead that shuri already knows.

your fingernails are in between your teeth from the waiting- a nasty habit bucky had helped you break thanks to his wrapped hands around yours- foot tapping incessantly on the floor beneath you. you have absolute trust in shuri and wakanda’s technology, but the worry grows when you stare at the chamber bucky was once in, bright cerulean of his eyes hidden from yours.

every cell of your body is screaming for him, and it might be embarrassing how much you miss him if it were a different situation, a different man with different eyes.

ayo is with him, observing him while the wretched words are said, and every passing second makes your fear grow worse- that he would go back into cryo, that he wouldn’t ever touch you again, too afraid he’d hurt you with the same stained hands with which he’d hurt others.

you shut your eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling your lungs expand and focusing on that.

“y/n,” he interrupts, the cracked word bringing the air you had been missing for so long, eyes opening as quickly as they could and a sob falling from your throat when you stand. “bucky,” you snivel, foot already stepping closer to him before you can instruct it to. you pause for a second to make sure bucky is okay with it, against the will of every voice in your mind and muscle in your body. the man nods, stepping towards you instead and immediately warming you with his embrace. you reciprocate immediately, winding your arms around him while his flesh arm pulls you as close as he can.

“bucky,” you weep, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and crying harder when your nose touches his warm skin and the soft strands of his hair. bucky only pulls away for a moment to look at you, gentle thumb brushing away your tears. you cradle his face in your hand, scanning every feature continuously until you reach his eyes and your breath catches at the brilliant color, realizing the dark sheen of exhaustion was gone, his tired eyes were no longer as tired, offering solid possibility that at some point, they wouldn’t be at all.

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starconsumer444 · 3 years

Text

“When Things Fall In Place” (18+)

Creepy Roommate!Kenma

(A/N: This is...about 3.1k of pure degeneracy, which I actually had no intention on writing, finishing, or publishing and just thought out as I went... There was no planning, no actual ideas prior to this {actually its based off this guy I met recently because im always stuck with the creeps}...I just started it late at night [basically the early hours of the morning] and finished it this afternoon. I haveeee to stop writing for haikyuu... But I’m probably gonna fall off, comeback and write one or two request with a bunch of other random bs, and then disappear again after this, but thats just how it is. I get bored of writing every three days then come back to write my heart out. I really have to write my requests soon or they’ll hate me...)

(Cw/Tw: Fem!Reader, Stalking, Somno, Rape/Noncon, Virgin!Kenma, Theft, Crying, Poor Writing, Kenma is a sweaty, friendless, looser in this one guys, I’m bad at tagging these but you get the idea... this is bad and nasty. 3.1k!!!! THIS IS LONG AS HELL)

You don’t know much about him, Kenma— your roommate. You’ve been living together for almost a year at this point and that can’t be normal. He stays in his room playing video games, doesn’t seem to have friends, leaves for work in the morning, and keeps to himself for the most part. Honestly, if you didn’t greet each other in passing you would’ve forgotten the sound of his voice by now. It’s low, unaffected, and monotone for the most part. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be bothered?

But see, Kenma knows everything about you. You went to middle and high school together, but he was just as standoffish in those days too. He doesn’t expect you to remember him, you clearly don’t, but it still weighs on his heart. Was he that forgettable? It’s okay, because one day he’ll tell you. One day he’ll tell you everything.

He’s been obsessed with you since middle school, you were the pretty girl that sat in the front of the class and smelled so good. You would talk to give answers in class and he would be all ears, because to him your voice was his only source of happiness. To hear you speak and smell your perfume as you walked past him was a reason to live. Sure, it was weird, but so were a lot of things about him. He had no friends, could you blame him? Would you? So maybe, then, in middle school it was an innocent harmless crush, not an obsession, but in high school he was definitely obsessed.

He overheard you say it to your friends— where you were going to high school, and he told his parents thats where he wanted to enroll. The entire time he never spoke to you, much like middle school, he was off in a corner playing a game alone, inconspicuously keeping an eye on you. He used to trail you and your friends around the school and he always wondered how you were so perfect? How you were so good at making friends? How you stood out like that? Maybe that’s why you were so unapproachable...

He remembers you were class president for three consecutive years up until graduation. You were so damn intimidating, but everyone loved you, especially Kenma and you were blind to it. You never ONCE noticed him or gave a damn about him and you were class president. He wanted to talk to you so bad, but he just couldn't. He would steal things from you with the intent to say he found them and maybe start a conversation, but he ended up hoarding them in his room at home. The biggest thing he’d stolen was a sweater because you hadn’t seemed to notice the erasers or pencils.

He vividly remembers the sheer panic and urgency he stuffed that damned pink sweater into his backpack with, so scared he’d get caught and called a creep. He really did plan on returning it but he just— it smelled so good back then...he remembers. He took it home and hid it under his bed, only opting to take it out and hold it to his face and just smell it on special occasions when he felt up to it and guilt wasn't taking over his mind, body, and soul. He knew it was wrong but he felt the most alive in moments where he didn’t care. He’d tried to resist the urge, but at some point he started to pleasure himself with it too. It started happening so often that he’d get hard at the smell of you even when you walked by him in class. He still has that sweater.

At some point during that time, he’d picked up the strange hobby of following you home from school. You walked alone all the time so he’d lie to himself and say it was for your safety as he stalked around corners and made sure you never saw him. He’d always watch you enter your home from down the block, far enough so he wouldn't catch your attention. Those times he didn’t want you to notice him, he felt sick doing it, but it was something akin to an addiction and he just couldn't stop himself. This was a short lived addiction though...about a month or so.

His mom started to pick up on his staying out later than usual and by then he’d actually started to go up in front of your house and just stare at it. He prayed to god that you didn’t see him being a creep like this, but sometimes he wished you did because at the very least you would recognize his existence. Still, you never saw him. He went back to being locked up in his room, playing video games until the early hours of the morning, rubbing himself raw against your sweater, and being consumed by you in private. All he wanted was for you to acknowledge him. Tell him that he exists to you, because he’s sure his existence is for you.

Those days were hell on earth, he struggled to shower and his only motivation for getting up and doing anything was to see you, who didn't know he existed. It was a depraved cycle.

Now he’s here with you, and the first time he talked to you was to respond to a “roommate wanted” ad. Isn’t it wonderful how things come full circle?

Still, he struggles to actually hold face to face conversations with you. How could he? He fantasizes about you so much...it feels wrong.

These days he finds himself rutting into your sheets when you're out praying that you don’t catch him, stealing your panties just to hold them to his nose and eventually soak them in his cum, and even worse having disgustingly sadistic fantasies about you belonging to him. He pushes those fantasies to the back of his mind, though. He doesn't want to be fucked up, but then again, it can't be that bad to want to own your source of happiness.

His infatuation reaches a peak one night when he finds himself groggily trudging his way to your room in the dead of night with his fleshlight in hand. He tried everything, he didn't want to jack off so he played his video games like usual, but even that didn’t take his mind off of you. Typically, he’d jack off with his fleshlight alone in his room to depraved and deluded fantasies of you, but tonight he needs to be near you; to see you, to smell you, and to know you’re there.

Upon entering your room he flips the light on, and it’s actually really dim— not that he hoped to wake you up or anything. He tip-toes over to the side of your bed and stands over your sleeping figure. You look so beautiful when you’re asleep, a shame he’s never thought about seeing you like this before or rather...a shame he’s violating you like this. He wants himself to stop because he knows it’s wrong, but he’s wanted something like this for so long and right now it’s in the palm of his hand. He’s sick and he knows it.

Still, he pulls his sweats and underwear down just enough to where they’re right under his balls. The cold air of your ceiling fan hits his painfully hard shaft and it feels so good it makes him sick. He slowly sheaths himself inside the faithfully used toy imagining it was you. That’s even easier to do now that you’re right here in front of him.

His heart is racing, and he feels sick to his stomach...

“Gotta make this quick,” That’s what he says under his breath, but he want’s you to wake up and see him, he want’s you to call him a pervert and make him leave you alone forever. He wants to see you horrified by the sight of him pleasuring himself to your sleeping body. Is that so wrong?

Yeah, he knows it is. He can’t bring himself to care, though. He pumps himself in and out with hurried movements. He feels so gross and so good like this. Even with the fan on above him he’s sweating bullets like a madman, but he just can’t stop himself, he swears this isn’t his fault. His rational mind would never permit this, but when has he ever gone with that side of himself?

He starts to lose himself in pleasure, moaning out your name in his typical low voice rather than a whisper. He doesn't catch himself, and his moans start to get louder and louder. You start to stir and he can’t bring himself to shut up. You can’t be that light a sleeper, right?

Wrong.

Your eye’s flutter open and then meet his and he cums unreasonably hard and his moan is gross and loud. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and he doubles over from the pleasure. His hand grabbing on to your mattress is the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor.

His heart pounds in his chest and his breathing is erratic, but that’s not why the look in your eye’s is nothing but terror. He's sweating so much, he wants to apologize, but he doesn't.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He says sliding the toy off of himself. He thinks you look even more beautiful when you’re awake and scared out of your mind.

You lie there, staring up at him, still trying to process how your aloof roommate could—

He climbs on your bed, fleshlight in hand, and straddles your waist and all you can bring yourself to do is shake your head.

“Kenma-” He presses his index finger to your lips and you freeze again.

Suddenly, he’s bringing the fleshlights opening to your mouth and you still can’t bring yourself to fight him.

“Please go away,” You ask like this is just some nightmare. You know it’s not, you can feel his weight on top of you and it feels too real. He’s so warm and so heavy.

“Lick.” He commands. He swears to himself that he’ll go away forever after this, the final piece to his happiness puzzle.

Tears start to fall down your face but he’s still insistent on having you eat his cum out of his gross plaything. When you don’t move, he leans over and presses it to your face.

“Lick.”

This time, out of fear, you do. His cum tastes rancid, like battery acid. Disgusting would be more than an understatement. That doesn’t stop you from cleaning the toy with your tongue like your like depends on it, because right now...it might.

His eyes are tired when he smiles, almost dead, he looks sick. His hairs greasy, skin is pale, and he’s fisting his half hard dick while he watches you take his seed into your pretty mouth. You’ve never been this close to him before.

He strokes himself back to hardness like a delinquent. He knows he wants to leave you alone, but now he just can’t. When he tosses the fleshlight aside you’re shaking and crying begging him to go away.

“Kenma, please-” As much as he likes when you say his name, he can’t help but stifle your desperate begging with a kiss.

It’s gross, wet, and all over the place, but Kenma doesn’t notice that. He’s never kissed anyone before and he’s beyond ecstatic that it’s you. You don’t bother with kissing him back, you just lie there, eyes open and crying.

He savors this kiss, his first kiss. His lips are softer than expected, but he’s not— violence plagues his movements. His heart races even faster now, and when you try to turn your lips away from his he just grabs your jaw and holds you still. He gets drool all over both of your faces, and you can barely breathe. You can still feel him jacking himself off between your bodies and you feel nauseous. This “kiss” is so unpracticed and unrefined, he’s basically licking the inside of your mouth and breathing in your face.

Why is he doing this?

You feel him finally moving from your lips and pulling your shirt up to let cold air hit your tits. For a second, he pauses to catch his breath, chest heaving and spit covered mouth hanging open. He stares down at your chest in awe. You turn away in embarrassment, he doesn’t mind it; you must be terrified.

With one hand holding your shirt up, he brings the other from his dick to squeeze at your chest. You wince and struggle against him because he’s so fucking rough and it hurts. Then he gives one of your breasts a hard slap, and you start to writhe up under him.

It brings a smile to his face, but he doesn’t do it anymore. He wants to try something different.

He carefully slides down off of you and between your legs. He grossly presses his face against your clothed cunt and smells you even licking you through your pajama bottoms.

He sees the shock on your face when you sit up to look at him and he simply brushes it off, too far gone to be considerate at this point.

When his hands pull down your pajama bottoms-

“No no no no nononono Kenma please stop it.” You whine and kick at him uselessly. You sit up to try to push his hands away but its all useless, he’s so unreasonably strong for someone his size. When he finally slides your pajama bottoms and underwear off of you and on to the floor he buries his face between your folds.

It’s like when he was kissing you, gross, wet, and unpracticed. He’s just haphazardly lapping at your labia and vulva. You push at his shoulders trying to get him off of you while crying your eyes out. It doesn’t seem to effect him though, he just locks his arms around your thighs, sliding you down onto your back.

At some point his tongue washes clean over your clit and he feels your body jolt from the pleasure. He finds it again and your body stiffens. He looks up at your crying face and squeezes the meat of your thighs between his fingers as he abuses your clit to no end.

You’re sobbing at this point because to you this all feels without reason. For the first time in your life you are scared of Kenma. From what you remember of him, he was always voiceless and sweet, even during school when he decided to show up. He was a kid who always greeted the teacher, even if it was wordless, he got his work done on time when he could, and he minded his business. You never talked to him, but you did hold his understated presence in the back of your mind— for the longest you pegged him as a boy who could be pleasant if you got to know him. So, why was he doing this? Why is he hurting you?

You made him your roommate because you thought that he of all people wouldn’t do this. You wanted to be friends. What did you do?

Now he’s violating you after a year of little to no interaction and him being barely there. He knows it’s wrong and you're not fighting him anymore, you’re just laying there, chest heaving and silent.

He lifts his head to plant a wet kiss on your inner thigh and drags his tongue against the soft skin momentarily. He looks at your scared face and gives a crooked smile. He’s sorry, he really is but this feels like a dream to him. You're too good not to take.

He finds himself positioning his dick right between your folds and rutting against you. You really must’ve given up, your fight is long gone as he holds you down by your pelvic bones—uncut nails breach your soft skin.

Excitement fills his body as your wetness begins to coat his length as he rocks himself back and forth. He’s careful and his breathing is labored.

