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hrina · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

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

It’s a Friday night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

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

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

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

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

His lips twitch.

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

“You missed some.”

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

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

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

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

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

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

“Sit.”

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

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

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

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

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

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

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

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

He grits his teeth.

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

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

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

And then he’s gone.

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

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

Always a gentleman.

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

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love…you’re drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 23, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“A few months.”

“I see.”

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

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

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

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

“It was.” Harry nods.

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 10, 2020

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

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

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

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

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

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

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

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

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

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

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

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

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

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

You laugh.

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

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

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

“Get down!”

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

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

You scream.

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His bedroom. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a graze, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

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

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence passes between you.

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

He grunts. “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 12, 2020

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

“You told her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

“She’s trying her best.”

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

Harry doesn’t respond.

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

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

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

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

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

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

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

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

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

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

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

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

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

October 14, 2020

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I see?”

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 17, 2020

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

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

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s why.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

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

“Harry!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How dare—?”

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

“Know your place, bitch!”

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

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

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

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

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

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry just grunts in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

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

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

Your hand slips from his grasp.

October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

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

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

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

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

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost midnight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

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

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

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

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

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

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

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Until now.”

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

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

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

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

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head.

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

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

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

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

And not just because it’s my job.

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

He blinks, embarrassed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

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

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

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

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I?”

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

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

He smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

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

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

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

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

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

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

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

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

#harry writing #guardrry #making this my pinned post because i love her and she's one of my greatest creations ok 🥺🥺#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #i'd love to know what u think! reblogs + feedback mean the world to me

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ally-127 · 4 years

Note

my request... joshua angst where there's an argument on ur anniversary n you can decide whether to make it a happy or sad ending!! thx ally :-)

lisianthus

pairing: husband!joshua x reader word count: 1.6k warnings: reference to sex, slightly suggestive material music: ‘lose’ by niki a/n: okay like this is more fluff than angst,, im sorry- my mind literally blanked out when i was trying to think of what they could argue about. but enjoy this romantic af, poetic(?) piece that i also enjoyed writing ngl. thanks for requesting @chocosvt , i hope u liked it...luv u the most <3

“come on kiddos, it’s time for bed!”

you ushered your seven and three-year-old into their shared bedroom, your lips stretched wide into a grin at their playful giggles.

“goodnight, mum,” your daughter, seven, hummed as you tucked her into bed while your younger son climbed clumsily into his beside.

you dropped a kiss on her forehead and turned to your cheeky son, who still had that smile of his. you give him a huge smooch on the cheek. “goodnight, you.”

with both children wrapped up in their sheets comfortably, you flicked off the light switch and closed the door quietly behind you.

a sigh couldn’t help but escape your lips as you shuffled your way back into your room to finish up some work, but before you did, a certain glow caught your attention.

the kitchen was dark all around when you entered, lit scented candles dotted around the table and the only light source in the room.

the flames danced in the breezy air of your apartment, lighting up not only the bouquet of lisianthus on the table but your husband, joshua, who sat on one of the chairs, staring wistfully at the flowers. a glass of wine sat solitarily in front of him, the stain on the rim a sign that he had already started to drink without you.

the beat of your heart was now apparent as ounces of dread slowly settled into the pit of your stomach.

you forgot.

“are we not important anymore?” he began, taking the glass in between his fingers.

“what do you mean?” you remained standing, feeling as if the soles of your feet had been embedded into the hardwood of the floor.

“did it completely slip your mind, or am i now the least of your concerns?” continuous rhetorical questions, or rather, questions of accusations, escaped his beautiful mouth.

you could kiss it a thousand times and still, your need for them to be on your skin would never be satiated.

“jihyun and—“

“do not bring our kids into this,” joshua was painfully serene, like the calm before the storm; the storm in which you could see in the depths of his eyes. “you forgot we’ve been married for ten years.”

you cursed under your breath.

how did you forget?

bringing the subject of work into the argument was pointless now, it only seemed like an excuse.

“josh—“

“i was waiting all day,” he finally shifted his almond-shaped eyes to you. “for you to run into my arms, to kiss me, hell, even to just smile at me. but no, you didn’t even look at me once.”

joshua, on a break from being a performer, occupied himself with taking care of the children and the apartment. he had plenty of time on his hands, his heart full with a sincere wish to spend it with the people he loved most in the whole universe.

you, a full-time working mother, had recently just been promoted in your company. with new responsibility came heavy workload and a brand new project dumped into your control. it was overwhelming, and it blinded a tremendous amount of aspects in your life, including your husband himself.

you realised you didn’t even meet joshua’s eyes as he got them ready for school this morning, while he adjusted their jackets and shouldered their little backpacks to carry it for them, knowing fully what date it was.

you simply kissed your daughter and son goodbye before you took half a litre of coffee with you out the door without uttering a single word of goodbye to your lover.

now, as you stared at him from where you stood, you could feel the effects of neglecting him for the longest time hurling back to you like a tidal wave.

there was no trace of a smile, of the crinkle of his eyes, of the lines that would form at the ends of his eyes that deepened over time and with age.

the expression that stared back at you was foreign, stoic.

there‘s a saying: you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

you knew it wasn’t gone, but the absence of his smile made your heart sink into the bottomless pit of your regret. it was a horrifying feeling.

suddenly, you wanted to do all the things he said you didn’t, smile at him, run into his arms, kiss him.

“i’m sorry,” you almost lost the capability of speaking, your voice small as you gathered enough courage to take more steps towards him. “i really am. i’m such a fool.”

he stood up, his height casting a dim shadow over you. the plastic of the wrapper crunched in his hands when he extended his arm, offering the bouquet of your favourite flowers in your favourite colour to you. joshua could never forget that.

you took them with shaky hands, eyes looking everywhere but into the abyss of his caramel eyes.

“you are not a fool, my love,” he engulfed you in his strong arms, a familiar place, a place you missed often and could call home. a place you almost forgot was your home. “you are my wife,” he kissed away the single tear of remorse that escaped the duct in the corner of your eyes. “my beautiful, strong wife.”

your head on his chest, your fingers fisted in the material of his shirt, you held on to each other for what seemed like the first time in a long time. his woody scent had the effect of waves crashing against the beach and echoes of seagulls in the distance—it calmed you immensely.

everything about joshua calmed you.

it felt like you could remain in his arms forevermore, until the morning sun rose and the lisianthus wilted in the grip of your hands.

“i love you,” you told him, quietly, setting the bouquet aside to sink into his touch.

these were the words he wanted and needed to hear the most, to reassure himself that you did still love him the way he loved you, to make sure that work had not completely overtaken your senses.

“i love you too.”

fingers rubbing your back in soothing strokes, joshua kissed your temple, then the tip of your nose. to reach your lips he had to angle his head in the slightest, long eyelashes fluttering as he reached his destination.

a hum of satisfaction escaped your lips, conjoined with his, knowing fully that you didn’t deserve it yet you savoured every minute. your arms were secure around his neck, not a millimetre of space to be seen between your torso and his.

as joshua pulled away to gasp for air, he reached into his pocket for his phone, tapping away at the screen. half a second later, music began to play from the speakers he had installed on the corners of the ceiling.

your husband enjoyed music, thrived in it. it was his natural element, his escape from everything and life itself.

“dance with me, darling,” he whispered as louis armstrong blew the first few notes of his trumpet, a light melody that entranced your step into aligning with your lover’s, barefoot in the kitchen, head on his shoulder.

“remember in college,” you pondered, reminiscing the iridescent days of your youth. “when we would dance around the communal kitchen in the refrigerator light?”