“I-” He tries and fails. “You never noticed me, but I’ve loved you forever.” He’s shy. Kenma looks down at your stomach, too embarrassed to meet your crying eyes.

“We went to school together for years...” He trails off, still staring down. He doesn’t have the guts to look at the mess he’s made of you. “I wanted to talk to you, but you wouldn’t like- no. I was scared.” He shakes his head softly and finally meets your eyes. You're still crying. He feels his throat tighten and he doesn't want to talk anymore.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He stops his movements to reach over and pull the pillow from behind you. He puts it over your face and thinks to hold it there, maybe to suffocate you for a second, but he doesn't. He’s already done enough bad. He just lets it sit there, you’re the one to grab it and hold it there.

You hold it against your face like your life depends on it. You can't breathe very well, but what does it matter? You want him to go away.You want this to end. So, you cling onto that pillow and pretend like you’re anywhere but here.

It’s an illusion that fails quickly. You feel him press his length into you. It’s rushed, it hurts, and he doesn't know what he’s doing. You squeeze the pillow, and his sweaty hands play with your tits. You can feel the tears well up in your eyes. You don’t want this, it’s a nightmare.

He’s not that big, rather small actually, but he has girth. He hopes you can feel it. He moves slowly dragging every inch of himself against your walls. He mouths at your nipples and it feels yucky. At some point you’re sure you feel him lay a wet kiss on your stomach.

You don’t know. It’s over quickly, but it feels like forever.

His thrusts were sloppy and unseasoned just like everything else he’s done. He’d never had sex before, but he hoped he was good. When he came his body seized and his fingers dug into your sides. He was glad you weren't watching because the embarrassment from coming so fast a second time was much easier to handle.

You two sit in silence for a while after that, the only audible sound is you sniveling. He watches silently as your body shakes and tucks himself back in, to at least feel decent. It’s like that for five whole minutes until he finally decides to go back to his room.

In the silence of his own dark room the water works start in full force as he comes to terms with what he’s done. He’s a degenerate who will struggle to sleep tonight.

#tw: noncon #kenma smut #yandere kenma #kenma x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #I still don't write fics #but I do enjoy giving things titles #I think this is my worst writing on this blog so far #it may be longer but...outside of that...

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oshbluepacific · 3 years

Text

Love. Me.

Type: Fluff/Slight Smut

Character: Park Jinyoung x Reader

Words Counted: 4K8+

questions and request are available / masterlist

NOTE: i was inspired to write this while listening to Ed Sheeran - Kiss me. so while you guys are at it, listen to this. you know when to play the song when you read it. happy reading!

“Mr. Park, your father wishes to see you in his study.” The man in full black and white suit told me.

I nodded my head before I could take my glasses of and remove myself from my chair. I grabbed my robe, putting it on. I walked along the long hallways towards my father’s study, a woman came emerging from the door.

“Mother.” I greeted her. As always, she looked marvelous. With her green dress underneath the coat. Her flowery perfume that smells wonderful and my father loves so much.

“Jinyoung… you’re just wearing your robe and pants.” She commented, eyeingher own son from head to toe.

“I opened the window to get some fresh air as I was working mom. It was perfectly chilly in the morning, but it got all sunny.” I smiled at her, and she shakes her eyes as she smiled back. She adjusted my robe so that my chest isn’t overly exposed.

“Okay, now, let’s get to your dad’s study... he has something important to tell you.” She said as she looped her arm on mine.

We both got to father’s study as the doors closed behind us. He was on the phone, sitting on his armchair behind his neat, tidy desk. He hung up the phone moments later, placing it on the desk. My mother approached him as he reached out for her hand and she took it.

“Jinyoung, have a seat boy.” He said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

I took a seat, getting myself comfortable on the chair.

“My son… you’re not wearing any clothes.” He started, I only rolled my eyes, before I explained what I was doing to him and he nodded his head.

“Well, I think your mother had told you that I have something important that I want you to know.” I respond with a nod.

“I’ve told you before that I’ve met your mother through your grandfather. At first, she was a stranger to me, and even after we get married, she was still a stranger to me. But time after time, we get to know each other, and I knew that your grandfather has introduced me to the love of my life.” He held on to my mother’s hand before bringing it up to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

“Your father and I had agreed that this is the perfect arrangements for you.” My mother chimed in.

I sat there, nodding my head, trying to understand everything. I felt my heart racing against my chest.

“She’s coming for dinner tonight, and I’m sure, you’ll be happy to see her.” My father added.

“What is her name?” I asked him, my eyes darting to both people who had raised me.

My mother chuckled before she could walk towards me.

“You’ll love her! You can introduce yourself to her tonight.” She then leaned, to kiss my forehead before she excuses herself out of my father’s study.

My father talked about the marriage arrangement, and how the wedding date is set and everything is planned. The more he talked about it in detail the more nervous I get. After the conversation, my father dismissed me and I went back to my room, but I couldn’t seem to get my focus back.

When I first met her, it was almost like love at first sight—and who the hell am I to believe in all that? She was so beautiful, intelligent, btu also like every person who just met a stranger, shy. While dinner, she didn’t say much, but she was very polite—not just to my parents—to hers, and to the staff members at home. When our parents were talking about stuff that we don’t actually know about, I took this chance to excuse myself and her to have a moment. I took her out to the back garden where I took this opportunity to get to know her. It was as if I’ve known her for all my life, she opens up about everything I asked her. She has this beautiful personality. When she smiles, I felt those types of certain jolt of happiness.

When it was time to get back inside, she took my hand all nervously, when really it had me worried.

“What is it? Something wrong?” I asked her, turning my heels before I looked around the place.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong…” She managed a small smile before dropping her face to the ground. She then looked up to me.

“Jinyoung… I don’t know you’ll love me or not, I don’t know what the future holds, but I will try my best to be what you need me to be. I’ll try my best not to be a burden for you.” She told me and I just nodded my head.

“You’re not going to be a burden for me—”

“I’m not done.” She shot a look into my eyes, and there was a certain sadness in her eyes.

“Promise me one thing.”

“And that is?” I asked, gently taking her by the hand.

“Promise me, that if you don’t, love me, then don’t force yourself to.” She said.

I smiled at her, knowing that I already fell in love with her since day one.

Skipped time frame, I married the woman I just met 7 months ago. And to be honest, I couldn’t be more in love with her. When we moved, I let her take a pick of the house, I’ll be out of the house most of the time while she stays in. I let her decorate however she likes, and I offered her to have the masterbedroom.

“What you’re not sleeping here?” She asked.

“Would you be comfortable?” I asked her and she stayed quiet before she nodded her head.

“You doubted.” I chuckled.

“No, I didn’t, I—”

“It’s okay, you can have the master bedroom for a while.” I told her with a smile.

For 4 months I’ve been crashing in the guest bedroom and sometimes fell asleep on the couch in my study. What finally made me sleep with her in the master bedroom was when she suddenly came, knocking on the door of my study in the middle of the night while I was working.

“Why are you still up?” I asked her, as she stepped inside the room. Her eyes darted on the couch before she could take a seat on the chair in front of my desk.

“I don’t know, I just couldn’t sleep… bed just feels too big today.” She said, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

“Do you want me to come down and accompany you?” I asked, my eyes looking up to her from my paper.

A smile appeared at on her sleepy, adorable face before she nodded her head.

“Okay, I’ll clear this up for a bit and I’ll join you in a bit.” I told her as she got up from the chair.

“Okay!” She then left the room while I tide up my desk and couch.

I knocked on the bedroom door before I heard her mumble. I opened the door to see her laying under the fluffed blanket and realized, the bed is too big for just her.

I lay there next to her, trying to get the comfortable position. I let her lay her head on my arm as I wrap my other arm around her.

“Jinyoung…” She whispered.

“Yeah?” I looked down.

“Sleep here more often, this is nice.” She smiled.

After that, we’ve gotten closer with each other. We would talk all night right after I got home from work. Even though she spent most of her days at home, she would always have something to tell. And I would always listen to her, happy that she is too.

“Jinyoung?” I heard a voice as my head moved up from the water.

It was a sunny day, on my day off, and it’s just the perfect time to dip myself in the pool.

She was standing on the side of the pool with a glass of what looked like a passion tea. I swam towards her, resting my arms on the side as she crouched down as she hand the glass to me. I took a sip of the sour, refreshing, fruity drink before handing it back to her.

“Your mother just called.” She said before taking a sip of her passion tea.

“Oh? What did she say?” I asked her

“She’s inviting us for dinner tonight.” She said, placing the glass of refreshing drink aside.

“Tonight? That’s very unusual of her to invite dinner on the last minute… What time?” Iasked her again.

“Seven.” She answered.

I looked over her shoulder to the patio where a huge clock was hanging. It was already 3 PM.

“I’m going to take my shower, and then get dressed, we could leave just before 6.30.” She pointed.

“You just finished working out?” I asked raising an eyebrow.

She was wearing a black, tight, sports leggings with her sports top over the grey cardigan she was wearing.

“You’re going to shower?” I asked her again and she nodded her head. “Well in that case help me up.” I said, extending my hand to her.

Maybe because of her exhaustion, she didn’t think of anything and took my hand. Instead of pulling me out of the pull, I pulled a smirk on the corner of my mouth before pulling her into the cold pool water. She shrieked before she could hit the water.

I laughed as she emerged from under water before giving me a death glare.

“Park Jinyoung you have 10 seconds before I can drown you in this very water!” She screamed as she put her hands on the top of my head before pushing it down with herself.

We stayed in the pool for a bout 30 minutes or so before getting ourself out to race towards the bathroom.

I let her shower in our bathroom while I shower in the guest bedroom bathroom to spare some time. As I finished, I put on my black shirt and grey pants before I could roll the sleeves of my shirt. I put on a pair of shiny black shoes before I stood in front of the full-length mirror to fix my hair before walking out form the room and knocked on the door.

“(Y/N), are you dressed?” I raised my voice so she could hear me.

“Yeah, just come in!” I heard her voice behind the door.

I opened the door to see her in a beautiful white dress, exposing her back to me. As she turned around, I just felt my heart skipped a beat. It was a long sleeved dress, showing her strong shoulders and collarbone. The dress wasn’t tight, but it shows her curves just perfectly. From her knee, the dress becomes sheer so you could definitely see her calf and the white high heels she was wearing.

“Do I look overdressed?” She asked, holding up her hair.

I snapped out of my thoughts and shook my head. I walked closer to her, my eyes still focused on hers before it went from the top of her head to the tip of her toes then back up to her eyes again. I placed my hands on her hips. The smell of her amber, musk perfume.

“You look… absolutely beautiful.” I told her and she just gave me a shy smile.

“I might just stare at you all night, afraid that somebody might comes in and swoops you out from me.” And she giggled.

“Stop, you’re making me want change dress.” She said, and I quickly shook my head.

“No, don’t! we’re already late, now come one, we have a dinner party to attend. I told her.

I held her hand as we both walked down the stairs. We both got into the car and I quickly start the engine.

Never in a million years that I thought my house could fit thIs much of a people. The front hall that I thought was too big was just packed with man in suits and women in dresses. A glass of champagne or wine were at hands. As we both stepped into the building, I felt people were staring at us—or to be more specific—at (Y/N). I could feel the grip of her hand on my arm tightens.

“People are staring…” She whispered low.

“People are mesmerized by your beauty of course.” I convince her with a smile.

We walked around the building and I couldn’t seem to find the host of this dinner party, to be exact—my own parents.

“Jinyoung! (Y/N)!” Finally a familiar voice called out. We both turned our heads to the source of the voice, and I could see my mother waving her hand. She was in a blue dress, a cocktail in her hand. She walked closer to us and I could feel (Y/N)’S grip loosen before she lets go of me to give my mother a hug.

“(Y/N), you looked absolutely beautiful! Your dress is very much stunning!” She complimented (Y/N).

“Oh, no… you looked amazing yourself mum!” She smiled, and then my mother turned to me to give me a hug.

“I’m sorry for the late notice to you both… You father had been keeping me busy all day, so I didn’t have time to call you all morning.” She explained.

“It’s okay, we’re sorry that we’re a little late.” (Y/N) apologized.

“No need to apologized dear—Ah, which reminds me, I have something I want to give you (Y/N), do you mind coming with me?” My mother offered her hand and (Y/N) politely took it.

“It’s upstairs—Jinyoung, I’m sure your father is looking for you somewhere, you should go.” My mother suddenly left me alone in a room packed with people. I was about to say something but shook my head as I watched my mother and my own wife, walked through the sea of people staring at them before they turned the corner. I walked around the house before a waiter with a tray of glasses of champagne passes by, I took one before taking a sip still walking to an unknown direction. I found my father in the living hall, sitting on the couch with his friends. When his eyes spotted me, He waved his hand and I scurried to him.

“My boy! How are you? it’s been a while since I last saw you!” He said happily, putting his arm around me. “Where is (Y/N)? Is she at home?” He immediately asked about her whereabouts.

“No, she’s here, mother took her to talk about something, and left me here.” I explained.

“Ah, come here, and sit down with us! We’re discussing, you should hear about it.” He said, as I took a seat besides my father.

The conversations went on for hours. My father then excused himself before patting my shoulder.

“Come my boy, I need to speak to you about something.” He said.

I nodded my head before I couls stood my grounds and bowed to the remaining people and chased my father.

“How long have you been living with (Y/N)?” He suddenly asked.

“7 months.” I answered right away.

“If you add another 2 months, I could be seeing my grandchild.” He said in a sarcastic note.

I was too surprised by his comment, so I kept my words and stayed silent.

“Have you talked about having a child with her?” He asked again. I shook my head.

“No… not yet… I don’t want to do anything that makes her uncomfortable.