“when i snuck out of the dorms to visit you half-past two in the morning?” the smile on his face reminded you of how much you truly longed for it, like a breath of fresh air after being suffocated for so long.

he grinned at you like you were back in the heart of a bustling city, of seoul, the thrill of the unexpected running through your veins like a drug. you found an impossible love, forcing the rebellion, suppressed deep enough in yourself until you forgot about it, to resurface again as you met him.

you had never felt as daring as you did when you first saw him.

“we lost so much sleep,” the airy sound of your chuckle urged joshua to tug you closer, dancer feet still in time with the rhythm of jazz buzzing in the background.

“first college, then jihyun,” the way in which your daughter’s name left his lips made the knot in your heart twist, your entire being captivated by his voice.

he twirled you around, stars—no, the entire galaxy—sparkling in those brown eyes as you spun to meet him once more.

“and jiyoung,” the sound of your youngest son’s name elicited a permanent smile from your husband, perfect teeth peeking through.

“i don’t regret a single second of it,” he said, mellifluous in tone, filled with content.

“i don’t either,” sometimes, the possibility of being in love for so long was a question to you that you could not answer.

magic doesn’t exist, but it did then, in that night, surrounded by wicks, aglow in passion, organic scent of lemongrass wafting in the air.

jazz-driven steps, hungry gazes and the brush of his fingers under your sweater made you wonder if you were back in the era of your faded youth. it was as if you were reliving each night of delirium once again, of heated sex in the darkness of your compact bedroom, of muted grunts and the slapping of skin that reverberated off the chipped walls.

joshua lifted the sweater up your head, up your arms. the music, transitioning ever so timely from armstrong to the weeknd, your eyes widening and your hips swaying ever so slightly to the bass. his grin twisted into a smirk, eyes narrowing in desire and the previous storm behind them calming into a wave of dirty intentions.

“take the week off for me, love,” kisses were peppered down your neck to your collarbone as he whispered each word into your skin.

you promised him you would, and you did.

#caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen #joshua angst #joshua fluff #joshua smut #joshua x reader #joshua imagines #joshua drabbles #seventeen angst #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines

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davidsons89 · 3 years

Text

Toxic Turner - part 11

WARNINGS: this story contains signs of a toxic and manipulative relationship. also contains smut, mentions of drugs and alcohol. some scenes contain forms of abuse. read at ur own risk :)

a few weeks had passed by. cold nights turned into hot humid ones. summer was finally approaching, the days were sticky and sweaty. you did nothing special over the weeks with alex. other than the occasional grocery shopping or a drive in the car. you were getting bored of seeing only his face everyday. he knew that. today is your mom's birthday, and he wanted to make it up to you, so you wouldn't be entirely sick of him.

"so. guess what" alex says, leaning against the bathroom door with his phone in his hand as you were brushing your teeth. "what?" you ask with your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. "so today is your moms birthday, right?" he checks, you nod. "how about we go over there? spend the day with your family." he offers. he watched your eyes glow with excitement. you spit the toothpaste into the sink and set your toothbrush aside. "really?" you ask happily. he nods with a grin on his face. you quickly pull him into a hug. it's more of a squeeze. he giggles and hesitatingly hugs you back, chuckling at you.

"when?" you ask, pulling away. you're more than happy. "whenever you're ready" he shrugs. "ok. i'll get dressed" you say, rushing past him to get to the bedroom. he watches you move in a fast pace and chuckles at your cuteness. he waits on the edge of the bed until you're completely ready to go. there's a boiling hot day ahead of you, so you pick out something cool to wear. "should i wear this, or this?" you ask, holding up a dress in one hand and a jumpsuit in the other. "uhh.. that one" alex points to the pretty yellow jumpsuit.

he watches you put it on, glaring at your natural beauty. "it's a bit short, don't you think?" you ask, twisting and turning in the mirror to get a full look at your body. "i don't care. who's gonna want you? your cousin?" alex sarcastically joked. you shrug at his fair point. he only didn't want you wearing revealing clothes around men. your family members aren't included.

you put on some makeup (or not) and add minor accessories to your hair and hands to match your jumpsuit. alex watched you as you carefully focus on sliding a sunflower hair clip into your hair. "perfect" you grin to yourself in the mirror. you're finally ready. "you look stunning" he smiles at you, walking over to where you're standing. he lightly places a hand on your waist while looking up and down at your body. "let's go" he says, grabbing his car keys from the dresser before you both head downstairs and into the car.

"did you pick up her stuff?" alex asks, glancing at you as he's driving to your moms house. "yeah" you say whilst looking down into the small gift bag in your lap. inside was a gift from you and alex, along with a birthday card. "good" he smiles. the windows are rolled down and music is blasting through the radio. the two of you sang songs together and played around until you got there.

your mom isn't expecting you. you've been avoiding her texts and invites for weeks, you told her you were busy every time she called, but this time you were here. you crept through your house, there was music playing and the sounds of many conversations in the back yard. you and alex spot your mom sitting on a table from afar, and decide to sneak up to her. "boo" you say, placing your hands around her eyes from behind to block her sight. she removes your hands and turns around. she's surprised to see you. "sweetheart" she says, immediately standing up to pull you into a sweet, tight hug. alex smiles as he watches this happen.

"how've you been?" she asks, pulling away but keeping a firm grip on your shoulders. "i've been great" you grin. you greeted the rest of your family and began to settle in, grabbing a few alcoholic beverages for you and alex. the two of you chatted and enjoyed quality family time with your relatives for hours.

the more time you spent there, the more fun you had. "get in there" your cousin says, picking you up from behind and dragging you over to the pool. "no!! no put me down!" you yell, laughing and thrashing about before being dropped into the freezing cold water. you gasp and stand up. "you asshole!" you yell as laughs could be heard from all around. alex was specifically in hysterics. "you wanna laugh, huh?" you chuckle at him, grabbing his leg to pull him in. you playfully drown him until he grabs you, tucking his arms under your legs, carrying you like a child. "little bitch" he jokingly laughs before dropping you under the water. you both had so much fun together. it was the most fun you'd had in months to be exact.

as more time went by, you and alex began drinking a little more liquor than before. you began to get tipsy, and alex was almost drunk. you were surprised. you're usually worse than him, but it's reversed this time. he was doing shots with your relatives, tasting all sorts of different alcoholic drinks. it resulted in you taking care of him. "alex sit down" you say, giggling as you enter the living room, pushing alex down onto the sofa. "no.. i'm fine" he says, standing up but he trembled and fell onto the floor, grabbing onto one of your relatives and pulling them down. everyone in the room laughed as alex lied on the floor, hysterically laughing at himself. "oh my god" you say with your hand on your head. it's going to be a long day, but a fucking great one.

more time went by. you found yourself partying with your family in the back yard. "babe, can you get me a drink?" your sister politely asks her boyfriend from the table. alex is sat with them while you're dancing with your mom, drinking of course. her boyfriend tosses her a beer, and alex steps in. "no dude, that's- you're not supposed to do it like that" alex says, frowning at your sisters man. "what?" he asks, chuckling with confusion. you look over to see what he was doing. "that's not how you give your girl a drink.. this is how" alex says, standing up from his chair nearly stumbling over his own feet. he grabs his beer bottle and walks over to you, grabbing your wrist to yank you towards him.

he takes a sip of his beer, leaving some in his mouth. you giggle as he grabs your chin, pulling your face closer to his. you open your mouth and poke your tongue out slightly as he spits the drink into your mouth. you dribble a bit while laughing, seeing the look on your mom's face. "that's disgusting" she joked. "that's the way we do things in our house" alex says, slapping your butt as he walks away. he gets touchy when he's drunk, but around your family just made it awkward. the way he was acting turned you on a bit. drunk alex was weirdly hot.