“She’s your wife.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to!” I pointed back, feeling a bit anger.

My father stopped his steps and so did I. I looked at him with wide eyes, assuming he felt my anger he managed a smile before turning himself to me.

He placed his hand on my shoulder with a smile on his lips.

“Do you love her?” He asked me.

I raised my eyebrow as if asking are you seriously asking me that question?“Yes, of course I love her.” I answered him anyway.

“Have you told her you love her?” He asked again, and this time I stayed quiet. I do love (Y/N), but I never really said it out loud to her, because I don’t know what she thinks of me. I just met her 7 months ago, and I don’t know if she loves me yet or not even the slightest bit.

“When I married your mother, it took me a year to said it out loud to her.” He said, continuing his steps and I followed him as I listened to him.

“It took months to get to know your mother, it took months to know what’s her favorite color, to know what she likes to do at home, what’s her favorite food and drink—to know everything about her. It took her months to open her heart to me! And the first time I told your mother I love her was when you were finally born. And do you know what your mother said to me?” He then stopped by the glass window, overviewing the crowed on the backyard. There were people dancing, drinking, some were even in the pool enjoying a nice, freezing. Swim.

When I didn’t answer to him, he turned to me for a brief seconds before looking out the window.

“She cried and then she said… ‘I thought I was about to have a child with his father who doesn’t loves his mother.’ And at that moment, I never missed a day where I don’t express and told her just how much I love her.” He said.

“Jinyoung, your mother and I both know, that you will do anything in your power to keep (Y/N) happy and safe, because that is how we taught you. But I also want you to make her feel loved… don’t make her doubt that she’s not worthy of love. I know you love her, and I know full well that she loves you.”

“How do you that she loves me?” I asked. And just on queue, my father’s face lit up, looking something past me.

I turned to see my mother and (Y/N), walking side by side. I felt my father patted my back, leaning his face close to my ear. “Trust me son, I lived much longer than you… I know love when I see one. “ He whispered before he could walk closer to my mother.

“Honey, I was talking with (Y/N) when suddenly I heard out favorite song, I just had to take the dance with you!” My mother said excitedly, offering her hand to my father before he gladly took it and kissed the back of her hand.

I didn’t realize the people started pairing up as they danced gracefully in the room.

“And, my goodness, (Y/N), might I say that you look magnificent tonight.” My father commented before she smiled, slightly bowing to my father.

“You looked dashing yourself father.” She complimented back.

My father smiled at her. “Please both of you, enjoy the night! Now if you’ll excuse us, I must dance with my lovely wife!” My father happily said before he walked toward the middle of the room to dance with my mother. (Y/N) moved herself to stand beside me to watch my parents danced their heart out, with smiles on both of their faces.

“Your parents looked so in love with each other.” She suddenly said beside me.

“Yeah…” I responed before I could turn to look at her. She had her eyes focus on the dance floor with that bright smile on her face.

“And at that moment, I never missed a day where I don’t express and told her just how much I love her.”

“I know love when I see one.”

I heard my father’s words echoed in my head as I looked to her.

I think she might have noticed that I was staring at her so she turned up to look at me, raising her eyebrow.

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to stare—have you eaten?” I quickly asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, you mother actually took me to her study I believe… and we eat there.” She informed.

“Have you?” She asked.

“Yeah.” I lied, I haven’t eaten a damn thing. “I was invited to dinner and then I came here with m partner, but then I was ditched as soon as we arrived so I had to cope with something.” I explained sarcastically and she giggled by my side.

“I’m sorry that I ditched you tonight.” She apologized, hooking her arm around mine.

“I mean you know… I can’t actually say that I was ditched, because… this is my home anyway.” I added only to make her laugh.

“Should we get back home?” I asked her.

“What, you don’t want to take a dance first?” She asked.

I gave her a shrug, “Let’s just dance at home, where the chances of me stepping on people’s foot is lesser.” I told her and she laughed again.

I took her hand before we both could leave the building. As we got into the car, I shook my head before turning he car engine on.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothing, it’s just… old people, they should be asleep by now, but they came so late at night.” I told her, she giggled and hit my shoulder lightly.

“What’s up with you and your sarcastic comments lately?” She asked again.

“This is what happens when you left me with my father with a glass of champagne in my hand.” I turned to her, before I pulled the car out of the parking spot and drove back home.

Once we arrived, we stepped in our quiet home, the only sound I could hear was the sound of the pool water outside, and the sound of our shoes against. She walked towards the living area where she lights up the fire place before taking a seat on the couch.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Taking my heels off?” She answered, but it came out more like a question.

“I’m about to ask you to dance and you’re going to take your heels off?” I asked her, and she looked to me surprise.

“Oh, you were serious about taking the dance here?” She asked again, with a hint of amusement in her tone. I nodded my head as she stood up and walked closer to me.

“But there’s no music….” She pointed out.

I rolled my eyes as I fished my phone out form my pocket and randomly play a slow song I had before blasting its volume and slipping it back into my pocket. I took her hand as I slipped my other hand on her waist. She placed her hand on my shoulder with a small smile before we both could start taking a step.

“This is nice…” She said, as the music plays in the background, moving our body side to side.

“Yeah…” I let out a sigh, before she could rest her head on my chest.

“(Y/N)…” “Hm? She looked up to me and our eyes met.

“While you were with my mother, my father actually pull me aside to talk.” I started.

She moved her hand from my grip before wrapping her arms around my neck while my hands are down at her waist.

“What did you guys talk about?” She asked, still with that small smile on her face and that radiant glow in her eyes.

“He told me about when my mother was pregnant with me, she never felt any love from him. And when I came to the world, he finally said that he loves my mother when my mother, but really it was hard to gain my mother’s heart again.” I explained.

Her smile faded, and I could feel our steps became smaller and slower.

“And I don’t want that to happen to you… I want you to be happy, I want you to feel safe here, I want you to be comfortable whenever you’re with me… but not just that, I want you to feel loved too.” I told her.

“Your mother actually told me the same story actually…” She said, with a light chuckle.

“What did she tell you?”

“Same story, but different perspectives.” She managed a smile. “She told me that yes, your father made her very happy, but… she never felt she was loved. And by the time you were born, she didn’t believe that your father loved her. So your father never missed a day to tell her that, and that he would always try his best to show that… he really did love her.” She explained. There was a few seconds of silent as we moved around, with just the music playing in the background.

“Jinyoung…” Her voice, finally broke the intense silence between us. “Do you love me?” She asked as I looked down to her.

“Of course I do…”

“Don’t lie…” She said, her eyes looking glassy as if she blinks this second, she’ll tear up.

“I do, (Y/N), I do love you, I love since the first time we’ve met!” I confessed and she stayed silent as we stopped our pace.

“Before we got married, we promised to not force our feelings right? Well, to tell you the truth, before we even made that promise, I was already falling in love with you. Everytime you smile it feels like the whole room just lights up. I love how you always laugh at my jokes and sarcasm. I fell in love with your own personality, you’re so polite with everyone, you’re kind, you always show your happy side and believe me… each and every waking day, I fell in love with you even more.” I told her.

A small smile appeared, but there was also a hint of doubt on her face.

“Maybe you don’t believe me now, and maybe because part of it is my fault, I should’ve told you sooner.”

Her face drops, but then she shakes her head.

“I love you… Jinyoung, and maybe you don’t believe me too because we were just told about our parents mistakes… and part of it is my fault too because I made the promise and I should’ve told you that I love you too.” She explained. Her eyes stare deeply into mine, but they were soft and gentle.

“What can I do, to make you believe me?” I asked her.

Her eyes searched for something on my face before I could feel her warm hands touching my face as she leans herself closer to me.

“Maybe…” Her eyes fell to my lips. “This…”

Nothing was said after that. I felt her plump lips moving against mine. I moved my hand against her bareback as I could feel her arms around my neck tightens. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and she gladly welcomed me, letting me explore her. A gasp of moan escaped her mouth before I then swooped her off the ground, carrying her in my arms. She squirmed, pulling lips away from mine, but our eyes didn’t leave each other. I then lay her on the couch, letting myself hover on top of her before she could pull my face back to connect our lips again. I held on to the side of the couch to make sure I won’t crash on her.

“(Y/N)…” I breathed.

“What? Are we taking it too fast?” She asked, suddenly nervous, causing me to chuckle.

“No, no, I want to keep this pace, but… I won’t do anything that you don’t want to do.” I told her.

“Do you even know what I want?” She shot.

“Do you want to?” I asked, raising my eyebrows sounding to eager.

A smirk appeared on her lips before she could support her body with her arms, leaning closer to the side of my face. I felt her hot breath against my neck before I could feel her lips pressed against it as I closed my eyes. I felt my arms jiggled for a bit, as her lips then moved to my ear, and right there I just lost it.

“don’t make me change my mind.” She whispered seductively into my ear.

I pulled my face to look at her before I got off from the couch, bitting my bottom lip.

“Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked.

She squirmed when I lift her up from the couch followed by her giggle as she rest her head on my shoulder. I walked up the stairs towards our bedroom. She helped me to open the door with her free hand before I could throw her on the bed. He giggles stopped when I pressed my lips back onto hers.

“Baby, you look amazing in this dress tonight, but, I can’t contain myself anymore, I want to see you for what you are.”

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queen-haq · 3 years

Text

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 6

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and light smut.

Words: ~2400 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

***

The moment Billy spotted you and Roger sitting at the corner table, his mood soured. The two of you were engaged in deep conversation, his chair next to yours so you could study his Ipad as he showed you something on it. You nodded at times, your focus entirely on the screen, and every once in a while Roger would smirk at you like he was imagining you naked. It pissed Billy off so much he had to fight the urge to go over and sucker punch the fucker.

For someone so brilliant, he wondered how you could be so gullible when it came to Roger. How could you not notice the guy was hardcore hung up on you? Not that Billy could blame him for falling for you. But you should have exercised more caution and not socialized with the prick outside of work. After all, you had a stellar reputation within the industry to protect and the last thing you needed was for people to wonder if you moved up so quickly due to your own merit or your relationship with Roger. You worked hard and deserved all the recognition you received and it wasn’t fair to you that people would question your brilliance. Except you didn’t seem worried about that at all which infuriated Billy.

“Which one are you spying on?”

Hearing Dinah’s question, Billy dragged his attention away from you and back to the brunette sitting in front of him. Usually they hooked up every few weeks but ever since the gala, neither had reached out to the other. When she’d called this morning wanting to meet up and talk, he’d suggested meeting at Piatti.

“Him or her?” Dinah prodded.

“Both,” he replied, intending to cast a quick glance in your direction only to find you smiling at Roger the prick. A beautiful, dazzling, flirtatious smile that would unmistakably give the asshole the wrong idea about you.

“Billy, are you okay?” Dinah asked, watching him with concern.

“Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You look angry.”

He shook his head, plastering on a fake smile. “You worried about me, Madani?”

“Should I be?”

“Be careful. I might start to think you’re falling for me.” He leaned in closer, reminding himself how easy it was to be with her. He and Dinah always had a good time, the sex was great, and there were no complications in the relationship. She didn’t crawl into his head and take up permanent residence the way you had. She didn’t demand things of him he wasn’t prepared to give. The arrangement with Dinah was simple, casual and perfect, just the way he preferred.

“About that…” Dinah cleared her voice. “We need to stop seeing each other.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because I’ve met someone.”

Dinah’s words barely registered in his mind as he noticed you walking away from the table and heading for the staircase that led downstairs. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” Billy walked across the restaurant, following the same path you did. The restrooms were located on the level below, and once he reached the floor, he found it empty. Leaning against the wall next to the women’s bathroom, he waited for you to come out. When you exited a few minutes later, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you against him. Right away you started struggling, kicking him, attacking him, even starting to scream if not for his hand covering your mouth. It took a few seconds for Billy to subdue you and it was then he spotted the sheer terror on your face. When you pushed him off this time, he stepped back right away.

“What are you doing?” Your hand was on your chest, your breathing rapid as you struggled to catch your breath.

Billy felt horrible. You were rightfully jumpy since the incident yesterday. “Shit. I wasn’t thinking-”

“I thought you were him!”

“I know. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” Outwardly you seemed to be calm again but he sensed it was a façade, especially when he saw how your hands were shaking. “Let me?” he urged, seeking your permission to hold you. When you didn’t say no, he moved in closer to wrap his arms around you.

At first you stiffened, just like you had yesterday, but then you leaned into the hug, snuggling your face against his chest with your arms looped around his waist. He breathed you in, offering you comfort but also trying not to get excited at how good you felt in his arms. Instinctively he caressed your hair, pressing light kisses on your forehead and the top of your head. You squeezed your arms around him, as if trying to fuse yourself with him.

He could have stood there forever, simply holding you, inhaling in the scent of your shampoo, your perfume and getting lost in your essence. Somewhere in his brain he knew how ridiculous this was, he was acting like a goddamn teenager with a first crush, but at that moment it didn’t matter. None of it did. He just felt content. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “Not going to let anything happen to you.”

“You sound like you actually care,” you replied, your voice muffled against his jacket.

“Maybe I do.”

Disappointment surged through him when you pulled back to look at him, but he took comfort in the fact you were still locked in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

Billy realized you hadn’t seen him upstairs, like he’d assumed, which meant you weren’t aware he’d come with Dinah Madani. “Work thing.”

“And you just happened to choose this restaurant?”

“Why not? You got exclusive rights to this place or something?”

“You heard me mention this place to Roger last night when you were eavesdropping.”

“It’s not eavesdropping if you have the conversation right in front of me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you hate him so much? Is this really a Valiant vs. Anvil thing? Or do you guys have some kind of history that I don’t know about?”

Billy’s eyes drifted down to your lips. “I don’t hate him. I don’t even know the guy. It just bugs me that you think he’s so great.”

You stilled, sounding almost breathless. “Why?”

“If he did his job properly, you wouldn’t have a gun pulled on you yesterday,” he snapped, agitated at the thought of you in danger. “But you don’t seem to give a damn about that.”

“He’s not the one responsible.”

“And now you’re defending him.”

You exhaled a heavy sigh, bringing your hand to your chest to rub your skin nervously. The gesture immediately drew Billy’s attention to your breasts as your fingers inadvertently pulled down the already low-cut neckline of the cashmere sweater you were wearing. Visions of your naked breasts danced through his mind, reminding him of how close he’d come to fucking you yesterday. It had taken every bit of strength he possessed to refuse you. If you’d been anyone else, he sure as hell wouldn’t have, but you were terrified and in pain and he didn’t want to take advantage of you when you were vulnerable. He wasn’t that big of an asshole. Of course none of those valid reasons helped with the hard-on after.

“Stop staring at my breasts, Billy.”

“Just remembering last night,” he drawled, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from your breasts to meet your eyes.

“When you turned me down?”

“Because it wasn’t me you wanted to fuck. Anyone would’ve done.” Billy tried to smooth the edge in his voice but the bitterness was still there, present in his tone.

Regret washed over your face, surprising him. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

He reached out to tuck a loose curl of your hair behind your ear. How was it that he’d spent months without ever knowing you and now it had barely been a week since you let him in and you already felt like a part of him? “Next time you’re naked in front of me, I’m not being a hero,” he warned. “I will fuck you.”

You chuckled. “There isn’t going to be a next time. You lost your chance, Billy.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirked.

You quirked your eyebrow, a wicked smile on your face. “You think Roger would’ve turned me down?”

The smirk on Billy’s face disappeared at the thought of you fucking Roger. No, not just Roger. Anyone else. He advanced forward. “Don’t provoke me, Y/N.”

You stared up at him defiantly. “But it’s not like you get jealous, right?”

He grasped your chin, leveling you with a keen stare. “Stop.”

“Or what?” You taunted.

“Or I’ll carry you upstairs and fuck you senseless right in front of dear Roger.”

The hitch in your breath made him realize how much that idea aroused you, and he watched as your tongue delicately licked your bottom lip. God, your mouth. He remembered the last time your mouth was wrapped around his cock, sucking him off-

“You’re not jealous but you show up at the same place I’m having dinner with Roger. What were you planning to do? Sit at the bar and stare daggers at us?”

There was a smile tugging at your lips, you were teasing him. You liked having him there, and the thought made him ecstatic – except he remembered he wasn’t alone. Dinah was upstairs, you would see her soon, and knowing you would inevitably misinterpret the innocent dinner as something else made his insides twist with anxiety. He couldn’t bear the idea of you in pain.

Something in your eyes shifted, as if you’d read his mind. Just as suddenly, he sensed the change in your demeanor. A minute ago you were flirting with him and now your guard was back up. Immediately you moved away from him.

“You’re not here alone.” You gave him a small smile, trying to play it off like it was no big deal. “I don’t know why I thought you would be.”

Billy reminded himself he didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, it’s not like he’d ever promised you monogamy. Hell, you guys weren’t even in a relationship - but none of that helped ease the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. “It’s not a date or anything. Just having dinner with a friend.”

“Friend?”

He hesitated to tell you, but you seemed to know already.

“Dinah Madani,” you answered yourself.

“Look, nothing’s going on. She was actually telling me how she’s seeing someone new.”

Your voice was filled with contempt. “Good for her. She deserves better than you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” You were here with your precious Roger but you were pissed Billy had brought someone?

You were charging towards the stairs when you paused, turning back to look at him. “Every time I think you can’t be more of an asshole, you prove me wrong.”

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either, sweetheart,” Billy retorted, but you had already rushed up the stairs and disappeared from view. Angry, he marched upstairs. Dinah was texting on her phone when he returned to the table.

“Took you long enough,” she remarked.

“Sorry,’ he offered flippantly, chugging his drink.

“I’m guessing it’s not a co-incidence your mark came back a few seconds before you did?”

Billy cast you a quick look to find you sitting alone at the table, on your phone. “Let’s not talk about her. She’s not important,” he said dismissively.

“Really? Because I’ve never seen you wound up so tight.”

He reached for Dinah’s hand, sending her a seductive smile. “How about we get out of here?”

“I told you, I’m seeing someone.”

“So what? He doesn’t need to know.” He said half-heartedly, already losing enthusiasm for the offer he proposed. His gaze inadvertently returned to you. Roger the prick was back and you were fully engrossed in his eyes.

Dinah sent him a smirk. “You like her.”

“Sure,” he bit out sarcastically.

“No, you really do.”

“Are we in high school or something?”

“It’s serious. I can tell. Your eyes get all soft when you look at her.”

“That’s you looking at the world with your love goggles on.”

“Have you told her how you feel?”

Jaw clenched, he gestured the waiter to bring him another drink.

“So that’s a no then,” Dinah mused.

“I don’t want to talk about this with you, Madani.” He chugged the whiskey. Just then his phone rang. Grateful for the distraction, he pulled it out to answer it. “Billy Russo.”

“It’s Quentin. The guy you asked me to check up on? His family just posted bail. He’s out.”

Immediately, his eyes flew to you. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” He scanned your face. A minute ago he would’ve been fuming that you were giggling with Roger but now Billy wanted to hold on to this moment and etch the memory of a happy you in his brain. “Dinah, there’s something I have to take care of.” He waved at the waiter to come over, and handed him his credit card. As he waited for the bill, he fired off a text to one of his contacts. It’s on.

“You mean her?” Dinah asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered, signing for the bill. “I have to give her some bad news.”

“Then you should also tell her how you feel. Give her something good to go with the bad.”

“You’ll be okay to get home on your own?” Billy asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

Dinah stood up to leave, but not before leaning over to kiss his cheek. It didn’t escape Billy’s notice how you glanced over at that very moment. Hurt flashed across your face but it disappeared quickly, and you turned back to Roger again.

As soon as Dinah left the table, he started making his way towards you. He sensed the second you were aware of his looming proximity because you tensed, despite the smile you maintained on your face.

“Roger, Y/N, how are you guys?” Billy greeted, putting on his most magnetic smile. He extended his hand out to shake Roger’s who returned his friendly greeting. When he turned to you, you offered him a stiff smile.

“Billy, how’s it going?” Roger asked.

“Great. Mind if I join you guys for a minute?”

“I’m actually leaving.” You slid out from behind the table, careful to keep your distance from him. “Roger, thanks for dinner. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Adam Preston’s been released on bail,” Billy announced.

You stilled, his eyes locked on you.

“Got any plans to protect your star asset, Rog? Or are you just gonna have her fend for herself?”

“Don’t,” you warned, glaring at him.

Billy leveled Roger with a smug glance. “Disgruntled employees. Shoddy security. Things are a real mess at Valiant, aren’t they? If Valiant can’t protect its employees, feel free to use Anvil. We’re more than capable.”

At least Roger had the gall to look embarrassed. “That won’t be necessary.”

As you stormed away, Billy turned to Roger. “Start with 24/7 protective detail on her. If you can manage that.”

He didn’t wait for a response, quickly rushing out of the restaurant to catch up with you only to find you waiting for him in the nearby alley. You were furious as hell, bristling with rage as he drew closer.

“What the fuck was that?” you demanded. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my boss like that?”

“I’m the one who got him to step up and take responsibility,” he yelled back. “Something he should have fucking done from day one!”

“You made me look like a helpless idiot in front of him. He’s my boss! I’ve spent years working my ass off so people actually take me seriously and you just completely shot that to hell!”

“Think I give a fuck about your job when some maniac is out to hurt you?” Billy raged.

“Stop acting like you give a shit about me, Billy, when we both know you don’t!” You started to walk away but he grabbed your arm from behind.

“You think I don’t care?” he roared, pulling you to him. “I wish I didn’t! I wish I didn’t give a fuck about you. My life would be hell of a lot easier if you weren’t in it.”

“Then stay the hell away from me!” You screamed, clawing at him. “Let me go, you fucking asshole!”

He was so furious he couldn’t think straight, his blood was boiling. So he did the only thing that could calm the rage in him. He shoved you against the wall and kissed you.

Part 7

As always, thank you so much for the likes, the reblogs, and especially the wonderful comments and asks you’ve sent me. Trust me, it makes my day and keeps me insanely motivated to keep writing. LOL.

I’m on vacay next week, and my plan is to lay on the Caribbean beach, relax under the sun, and write some dirty, angsty smut while also indulging in the same in real life :)

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, please drop me a note.

GIF source: @bilyrusso

Tag List

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh @maralisa124 @tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur @nemesis729 @lysawayne @kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda @advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer @dontjinx-it @darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting--heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #billy russo imagine

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chelleztjs18 · 3 years

Text

Lost in Assistance - Ch. 4

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

GIF: I do not own this GIF. Found it on gifimage.net

Summary: Y/n is a professional celebrity's personal assistant in Hollywood got hired with two years contract to be the assistant of the famous and talented Elizabeth Olsen / Lizzie by her manager. Both Y/n and Lizzie hate each other since day one, and they have mutual friend. One is as stubborn as the other, will Y/n stay when Lizzie gives attitudes and tries her best to make her quit before the contract ends?

Warning: fluff, angst, smut (in future chapters), swearing words ( +18 only)

All chapters

Today is Wednesday but not just a regular Wednesday. It’s the day of the meeting with Elizabeth Olsen and her manager, Jane Vernon.

Your phone alarm sounds break the silence in your room slowly but sure it gets louder enough to motivate you to start the day. You woke up with mixed feelings. Excited yet nervous at the same time. You turn on some music. Sunset Lover - Petit Biscuit starts to play and you get ready. After a fresh shower, you put on just enough nude color makeup then you go to your walk-in closet to pick a close-fitting button up white shirt with burgundy stripes and black slim fit women's suit and trousers with burgundy open toe high heels that match with your nails color since it’s your favorite color. You get your side parted wavy medium length burgundy colored hair done that makes it flow down to your shoulder. You may be the type of girl who doesn’t really like to put on much makeup, but you take your hair, clothings and nails pretty seriously as well as your perfume.

As soon as you are all ready and putting your heels on while sitting on a little sofa in the middle of your closet, your phone rings. You guessed that it’s Mitchel and you are right.

“Good morning darling.” You answered as you continued to put on your shoes. “Oh wow, that's the spirit! Good morning love! Are you excited for today? Are you ready?” said Mitchel on the other end. “Well, yeah but no but also yeah that I’m all ready to go.” You replied while you took another look in front of the mirror and slowly twirled to make sure you looked good. Then you spray a little bit of perfume and you are ready to go downstairs while still on the phone. “Okay great. I will see you over there, I want to say hi to Jane. Everything will be okay. Don't be nervous, okay Y/n?” Mitchel tried to make you feel better. “Thank you Mitchel. I appreciate it. I’m leaving soon so I’ll see you there. Bye.” You grab your medium size leather purse and go downstairs.

As usual, your mom is already awake, sitting on the big living room couch. “Morning Ma. I have a meeting this morning. It shouldn’t be that long but you know Mitchel, he might want to have brunch after that but just call me if you need anything, okay? Love you Ma.” You gave her a hug and went to the garage. “Okay hun. Good luck. Love you too.”

You put on your prescription aviator style sunglasses, blast some music to amp you up started by White Lies - Odesza then start driving. The sun was up but not too bright, the traffic wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be so you arrived there a little too early.

As you walked into the lobby you saw a coffee shop so you decided to get some ice coffee for you. Just when your order is ready and you are about to grab it, you notice a familiar face whose order is ready too. It was Lizzie grabbing her order. Eye contact was caught between you two and you gave a smile just to be friendly and she replied with a nod and small smile. You recognize her even though her long dirty blonde hair flawlessly covers both sides of her face and she is wearing sunglasses that were intended to cover her face so she won’t be recognized. You both walk towards the elevator and blend in with a group of people in the elevator. You saw her pressed the floor button then she dived back into whatever she was doing with her phone. The elevator stopped on your floor, some people went out to go to other offices which are on the same floor as Vernon’s office. Lizzie went out as well but she stopped in front of the elevator to answer a phone call so she didn’t know that you both actually have the same destination to meet Jane.

After you greeted and talked to Aaron, Jane’s assistant, he informed you to wait in the waiting room. Few minutes later, you heard that Lizzie came in and was told the same thing as you were. She is sitting on the chair across you talking on the phone with her best friend about the plan to meet up after the meeting, while you are browsing on your phone and enjoying your ice coffee you can feel that sometimes she takes a quick glance once or twice at you without knowing who you are and why you are there.

“I don’t even wanna be here. I still think it’s a stupid idea to get me another personal assistant. This already made me upset to begin with and it’s just gonna make me not like this person already even though I know it’s not her fault to get hired by Jane.” She tried to talk as quietly as possible but not quite enough for you not to be able to hear it. Aaron came and told her that she can come into the meeting room. “I gotta go, I’ll see you later after the meeting. Bye.”

She hangs up then proceeds to follow Aaron to the meeting room. After what you heard, you can only chuckle to yourself knowing this is not gonna be easy work between you both. Aaron comes for your turn. “Ms. Y/l/n, they are ready for you. You can come this way.” Aaron guides you to the meeting room. You smiled and thanked him as he opened the door for you.

You come into the meeting room that has large windows around it that give natural light and a pretty sky view decorated with clouds and top of skyscrapers of L.A with the trails of the streets and cars that look so small from up here. You see Lizzie is sitting next to Jane with Mitchel sitting in front of them, parted by a big rectangle glass table.

“Y/n darling! You made it!” Mitchel came to you and gave you a cheek to cheek kiss as always. “Hi Mitch. I’m glad to be here.” You smiled.

“Come, let me introduce you to these fabulous ladies. Jane, Lizzie this is Y/n Y/l/n. She is my best friend slash the best personal assistant you are looking for. Y/n, this is Elizabeth Olsen and her manager Jane Vernon.” Mitch proudly introduces you to them.

“Nice to meet you Y/n, Mitch talked a lot about you once he knew I was looking for a professional assistant. I hope you don't mind me calling you by your first name.” While Jane offered her hand for a friendly handshake yet felt so formal, you can see from the corner of your eyes Lizzie’s jaw dropped a little, looking at you up and down realizing you might have heard what she said on the phone earlier about you. “The pleasure is mine Mrs. Vernon and yeah I don't mind you calling me by my first name” You gave a firm professional handshake and smiled. “You can call me Jane.”

You then slightly turn your head to Lizzie and her beautiful green eyes are now so easily noticeable by you without her sunglasses on. “Ms. Olsen, It’s nice to meet you.” You smiled and tried to stay professional even though you know how she feels about this meeting and about you. There is an awkward vibe from Lizzie towards you since she thinks you heard her conversation but her stubbornness about this whole thing is bigger than the awkwardness itself that made the friendly Lizzie respond a little cold to you. “Thanks, same here.” She gave you a quick handshake but you can feel the softness of her skin even though just for a few seconds.

The four of you take a seat. “So Y/n, this is not an interview because practically you are already hired because I read your resume plus the reference from Mitch here. I gotta admit, it’s pretty impressive. Lots of years of experience working in this field, you have worked with big names in Hollywood. You speak five languages and that’s another big plus. We have this meeting just so we can sign the contract and agreement. I believe Mitch already gave you the details of Do’s and Don'ts and our expectation specially from Lizzie here.” Jane explained while she was looking at your resume then slid some papers in front of you on the table for you to take a look at it.

“Well, to be honest what I wanted was actually simple, I don’t want any new personal assistant but Jane insisted on giving it a try, so here I am. So, I hope you are as great as your resume Y/n to make my try worth it.” Lizzie said it in a quite firm tone with the best pretend smile she can do. Deep down she hoped what she just said would’ve just made you change your mind.

“Ha Ha Lizzie was just joking. Isn’t she funny?” Jane laughed awkwardly and tried to give Lizzie a look about what she said.

“Is that so, Ms.Olsen? Don’t you worry about it. I hope the way I work and the way I do my job suits you.” You gazed at her eyes before you gave a fake smile. You tried to remind yourself in your mind that you respect Mitch and don’t want to put him in a hard time with his client even though Jane is a good friend of his otherwise your reaction would be different.

“This is the contract, it will be only for two years but it might be for less than that. If it does change to less than two years, there will be a notice in advance. It can also be terminated early if there is a mutual decision by both parties. All of this is written in it. It says you acknowledged and agreed with what I just informed you. You can sign on every section that’s marked X” Jane explained all the details while she showed each point. You read everything, gazed at Lizzie’s mesmerizing green eyes and gave a little smirk to her then signed each section. As you can see, this clearly upset Lizzie.

“Okay, everything is good. In this envelope, there are all Lizzie’s schedules, addresses and numbers. Plus all lists what she likes and dislikes. Sometimes you need to drive with her, sometimes you don't have to. I’m sure you know the drill, but just a friendly reminder that everything is confidential, especially all Marvel related. You can start on Friday. I guessed that’s all. Welcome to our family Y/n. We are thrilled that you joined us here, right Lizzie?” Jane finalized everything with another handshake with you and Mitchel. “Yeah, sure. Now if you guys excuse me, I gotta go right now. Sorry.” Lizzie put a tiny smile in the corner of her lips, waved goodbye then left in a rush and looked upset.”

As soon as Lizzie left and the door was closed, Jane apologized. “Ummm, Mitchel, Y/n I’m truly sorry for how Lizzie acted earlier. Trust me, she is actually a very sweet, genuine and friendly person. That’s the reason I have been her manager and agent for years, she’s like a sister to me. It’s just that she sometimes can be very determined or stubborn with what she wants or what she doesn't want and not afraid to show it but I’m sure she will slowly understand why I need to have Y/n’s help. She just has anxiety when she has to adjust or deal with new people. I hope you guys can understand.”

“Don’t worry about that Jane. I have met Lizzie and I know how sweet she is. Like I told you before, Y/n has her own way of working and don't be surprised with how straight forward she is plus she doesn't sugar coat things. She is eccentric in a good way. Right Y/n?” He nudged your arm and smiled.

“Haha. yeah sure Mitch.” You answered jokingly. “I guess we better get going. Thank you Jane. Nice seeing you as always.” You and Mitch bid farewell to Jane and left. “Bye guys. See you again.” Jane walked back to her office room.

“Mitchel, what the hell was that? Why did she act like that? On top of all, why didn’t you tell me that she actually didn’t want an assistant?!” You tried to whisper so nobody at the office heard as you both were walking out of the office.

“Yeah about that, I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry. “ Mitch squinted his eyes waiting because he was worried how your reaction was gonna be.

“You are lucky we are best friends otherwise I wouldn’t sign that contract and would’ve said NO on the spot after what she said. I already don’t like her. This is not gonna be easy.” You said it jokingly but it has a little bit of truth in it.

“Haha. I love you too!” Mitch replied happily, knowing you would help him no matter what. Both of you parted, continue with your days.

Ch. 5

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen fanfic #lizzie olsen #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen fanfic #elizabeth olsen fluff #lizzie olsen fluff #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fluff #scarlet witch x reader #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part VI

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader, Zeke Yeager x fem!reader wc: ~ 11.2k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, ass play, jealousy, possessive behavior, humiliation, manipulation, OC introduced (read A/N), non-con coming inside, fighting, miscommunication A/N: As I was writing this, I decided to bring original female characters in to play the “bad guys” because I didn’t wanna demonize the canon AoT girls. Just didn’t feel right. So, everyone, meet Rhi. Enjoy~

Mike is extremely fucking aware of you sitting a foot away from him on his couch. You're hunched over and whining about him beating you in Mario Kart again, and honestly, he doesn't know how he's doing it because he is so not focused on the game.

You came to the party in tight jeans and a sparkling top, and all Mike can think about is getting you out of them, spreading you out underneath him just like he used to.

But, he's not gonna say anything about it, not even gonna allude to it because he feels awful about pushing so hard at the Pike house. He never thought he'd be that type of guy, but he's been known to go a little off the rails when it comes to you.

"Have you ever played this with all banana peels?" Mike asks, trying to get his mind off of the heat he thinks he's radiating.

"What?"

"Like, you set it so all the items are bananas."

Your eyebrows raise. "That sounds nightmarish."

"Oh, it is," he agrees. "But you should experience the chaos at least once."

"Alright, fine. Nanner me up, then." Mike snorts as you sit back against the cushions, examining the Switch controller in your hand and mumbling, "Could they have made these any smaller? My hands are too big. How are you even playing?"

"Practice. We played a lot of Don't Drink and Drive my sophomore year."

He toggles to change the settings, and you both pick characters again. Mike selects Baby Park and grins too widely when you squeak.

"This is the worst possible—"

"It's the best possible track," he corrects you.

The next minute or so is spent with Mike swearing and you screeching, but a melody of giggles can be heard in between.

He stands up like it'll help him focus, and you follow suit, bouncing and leaning forward until Mike thinks you might lose your balance. It's the only match you actually beat him at, and you raise your arms in victory, acting like the terrible winner you are. You dance and poke him in the chest so that Mike rolls his eyes and shoves you with just enough force (so, not a lot) to make you fall back onto the couch.

"Wow, rude!" You exclaim with a little pout.

Mike stands next to you, a little too close as a retort forms on the tip of his tongue, but the angle is awkward, and he watches your eyes flit from his face to his waist (or what's a little below it) for just a split second, just long enough for him to notice, and he has to fight a smirk as you meet his eyes again.

He can imagine your cheeks are feeling pretty warm right now, but Mike doesn't say anything about it, just takes his place beside you. If he's sitting a little closer than before, neither of you mention it.

It's nearing one in the morning, and both of you are starting to feel it, eyes and hands too slow to keep playing the video game, so you switch to a movie. Mike doesn't think much of it when he lays down, legs hanging over the armrest, head in your lap. You tense for about two seconds before relaxing into the position you both know so well.

The first Jurassic Park plays from the TV, but Mike isn't paying any attention, too busy watching the way you're nibbling on your bottom lip. It's your thinking face, means you're lost in your own brain, just as far away from the film as he is.

It's stupid that you're both fighting this. Mike doesn't understand. If he wants it, and you want it, what the fuck is standing in the way? Zeke? That pretentious, clay-stained fuck? You don't even fit well together. In any way. He's too arrogant and philosophical (or so Erwin says). He probably doesn't appreciate your sense of humor (or so Mike says). And, he won't fuck you (so you say). How are you happy with him?

"Miche," your voice is quiet, but still loud enough to send a shiver down Mike's spine.

"Hm?"

"Stop staring at my mouth."

"You looked at my dick earlier."

"Shut up, no I didn't."

Mike laughs, turns his head to bury it in your stomach, and you start carding fingers through his hair. It's natural with the two of you. Nothing is forced. It took a while to get back into the groove of your friendship, but now you're here, and Mike is breathing in the smell of your perfume and fabric softener and you, and he wants so badly to just raise your shirt and plant kisses all over your soft skin.

Your body rises and falls with a deep breath. Your hand stops at the crown of his head. Then, you whisper the words he wants to hear most: "Just one more night?"

Mike sits up so fast, he nearly smacks into your chin with his forehead. He turns to face you again, eyes too round, voice too hopeful as he assures, "Just one more night."

He knows the only reason you're considering this is because Zeke has you all wound up, but that's okay. Mike will take care of you. He'll scratch that itch and then some—remind you of what you're missing.

"Alright, yeah, I—"

Mike is suddenly standing and taking your hand, leading you to his bedroom as the Jurassic Park theme plays you both out.

He knows you'll want to snoop—it's sort of your thing—but he doesn't give you time as he bends and catches you in a kiss, hands holding your face, tilting your head. He feels you curl your fingers into his shirt, using him for leverage as you balance on your tiptoes, and he lets you dance like that for a little while, desperate little ballerina as you open your mouth for him, but as soon as he feels your tongue against his, Mike lifts you clean off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist, no need for straining muscles now as you both lick and suck and hold on to each other too tightly.

Mike paces over to the bed, nearly tripping over the shoes he left in the middle of his room earlier that day, but he’s able to drop you onto the mattress and catch himself above you before any real damage can be done.

You laugh out a, “Real smooth, Zacharias,” that he ignores in favor of taking his shirt off.

He can’t see well in the darkness which just will not do as you begin stripping, but then he remembers, “Oh,” and leans over you to plug in the string of lights he somehow managed to hang around the flag pinned above his headboard. “Ambience.”

You crane to look at them, suck your teeth, and say, “Let me guess. Erwin told you to do it.”

“How’d you know?”

Another little giggle as you tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear—“Because Erwin is the fairy lights type of motherfucker, but you…” You don’t finish that thought, just shake your head and tell him, “They’re cute. I like ‘em.”

Mike hums, “Good,” then leans down for another kiss. Several more, actually.

He’s missed this so fucking much, the way you taste on his tongue, the way you sigh into him, the way your body moves beneath his. It hurts to think this will be the last time he gets to experience it with you, but he plans to savor every second, never let himself forget and, hopefully, make sure you never forget either.

Cheesy or not, the lights cast incredible shadows on your body once it's bared to him. Your silhouette is something he could stare at for hours, days, a lifetime. If he were even slightly artistically inclined, he’d probably try to paint it, but as that’s not the case…

Starting at your jawline, Mike leaves a trail of little bites, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your neck, though, he begins sucking, dragging his teeth over new-forming bruises so that you whimper and arch to press your chest to his. He moves slowly, barely even registering your breathy pleas as he holds a patch of skin captive between his incisors and laves over it.

A mark on your neck. One on the swell of your breast then on the side of the other. The space between two ribs. Just above your naval. The hollow of your hip bone. And, finally, the insides of both thighs.

Last time he did this, on the bed in your old room doused in moonlight, he wasn't trying to be possessive.

Tonight he is.

“M-Miche, please.” Your voice is catching as if you’re crying—as if Mike is torturing you. He supposes he is. You’re ready for relief, and all he’s doing is winding you tighter and tighter. It’s okay, baby, he thinks to himself, I’ll make it worth it.

Swiping his tongue between your folds, Mike groans at how wet you are. He almost feels sorry for you. Now, he’s gonna have to spend even more time drinking you in.

You throw your legs over his shoulders with no prompting, letting him sink further into you. Mike licks in long, deep strokes that make your thighs tremble and jump around his head. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slick and swollen against his tongue, and makes sure to move his face just enough to make a mess of the hair on his chin.

You’re begging again. For something. For nothing. He isn’t quite sure. But, when Mike moves to lick around your dripping hole and uses a finger to flick over your sensitive little bud, you sing for him, and he realizes just how pent up you are.

Oh, he can have fun with this.

Pausing to suck more bruises onto your thighs, Mike tries to calm himself down, find a way to ignore the throb between his legs, but that doesn’t seem likely judging by the way you just keep trying to spread yourself further and further, like it’ll get him to move faster.

He crawls back up your body, face level with yours as he teases your entrance with a finger. You let out the cutest sounds, brow furrowing like you’re focused as you shift your hips in a silent demand that Mike does not follow.

His face is slick with you, and he knows you can taste yourself as he forces you into another long kiss. You let out an honest-to-god sob when he pushes his finger inside of you, throwing your head back and clenching around him while praising, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, tha—thank you.”

Mike pumps in and out a few times, finds your spot with ease and massages over it until he sees true tears leaking from your eyes.

Then, he pulls out, slaps a hand over your cunt, and warns, “Don’t thank me just yet.”

Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling seemingly in shock. Mike raises to his knees and wipes his chin on his shoulder, glances back just in time to see you sit up and attempt to tackle him back on the bed.

Mike snorts, catching you by the wrists and leaning in close. “What do you think you’re gonna do?”

Your eyes are a little wild, lips kiss-swollen, body marked to hell and back from Mike’s mouth. You just can’t get enough, shamelessly cock hungry, and god, he is so glad he's here to witness it. To be a part of it. Maybe he should send Zeke a gift basket, an edible arrangement or something. Thanks for letting me satisfy your girl since you can’t.

It takes no effort to lay you back down, just like it takes no effort to flip you over. Mike raises your hips, enjoys the view of you whining into his pillow for a second, then turns his sights to your ass. He gives it a couple spanks, biting his lip at the way it makes you clench your muscles, then spreads your cheeks and spits.

“M-Mi—”

“‘S’okay,” he tells you before letting more of his saliva drip from his mouth and land on your asshole. “Gonna feel good, I promise.”

He’s never done this with you before, not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he figures if there’s any night to go all out, it’s this one.

The first press of his tongue against your hole has you inhaling sharply, and the first press of his fingers into your pussy has you moaning low in your throat. Just like that, you relax for him. Mike works himself inside of you, opening you up until you’re nothing more than a drooling mess on his bed. You allow him to lick inside of you, to take in every exposed part of you as he rubs your g-spot over and over.

“Mm, gonna… gonna…” Your words are thick and wet. Mike isn’t even sure you realize that you’re speaking. He knows what you’re trying to say, though, so with a mischievous smile, he removes his face and hand, admiring his handiwork as you drop back to the bed and whine for him.

There’s a bottle of listerine in his nightstand, one he only planned on using when he would wake up in the early morning hours with that dead animal taste in his mouth. Turns out, it has more than one use. Mike takes a swig so that you won’t freak out if he tries to kiss you after eating your ass, swishes it around, then swallows.

“Not supposed to drink that,” you slur, already looking much too fucked-out for someone who hasn’t even taken his dick yet.

“Harmless in small doses, babe,” he tells you, recapping the bottle and tossing it back into the open drawer. “If I just chugged all of it, it’d be a different story.”

You let out a little scoff, mumble something he can’t hear, then ask a little louder, “You ready to fuck me yet?”

Mike smirks, pushes you to roll over again, then strokes a thumb over your face. “I am literally always ready to fuck you. Just trying to draw it out tonight.”

It makes you pout, but he thinks your eyes clear a little. Like you understand what he’s feeling. When you pull him down for another kiss, much softer than all of the previous, Mike smiles—another little snapshot he’d like to tuck away.

Without any warning, he pulls the pillows your head is resting on out from under you, snickering at the grunt that leaves you. He taps a hip, “Lift,” and shoves them underneath when you do. He should probably ask if you want him to wear a condom, but that’s nothing more than an afterthought as Mike begins to push into you.

“Ohh, thank god, thank god, thank god,” you pant, and Mike chuckles, dipping a hand down to gently stroke over the tissue stretching around his cock.

Every shallows thrust pushes more slick from you, and he can’t help but gather some on his finger and hold it to your mouth. You’re quick to lick it off, but instead of dropping his hand, Mike moves to press a thumb to your chin and hold your mouth open. You stick your tongue out, and he mumbles a low, “Such a slut,” before spitting on it.

As soon as you swallow Mike snaps his hips forward and starts a hard, fast rhythm. The way your face splits into a crooked grin almost has him coming on the spot, so fucking pleased with yourself, but he wants to make sure you’re seeing stars by the time he’s finished with you—wants to make sure you can’t even get out of his bed.

You're sucking in air through your teeth, little hisses that could be from either pain or pleasure, but the way you keep raising yourself off the pillows to meet Mike halfway is a pretty good indicator of which one it is.

While your voice seems muted at the time being, your sloppy little cunt is not—lewd, wet noises echoing through Mike's room as well as his head. That fucking squelch he hears every time he pushes in, the mirroring suck whenever he pulls out… You always get messy with him, or maybe he always makes a mess out of you—either way, it's one of the many things Mike adores about you. You were shy about it maybe the first two fucks but not anymore. Now, you wrap your legs around Mike and pull him closer, claw down his back and try your hardest to fuck yourself on his cock until he's laughing in your ear.

"Here, hold on."

You whimper when he pulls out, but it's only to flop down in his back and let you climb on top. He expects some kind of break, a single second to breathe, but you just sink down on his length and let your head hang back.

"Mmygod," you moan, taking him in as far as you can then rocking back and forth.

Mike can feel your thighs break out in goosebumps, traces a finger over your arm to find the same effect and hums. Bracing yourself on his chest, you plant your feet on the mattress and bounce like your life depends on it, that drunken smile back in place as Mike coos, "That's it, baby, take what you need."

He reaches up to grope your tits, cupping both of them, brushing calloused palms over each nipple. It makes you arch your back and gasp, but the rhythm of your hips doesn't stop. Mike can feel the way your pussy is drooling on him, slick little rivers that add to that filthy, beautiful symphony. He wants to hear it every night on repeat. Most played song of—

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," you whine, and Mike reaches between your spread legs to press a thumb against your clit, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh as he rubs in tiny circles.

You sit and take it for several seconds before your eyes find his, widen, then roll as you start to come.

Mike takes over, lifting and lowering you on his cock as you twitch and cry for him. You're so pretty like this, hair out of place, damp with sweat and tears, thighs painted with your own orgasm. He doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want this to be the last time.

With your pussy still spasming around him, Mike switches positions again, lays you down like before and situates his head between your legs to idly lick everything that's dripped out of you. Your legs are shaking, kitten-like mewls meeting his ears. You jump whenever he runs his tongue over your clit, but you never move to stop him or swat him away.

Mike waits for you to go boneless before scooping you up and sitting on the edge of the bed. You're clumsy and slow as you straddle his lap, letting him slip inside you once more, but it's nowhere near as frantic as before.

He guides with gentle hands under your thighs, coaxes you to uncurl them from underneath you and wrap around his waist instead. Chest to chest, you rise and fall together. Mike breathes heavily into your neck as he hits that unforgiving wall inside of you. It makes you wince, but you don't shy away from him.

He's careful after that, makes sure everything he does is slow, tender, and when he sees fresh tears shining in your eyelashes, he knows it isn't from anything he's doing to you.

Mike is able to suck a few more bruises onto your neck and shoulders before he feels you nose at his cheek. Your kiss is dream-like, deep and relaxed but so full, and Mike knows he would be able to just do that all night if his orgasm wasn't about to run into him like a train.

He breaks away, looks to the ceiling only to have little fingers curl around his jaw and bring him back. You watch him with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, and that expression—that need to see—it makes the cord in Mike's gut snap. He sees a vague twinkle in your gaze as his jaw drops then blackness as his eyes are suddenly facing the back of his god damn skull.

Every line of cum he shoots inside you has him groaning, his fingers digging into the swell of your ass as he fills you up. You purposely squeeze him, clenching on his cock to milk him of everything he has until Mike is shuddering and whispering, "Okay, okay, okay."

"Okay?" You question then squeeze him again, giggling when he grunts and twitches.

Lying back on the bed, Mike lets you pull your legs out from under him, but you remain straddling his waist as you lean forward to lay on his chest. It’s quiet for a long time. A different Jurassic Park movie is playing now, the music too intense for the deep, even breaths you’re taking, for the way you’re lightly tapping Mike’s shoulder in time with his heartbeat.

His head is beginning to clear again, the lust and excitement ebbing away into those reflective thoughts that always seem to hit him after a mindblowing orgasm. It’s mostly questions: Why are you doing this? Why is he doing this? Why can’t you keep doing this? Why didn’t you pick him? Why don’t you want—

“Okay, I gotta get up,” you grumble. “I can actually feel your cum dripping out of me.”

Mike snorts, looking over his nose at you. “Never complained about it before.”

You push yourself off of him, both of you hissing at the sensation, then Mike watches you stand and glance around, probably trying to figure out which door is for the closet and which is for the bathroom.

“It’s the one on the left,” he grunts, staring at your ass a little too long and suppressing a groan when he catches sight of white fluid streaming down your thighs. “God dammit.”

The toilet flushes, the shower starts, and Mike is left to wonder if you need the alone time or if he should treat this like any other time and join you. Are you in there trying to wash him off of you or—

“You comin’?” You peak out from the door, wet hair dripping, tired smile in place.

“Just did,” he shoots back while sitting up. Like every other time. Just keep it casual.

The water is hot, but you’re even hotter as you lather your hair in shampoo and soap up your body. Since he’s back to pretending like this is nothing more than your old routine, Mike has no problem pressing himself against you from behind, running his hands up your sides, “helping” in the bathing process by squeezing your tits, feeling the suds get caught in the webs of his fingers.

“You’re playing with fire, Zacharias,” you tell him, and he can see your lips pulling into a smirk. “You need to stop unless you wanna go for round two.”

He nips at your earlobe, uncaring of the soap that gets in his mouth. “Or three, or four.”

You laugh and turn to face him, but your eyes are shut as you rinse your hair. It gives Mike time to admire all the marks he’s left on you—too many, probably—and he doubts you’ll be very happy with him once you notice, but fuck, you’re so pretty covered in him.

The shower ends. Mike expects you to ask for a ride back to the dorms (that he doesn’t understand why you’re still living in), but it turns out you’re not all talk. After sitting on the couch for only a few minutes, trying to make sense of the dinosaur movie you’ve walked in on halfway, you’re crawling into his lap again, teeth dragging over his neck this time as your hand trails down his torso to rub over his rapidly growing cock.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t actually think you were serious,” he chuckles through a kiss.

You grind down on him, bite his lower lip, then remind him, “I told you I was frustrated.”

He smirks, gives your hair a little tug that makes you moan, then makes sure his words just ghost over your mouth when he teases, “Like a bitch in heat.”

This time he takes you over the armrest of the couch, leaves you swollen and dripping his cum again.

Another shower, the steam on top of such vigorous activity has both of you deliriously tired, and Mike is honest when he tells you, “I really shouldn’t drive now. I’m about to pass out.”

“You and me both.”

So, you slip into one of his shirts and crawl into bed with him, but neither of you get more than a couple hours of sleep before the morning sun is shining in through the window. Mike’s grumpy groan very quickly turns to one of interest when he feels you push your ass against his morning wood, and then you’re at it again. He’s never fucked this much in such a short amount of time, and he can’t imagine doing it every day or even every other day. In fact, he thinks he might be a little burnt out for a bit. Unless it’s with you, of course. He’ll always make an exception if it’s you moaning his name and hiking a leg over his hip and milking him dry. He guesses if this is the last time he gets to do this for the foreseeable future, he’s at least made it worth it.

Back in your little party outfit, you step up into Mike’s Jeep and almost doze off in the short time it takes to get to student housing, but you’re roused when he pulls into the parking lot and steps on the breaks just a little too hard.

Mike snickers when you jolt forward and grunt, cutting your eyes at him and muttering, “Fucker,” before undoing your seatbelt and leaning over to pull him into another kiss. He cradles the back of your head, holds you there for too long as he tries to make you feel everything he’s feeling through tangled tongues, little nips, and the string of spit that stretches between two bottom lips.

He thinks he’s been good at hiding it, but now as you’re about to slip out and away, those words are lodged in Mike’s throat again, and no amount of swallowing will get rid of them. He takes a deep breath and forces one of those horribly insincere smiles, and you can tell because the look you give him is thoughtful and sorry, and your voice comes out as a whisper when you say his name, “Miche.”

“Hm?”

“Uh… Thanks.”

He lets out a humorless laugh and asks, “For last night? This morning?”

“For everything. I mean, last night and this morning were incredible, like… Incredible. But, it’s more than that. For helping me with everything you have in the last year or so.”

Mike’s heart drops into his stomach, and he sits back in his seat as his mind starts racing because this doesn’t sound like gratitude; this sounds like goodbye.

But, why? He’ll see you on campus in a day or so, at the PKA parties you end up going to. You probably won’t be able to attend a ton of his games, but that’s fine. He understands. Are you just being dramatic—sad that you won’t be able to fuck him anymore?

He can’t ask any of this, settles with a half-hearted, “Yeah, no problem,” as he fights the confused frown that’s slowly taking over his face.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him.

Mike nods and watches as you slide out and start walking to the bland building. He doesn’t like how that just ended. It doesn’t sit right in his head or his gut. It could be that you’re already regretting it. It could be that you're fearful of the consequences. It could be that you think this might be the final straw in your friendship. You’d be wrong on that one, though. Mike is willing to let you get away with a lot—too much—before he runs. You can use him in whatever way you need, and he’ll keep coming back. He just can’t help it.

That had been a bad idea. A really, really fucking bad idea. The ache in you has been completely satiated, and you loved being able to hang out (and fuck) Mike—wouldn’t really trade it—but as you walk up the stairs to Zeke’s apartment sore as all get out and see his face when he swings the door open, it really hits you—

That had been a terrible idea.

“Why the fuck did Eren say he saw you leave the party with Zacharias?”

“Alright, I’m just gonna turn around,” you say, pivoting back toward the staircase because you really don’t like the way Zeke’s tone is tying your stomach in knots and making your neck prickle. You haven’t ever been one to be scared of men, but in this moment, you would much prefer to not be anywhere near him.

“No, no, let’s talk about this,” he says with a suck of his teeth.

His grip on your arm is just shy of painful, and you take note of the way he forcefully guides you into the apartment rather than tugs you.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, setting your purse down on the counter as you follow him over to the couch. Zeke sits down at the other end facing you, as always, blue eyes narrow behind his glasses. “So, is it true?”

“Yeah,” you admit before diving headfirst into a lie, “It was just to play videogames, though. Neither of us were diggin’ the party, so—”

“That so?”

You nod. “We used to all the time.”

“And, what else did the two of you used to do?” He mocks, and you keep your mouth shut, bottom jaw sliding as your lower lip starts to quiver. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Thank whatever you want, Zeke. I was just hanging out with my best friend, okay?”

“Your best friend?” He snaps. “Tell me, sweetheart, just why might you be covered up head to fucking toe, hm?”

You cringe inwardly, taken back to the debate you’d had with yourself in front of the mirror. Your normal casual wear would show off some of the bruises Mike had littered you with—cold spoons can only do so much—but getting buttoned up would be suspicious. You had opted for the latter, hoping it would escape Zeke’s notice, but of course it didn’t.

Now, you’re sweating in your jeans and a fucking turtleneck you’ve never even worn before, and Jesus Christ, you just want to leave. Zeke is hot, but not hot enough to put up with this kind of bullshit.

“Don’t have a comeback for that one, do ya’?”

Mental note: kick Eren’s ass next time you see him. You knew that kid rubbed you the wrong way for a reason.

You don’t know who to be more upset with, the little brother or yourself. You could be irritated at Mike if you really wanted to—he hadn’t been subtle about wanting you last night, but then again, you hadn’t really expected him to, and you can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his feelings. There’s no way you could actually be mad at him.

This is your fault. You need to deal with the consequences without bringing anyone else into it.

“What d’you want me to say, Zeke? What’s the right answer here?” You ask exasperatedly.

“The fucking truth!”

“We hooked up, alright? I fucked him! ‘Cause you don’t wanna fuck me, which would be fine if you’d just tell me why, but you won’t!” You’re starting to breathe a little heavy, voice rising as you continue, “I feel like you’re just waiting to see how long it’ll take for me to lose it, and apparently it was last night, and you know what?” You grin at him, nerves on fire the more you let every frustration fly from your mouth. “It was awesome. It was so fucking good, you don’t even understand.”

Zeke’s eyebrows are high as he lets your little rant die off, obviously annoyed when he asks, “You finished?”

“I think I am,” you laugh.

“Fantastic. Take your shirt off.”

You choke on your tongue. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take. Your shirt. Off.”

“No!"

“You just said you wanted me to fuck you, so—”

“Not right fucking now!” Even if you wanted him to, you wouldn’t be able to take him. You don’t think you’ve ever been so sore after having sex, but that could also have something to do with the multiple rounds of being impaled on Mike’s horse cock. God, you already miss it.

“Swear to god, if you don’t take it off right now—”

“You’ll do what? What’ll you do, Zeke?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he lunges at you, one foot planted on the ground as his other knee digs into the couch in a way that cages you in. His nails scratch against your skin as he pulls roughly at the material, and you hear the sound of threads splitting as you grunt and squirm and try to keep the terror rising in your chest at bay because this is not happening. This is not happening.

Zeke manages to rip the turtleneck off of you, and you shiver on the cushions as his eyes trace over every inch of you he can see, icy blue somehow becoming colder and colder.

“One,” he growls, shoving a finger into your neck. It smarts the way every bruise does, and you bat his hand away only for him to move it to the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Two.” He shoves your bra up to find hickeys three and four, making you wince as he digs a fingertip into both. “Five,” your ribs. “Six,” your stomach. “Seven,” your hip.

Your face is incredibly warm, tears stuck at your waterline as humiliation washes over you in waves. And naturally, it just gets worse.

“Are you gonna take your pants off, or will I have to?”

You aren’t breathing deep enough anymore, and you can feel a burning in your lungs as a result. When you don’t answer quick enough, Zeke threatens, “I’ll rip them if I have to.”

“They’re denim,” you snark, but that last piece of attitude is stomped out when he unbuttons and unzips your pants and tugs each corner, effectively tearing past the zipper.

You let out something frighteningly close to a whimper as he pulls them off, then sits between your legs and starts counting the marks dotted along your thighs.

“I’ve gotta hand it to him—Zacharias is a pretty thorough guy.” He pinches you a couple times, chuckling at the way you jump and hiss. “Did you like it when he was treating you like a fucking fire hydrant? Marking his territory like a dog?”

“Shut up,” you grit, sitting up only to get shoved back down by a hand that curls around your throat.

You stare at Zeke with huge eyes, finally letting that fear bloom inside you—what is he about to do? What is he about to do?—and as he leans over you, tears start streaming down the sides of your face.

He lets out a condescending little, "Oh," then lowers his face to run his lips over your temple and whispers, "Don't be scared. It's okay."

A gentle kiss, and then he pushes himself up, stands, then disappears into his room. You stay on the couch, trying to catch the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Shivering as you sit up, you reach for your close only to find them ruined.

Zeke must have known that the moment he ripped them off of you (honestly, you should have known too) because when he returns, he tosses a ball of material at you—an old t-shirt and pajama pants.

"I'm gonna throw a pizza in the oven. That okay with you?"

You blink at him, unable to respond as he glances over his shoulder and makes a face like he's annoyed.

"What, are you stupid on top of slutty now? I asked if that was okay with you."

"I—Ye—I need to leave," you mumble, quickly slipping the clothes on and standing. "I'm gonna leave."

"How about you just chill and watch a movie instead?"

"Why would I want to—"

The look Zeke gives you is chilling, mouth downturned, one eyebrow raised. It's a challenge, one you don't have the energy or fight to rise to, so you drop back onto the cushions and sigh.

It’s fine. You’re fine. He didn’t go nearly as far as you thought he was about to—just got upset. He had a reason to, right? There were better ways to handle it, a fucking conversation for example, but at least now he’s giving you a little space, cooling down in the kitchen while you gather your thoughts. You could go without the name-calling, though.

He just lost his temper, wanted to remind you that it’s him you’re with. You have been for a few months now. And, until now, Zeke has been a nice albeit slightly arrogant guy. He’s personable, he’s smart, he’s funny. Most importantly, he’s level-headed. You probably just pushed him a little too far. It could have been worse. It could be worse.

You play it over and over in your head as Zeke hands you a plate with a slice of pizza on it. You play it when he sits down and throws an arm around you. Then, you play it when he walks you to your car that evening and kisses you like nothing ever happened.

Could be worse. Could be worse.

Mike curls his tongue over his bottom lip and squints at the array of cups on the table across from him, picking one out before tossing the ping pong ball with a flick of his wrist.

It bounces off one of the cups' rims, and Nile easily snatches it up and smirks at him.

"Dude," Erwin starts, frowning when Mike turns to him. "Why do you suck so much tonight?"

Mike rolls his eyes. "Man, fuck off."

"No, I'm serious. What's up with you?"

"Nothin'. Just having an off night."

"More like off week," Erwin scoffs. "Month."

Gelgar sinks his ball into the middle cup, and Mike quickly reaches forward to grab it, extracting the plastic before downing the beer.

Erwin is right, but Mike refuses to tell him that. He's been off since the last party a couple weeks ago, the last time he saw you—last time he touched you. He's spotted you around campus several times since, but you're always hanging off Zeke's arm, and Mike isn't about to pry you off him (despite how much he wants to).

Honestly, he's a little surprised at how close you still are with him, how unaffected your relationship is by the hookup. Maybe Zeke just never found out. Mike has tried to ask you about it, sent more than one text, but they've gone unanswered which is a concern all on its own. Two weeks without talking at all. Mike feels like he's going insane.

Could it be that you're mad at him, upset that you gave into temptation and you're blaming Mike instead of yourself? He understands the need to scratch that itch, but if you really hadn't wanted to fuck, you could have just said so.

Mid-terms are next week, so Mike figures if you still haven't talked to him by then, it's definitely time to worry about the state of the friendship. He's trying not to get himself worked up, but honestly, just the thought of you being upset with him is enough to make his stomach roll. He just needs one text. One everything's fine. That shouldn't be too hard for you, right?

Mike misses another shot and swears to himself, sticking a middle finger up at Erwin when he throws his arms out.

"It's just beer pong, bro. Calm down."

The party is like every other—loud music, rowdy college kids, too many girls Mike doesn't care about making eyes at him from across the room. He really just wants to go home, but he can't help but stay in hopes that you might show up. It's highly unlikely, but that slim chance keeps him rooted to the spot, missing cups left and right until Nile and Gelgar win.

Erwin is not happy as he drinks his share of the remaining beer. Once he finishes the last, he tells Mike, "You owe me for that pathetic fucking display. Tell me what's going on."

Mike comes close to just turning his back and walking away, but he can see that even through his irritation, Erwin is worried for him.

Running a hand through his hair, Mike just asks if Erwin has heard from you at all recently. "I just can't get ahold of her, and I can't tell if it's 'cause she's busy or ignoring me or what."

Erwin's thick eyebrows knit together as he shakes his head. "No, I haven't talked to her in a while. Did something happen between the two of you?"

"I mean, we hooked up at the last party—"

"Oh, that ended up happening?" Erwin asks, surprised.

Even after making up last semester, Mike has tried to keep the details of his sex life with you to himself and away from Erwin specifically. After the shit he pulled that drove the rift between them in the first place, Mike isn't willing to be quite as open about you as he previously was, but he did have to break that code at the last party when he was convinced you would end up fucking. Buzzed and excited while still at the house, Mike had asked Erwin if he'd be cool with the two of you using his room (with the promise of cleaning up, of course), before you ended up just retreating to the quietness of Mike's apartment instead.

So, Erwin knew the potential that evening had, but Mike never followed up with him until now.

"Yeah, it did."

"Well, what did Zeke think of it?"

Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Dunno. She hasn't talked to me since then."

"Shit." Erwin looks genuinely taken aback. "It's been that long?"

"Yeah. I'm trying not to freak out, but like—"

"No, I get you. If I end up hearing from her before you do, I'll let you know."

Mike nods, "Thanks, bro," and forces a smile when Erwin claps him on the back, then breaks away from his friend to mope around somewhere else.

What if something happened? What if Zeke had found out and lost his temper with you? Mike will murder him if he finds out that four-eyed fuck put his hands on you. Gruesomely murder.

If he could take back what you both shared that night, he would. Things seemed to be getting somewhat back to normal between you—talking and making dumb jokes, like you were actually comfortable around him despite your boyfriend. If Mike had known one last night would fuck that progress up, he wouldn't have ever brought it up.

Then again, you had told him. I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke. And, he had still pushed, tried to get you to give in, and god, that's embarrassing. Mike is glad you called him out on his shit, but looking back on it still makes his face heat. That was fucked up. He fucked up.

"It's Mike, right?"

Mike's eyes snap downward, caught off guard by the girl suddenly standing in front of him, dainty fingers with painted nails clutched around a beer bottle. It's the same kind you would drink only to end up giving it to Mike.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

The girl smiles at him. He's seen her around the college, events shared between both frats and sororities, and the more Mike looks at her face, the more he recognizes her as one of the chicks who used to hang around the baseball team a lot. In fact, he's pretty sure she's—

"I'm Rhi. You played really well yesterday. I was watching you."

"Thanks."

She bats her eyelashes at him as she returns, "You're welcome," then clicks her tongue and asks, "So, who ya' lookin' for?" in a sing-song voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been scanning this room for the last, like, fifteen minutes. Looking like you're playing Where's Waldo or something."

Mike snorts, flipping hair from his face as he lies, "No one in particular."

He recognizes the look of satisfaction that blooms on Rhi's face, has seen it many times before on many different girls. It makes him sigh inwardly because he really could not be any less interested.

"That's good." Rhi's wide grin shrinks into a smirk before she adds, "I was hoping you'd say that."

Mike feels his mouth tug up on one side in what he's pretty sure comes off as a sad little smile.

Fuck it, though. At least she's pretty.

Things don't change all that much between you and Zeke. After spending a day or two rationalizing, you're able to look at him and smile again, to laugh at his jokes and listen to his tangents. He's back to playing with your fingers on the table while you sit face to face for lunch, back to shoving his hand in your back pocket while you walk around campus. It's like nothing ever happened.

If anything, you start spending even more time with him. He walks with you to and from class whenever he can, tells you to come watch his practices because the teammates he's closest with—his best friends—want to get to know you better. It's all normal, and you get used to the slight change in routine without a problem. You like the Galliard brothers, Marcel who plays shortstop and Porco, the catcher, so it isn't a chore to hang out with them after games and practice.

What is a chore is watching Zeke talk with his bubbly ex as he walks with her to the science building you're waiting at. Leaning against the brick wall under an awning, you squint as they approach. Rhi is looking at him with those huge, entranced eyes you know too well, a little too much pep in her step making her tits bounce in a way that's fucking impossible to ignore.

You shouldn't be territorial. If anything, you should probably still be mad for the stunt he had pulled with you, but… if he gets to be possessive, so do you. It only makes sense.

'Cause that's how healthy relationships work, you think with a snort, pushing yourself off the wall when they both stop in front of you.

"Babe, you remember Rhi," Zeke reintroduces her like you haven't been at least a little wary of her for the last couple months.

"Yeah," you nod, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm great!" She grins, looking at Zeke for one reason or another, like he needs to approve her answer, which is fucking dumb, but you also kind of understand because that's just the effect he has on people.

"Glad to hear it." You turn your attention to your boyfriend, content to ignore her from here on out, and ask, "Did you wanna grab something to eat before practice?"

“Yeah,” he nods before glancing at Rhi and offering a, “Catch you later,” that sounds too promising for your liking.

You don’t glare at the other girl as the two of you leave, but you definitely do not smile, and as Zeke drives you both to your favorite cafe, you whine to Hitch through texts.

i wouldn’t be too worried about it, she tells you. she’s in my psych class and she’s kinda dumb. i doubt zeke wants to put up with that again. probs why he dumped her in the first place

You try to appear unbothered through lunch, but you’ve had a pretty shitty day so far—woke up late, probably failed a quiz, got no response from Mike despite texting him three times in rapid succession, and then you had to witness that doe-eyed little brat blatantly pine for—

“You know, you don’t have any right to be jealous, right?” Zeke asks after swallowing a bite of salad.

You blink at him, having to process for a second before you understand what he’s saying. And, why he’s saying it. How can he just read your mind like that? You don’t think you’ll ever understand.

“‘M not jealous,” you mumble, stirring soup you really have no intention of eating.

Zeke smirks across from you. “No?”

“I’m just having a bad day. Don’t make assumptions just ‘cause I didn’t smile at your little ex.”

His expression of self-satisfaction falls into a frown, and he asks what’s going on. When you tell him, you purposely leave out the detail about Mike ignoring you because it would only further Zeke’s point about you having no right to get possessive especially considering how fucking upset you are about the matter. Why the fuck isn’t he talking to you?

“Want me to help take the edge off?” Zeke asks when you finish venting.

You look at him with one raised eyebrow, tempted to reply with a smart-aleck ‘only if you plan on seeing it through’, but that sounds like too much of an ultimatum, too manipulative. You’ve made it this long without being a shady bitch, and you have no intention of becoming one.

He can see the gears turning in your head, leans forward and grabs your hand before urging, “Come over. Skip your evening class, and we can just… Relax.”

You snort when he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, possibly the first time you’ve smiled today. “I really shouldn’t skip. We’re reviewing for our exam next week.”

“All the more reason to. You’re not getting any new information. You can just go back over it on your own.”

He has a point. You have all the notes and PowerPoints, and the idea of just lounging and fucking is very tempting since the last time you had sex was the night with Mike.

And, just like that, your stomach is in knots again. Why won’t he just text back?

Sighing, you come to the conclusion that a distraction is exactly what you need.

“Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure it’s more than nice.”

Zeke finishes his meal then asks for a to-go bowl for yours, and after about fifteen minutes, you’re in his apartment.

“Let’s watch something while my food settles, and then we can you know…”

“You know,” you mimic, putting the leftovers up in the fridge then joining him on the couch.

He turns on some underground horror movie that doesn’t exactly set the mood, but you power through about half of it before all but throwing yourself at Zeke as soon as he pats his lap.

Chuckling, he helps take your shirt off, kisses your collarbone and murmurs, “Damn, should we just move straight to the bedroom?”

“I literally could not give less of a fuck. Whatever you wanna do.”

He grips your thighs and stands, making you hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he walks into the back and drops you on his bed. You immediately kick your pants off, a constant stream of ‘yes yes yes’ running through your mind. You need this. God, you need this.

But, when Zeke curls over you, he doesn’t feel broad enough, and when he kisses you, his beard is too thick, and when he trails his hands down your body, they’re barely calloused.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to turn your brain off—please, just turn off—because you should only be thinking of Zeke.

Zeke who circles your nipple with his tongue, who brushes fingers over your bare pussy and groans at how the sensation makes you arch into his mouth.

“Can’t wait to stuff this pretty cunt,” he breathes before grazing his teeth over pebbled flesh.

His voice isn’t deep enough. His blue eyes have a different shine from the green you're so used to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, just let him—

Shimmying down your body, Zeke spreads you open and pushes spit from his mouth to land on your clit and drip downward. It makes you gasp, and you feel that familiar throb of arousal that grows when he starts rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bundle.

“Oh, shit,” you huff.

Heat pools between your legs as he continues the motion, only stopping to replace his finger with his mouth.

You let out a high-pitched moan, thinking to yourself, what about pillows? You can get a better angle with pillows. It doesn’t matter in the long run as he drags his tongue over your entrance, dipping inside for just a second before going back to swirling the muscle around your clit.

A finger is pushed into you a little too roughly. It’s not quite long enough, not quite thick enough, but it still feels good, especially once Zeke finds your g-spot and massages it until you’re whimpering and begging for more.

“You think you’re ready, sweetheart?” He speaks into your thigh, a thigh that was once littered with dark bruises from another mouth.

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please, please, Zeke.” Even his name feels foreign falling from your lips despite having said it hundreds of times.

You don’t understand why your mind is sabotaging you like this. You’ve been desperate for Zeke for months now, so why is it that you’re finally getting what you want but can only think about Mike? What is wrong with you?

He scissors two fingers inside of you, making sure you’re nice and stretched, and you want to tell him to hurry up, that you’ve taken someone substantially longer and thicker, because yeah, Zeke has a nice cock, big enough to be satisfying, flushed pink at the tip and dripping, but it’s doubtful that he’s gonna hurt you.

He has a lovely upward curve that drags over your spot as he slides into you, and it makes you groan, eyebrows knitting together as Zeke swears.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, giving a few experimental thrusts.

You can take him without issue, wet and stretched, and god yes, finally. Finally. His pace quickens, coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your clit and causing your eyes to roll back. Locking your ankles around his waist, you grin at the new angle, and Zeke huffs out an appreciative, “So fucking sexy when you smile for me, baby.” You stick your tongue between your teeth, something between a moan and a laugh leaving your throat, and he coos another, “Feel good?”

“Ye-es.”

Your mind is finally cleared—for a few minutes, at least—until Zeke pulls out and tells you to turn over. “Hands and knees.”

You comply, and when Zeke spreads your cheeks and shoves his cock back into your wet pussy, the memory of Mike’s tongue on your asshole flashes through your brain.

“Jesus Christ,” you whine.

Zeke’s balls slap your clit with every snap of his hips, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room. It’s so fucking lewd, the sweat breaking out on both of you only making the noises more obscene. The fingers of one hand are gripping you tightly while Zeke brings his other down on your ass with a little too much force. The burning that follows feels good, makes you hiss and push back against him.

Pulling out so that only his cockhead is inside you, Zeke stills to focus solely on spanking you, alternating between cheeks as heat radiates from them. You cry and keep moving to the best of your ability, fucking yourself on his length as you get lost in sensation.

You lose track of time. Zeke switches between abusing your ass and leaning over you to grope your tits. No matter what he’s doing, you’re moaning, and eventually your own hand travels between your legs to play with your clit, the pressure in your gut becoming too much. You need to come, need that release, and when your back arches and your muscles tense, Zeke growls against your spine, “Fuck yes, come on my cock—just wanna feel you—”

He lets out a little, “Ha,” when you pulse around him, gushing slick and leaving you overstimulated as he continues to fuck into you harshly.

Your arms give out, elbows buckling and sending you falling face first into the pillow. Every noise you make grows in volume but remains muffled. Zeke is relentless in his strokes, but he thankfully doesn’t last much longer, droplets of sweat landing on your back as he curls over you once again, breathing heavily into your ear, “Can I come inside? Lemme come inside you.”

Before you can realize what you’re doing, you shake your head, turning your cheek to the cushion and panting, “No, don’t.”

It shouldn’t matter. You’re protected, and you’ve done it before, but…

You only want to do that for one person. You don’t want to let anyone else.

“Don’t, Zeke, I—”

“Did you let him come in you?” He suddenly asks. “Did you let him fill you with cum?”

He reaches around you to pinch your clit, and you squeal and squirm, trying to get him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t, just holds it with two fingers and taps the swollen bud without mercy.

“Did you?”

“No!” You lie, voice rising. “Fuck, I didn’t let him!”

Zeke scoffs. “I don’t believe you,” pinching hard enough to make tears spring up in your eyes before letting go. He returns to your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your skin as he gives a few more thrusts and groans, spilling into you then moving you back and forth on his cock, watching his own cum get pushed further into your hole and coat the entirety of his length.

“God dammit, what the fuck, Zeke?” You speak through gritted teeth, shoving back against him suddenly and with enough force to make him lose his balance and fall backward. You can feel thick fluid dripping down your thighs and turn to glare at him only to find him smirking at you.

The space behind your eyes grows hot with tears you refuse to shed in front of him. Instead, you get up and walk to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before sitting down on the toilet with your head in your hands.

You shouldn’t be as upset as you are, generally like the feeling of guys releasing inside of you. It’s just hot. But, you had not wanted it this time. You weren’t ready for it, and now you can’t help but feel… tainted.

You pee then hop into the shower to rinse off, to cleanse yourself and calm down, and once the hot water has drained you of most of your anger, you slip into one of Zeke’s t-shirts and go back outside. He’s in sweatpants, sipping on water as he stares at the TV.

“Feel better?” He questions without actually looking at you.

You’re free to roll your eyes, but you think you sound convincing when you answer, “Yeah, a lot.”

He hums. “Didn’t seem like it.”

“I mean,” you sigh and move to sit down next to him, one leg tucked under you as you think about how you want to word what’s on your mind. “When I ask you not to do something, I, you know, want you to actually listen."

Now, he turns to look at you wearing an expression frighteningly similar to the one he'd worn the day he humiliated you on the very couch you're sitting in.

"Oh, so you want me to respect your wishes." He doesn't sound at all sympathetic. "Kind of like I wanted you to respect mine before you went and fucked Zacharias."

"Alright," you drawl. "We're back to this again. Awesome."

He didn't ever explicitly ask you not to sleep with anyone else. At that point, you don't know if Zeke even saw you as a legitimate girlfriend. And, you understand why he's annoyed by your actions, but you're getting extremely fucking tired of him dangling it over your head.

"Uh, yeah, we are."

Taking a deep breath, you try to keep a level head, to appear collected when you tell him, "Look, I see your frustration. I get it. But, me sleeping with Mike is a little different than—"

"How?" Zeke cuts you off. "How is it different?"

"Because what you did in there was against my fucking will. I told you not to come inside me, and you still did."

Zeke is on his feet in an instant. "Is that a fucking accusation?"

"No, no," you hold your hands up in defense as you peer up at him. "I'm not trying to say that everything that happened in there was non-consensual—"

"Sounds a lot like you are."

You're starting to panic. You don't like how hostile he's getting when he isn't even trying to understand you.

"You're trying to fill in blanks that aren't there, Zeke. I'm not trying to accuse you or get you in trouble or anything. I'm trying to explain how fucked up—how scary—it is for someone to ignore your boundaries in the bedroom."

He makes a little, "Tch," then mutters, "You're blowing it out of proportion."

It's about the worst thing he could say to you. Firstly, he's the one getting offended by the situation, and secondly, it completely invalidates you.

"You're the one who was so desperate for sex you went and fucked someone else," he adds.

You massage your temples, figure you need to remove yourself before saying something you can't take back.

Your phone is still on the armrest where you left it before going to the back, and it lights up with a text—Hitch—and displays the time. It's only five. If you wanted, you could still make it to your six o'clock class.

"You know what, I'm gonna put a pin in this so we can both simmer down. We can revisit it later."

Zeke doesn't seem to like that solution, or lack thereof. You grab your shirt off the floor then pad back to the bedroom to change into the clothes you picked out for the day, texting Hitch back while you're hidden.

She had asked what you were up to, and you reply with, at Zeke's. Could you by any chance pick me up? I didn't drive and we just got into a spat.

on my way 😘

You waste a little time before deciding to brave your boyfriend again, simply telling him that you're just gonna go to class and that Hitch is coming to get you.

"Fine," he dismisses.

You think about giving him a little peck but decide against it, opting to just grab your backpack and slip on your shoes.

"I'll text you," you tell him.

He replies with a short, "Sure," and you take that as your cue to leave.

It doesn't take long for Hitch to get there and takes even less time for her to ask what happened.

At last, you give her the full scoop (barring Zeke's meltdown after originally finding out you slept with Mike). She frowns almost the whole way through, and you expect her to either soothe you or tell you that he's being an asshole, but instead, she clicks her tongue and mutters, "I don't get why you aren't just dating Mike. Like, yeah, Zeke's hot and all, but you and Mike have always had a thing. And, you both obviously like each other so whyyy," she ends in a frustrated whine.

"Because Mike and I…" You trail off. You don't really know, honestly, not for a few seconds at least, and when it hits you, it isn't some big epiphany. It's more like a natural thought. "Because Mike is long-term. If we got together it would be, like, the real deal. And, I don't think either of us are ready for that."

It feels good to admit both to Hitch and to yourself. You never thought about it in depth before, mostly because while you've known about his feelings for you for a good while, you haven't fully accepted your own.

But, if the hurt you're feeling at him not texting you back is anything to go on (not to mention how much you thought of him while fucking Zeke), your fondness for him has probably turned into something more, something deeper.

"I don't understand what's so bad about the real deal, but whatever. You guys will sort it out in your own time."

"I don't know about that," you mumble. "He hasn't talked to me since that morning. Just won't reply to any of my texts or calls."

"That's weird," Hitch thinks out loud as she pulls into the parking lot. "If anything, I thought he'd be fighting even harder now."

"Yeah, well, that is clearly not the case." You grab your bag out of the backseat, guessing, "He must be mad at me or something."

"Maybe. Maybe he's just trying to give you space."

Shrugging, you get out of the car, forcing a smile as you thank your friend for the ride.

"Any time. One more thing, though," Hitch stops you." You tilt your head in curiosity as her face grows uncharacteristically serious. "Next time Zeke uses that against you, tell him to fuck off. And, consider dumping him."

"I mean, I did fuck up by sleeping with Mike."

"Yeah, but you and Zeke aren't gonna work if he keeps holding that over you. Something like that isn't supposed to be leverage. If he can't handle it, he needs to leave."

It's rare that Hitch loses her happy go lucky attitude, so seeing her like this is a little jarring.

"I'll take it into consideration."

As you walk into the dorms, you pout about how your shitty day only got shittier. All you want to do is talk to your best friend, but that's obviously not gonna happen.

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#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw noncon #tw manipulation #and just to be safe #tw abuse

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