you were now in the kitchen. you and alex are the only ones in there. you are sat on the countertop as alex stood between your open legs, smoking a cigarette with his other hand on your bare thigh. "stop it" you whisper, stopping his hand from going any further. he chuckled, taking a puff of his cigarette. you looked away, making him peel his hand from your leg to grab your face, pulling it back. "have some" he says, bringing the cigarette to your parched lips. you hesitate but take a small puff, blowing the smoke into his face and giggling. he smirks and roughly lets go of your face.

as hours went by, you began to slowly get more and more turned on by him. you loved the way he acted. he secretly teased you around your family, whispered dirty things in your ears, dominated you when you were alone. you're currently sat in the back yard with your family, sitting around the table. with no chairs left, you're sitting on alex's lap. everyone was having a conversation with each other as alex's hand secretly touched your thigh. you jolted your leg and looked down, trying not to catch anyone's attention. "stop it" you whisper to him, smirking with embarrassment in fear of your family catching you. he knows you want it. he slowly moves it further up your thigh until it slipped under your jumpsuit. you keep jiggling your leg every so often, trying to get him to stop.

butterflies filled your belly as you felt his other hand gently wrap around your waist to pull you closer. he cuddled you, as his naughty hand was purposely teasing you. "seriously stop it" you whisper in his ear, leaning your head against his so it looked romantic to anyone that could be looking. his fingers found their way to your panties. "no" you whisper, grabbing his hand to pull it away completely. he darkly chuckled at you, pecking your lips. the taste of cigarettes and alcohol hit you. "go upstairs" he seductively whispered in your ear. this made your belly turn with excitement. "go" he quietly whispers, lightly tapping your butt as you get off his lap to walk inside. he slowly slips out of the family conversation and meets you upstairs.

he closes the door to see you standing in your panties and bra. "already? i can't even get a kiss first?" he asks, smirking at you. you smirk back as you rush over to him, kissing his lips. he places his hands on your waist, roughly pulling you closer. he spins you around and presses you against the door as he slowly made out with you. "you're so sexy" he whispers in between the kiss, sliding his hands down from your waist and around to your ass cheeks. he grabs them, making you jolt forward and smile into the kiss. "i love touching you around your family.. secretly making you wet" he whispers so sexily. the tension between you both was killing you.

you both make out some more as you slowly made your way over to the bed, where he pushed you down and straddled you. he sat up to pull his top off, then continued kissing you. you always loved fucking him when he was drunk. he was so rough, it made you orgasm each time.

a few minutes later, you were both completely naked. still making out, now under the sheets. he's on top of you, positioning himself near your entrance. you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he unexpectedly pushes himself inside of you. you moan as he brings his head up, making eye contact with you. he smirks and roughly pushes himself in again, making you moan more. he puts his arm behind your head, holding you firmly as he went rougher each time he went in and out of you. "you're soaking.. all for me" he whispers breathily. the rougher he got, the louder you moaned.

"shh" he whispers, tightly cupping his hand around your mouth. "you don't want your family to hear you, no?" he asks, looking over to the open window, pushing your face to force you to look at the window too. you widen your eyes as he chuckles at you. "they can hear you.. i suggest you shut the fuck up" he whispers, removing his hand from your mouth to grip your throat. he began choking you in the sexiest way possible. his sweaty hair dangled in his face, the veins in his hands pulsing. "open your mouth for me" he whispers sweetly. you part your mouth open as he spits into your mouth, forcing you to swallow it. "good little girl" he whispers, pounding roughly into you. you close your mouth around his shoulder to try quietening your moans. he pushes you back down by your throat.

"you're so desperate for me.. you're my slut" he whispers, you love the degradation. it made you wetter more than you possibly already were. you'd never felt so horny before. your legs were already shaking and you hadn't long started. having sex with drunk alex was the best.

whenever you turned your head to look away, he'd slap your face and grab your chin or throat. he wanted you to look at him at all times. "fucking look at me" are the words you'd hear if you disobeyed him. the more you stopped listening to him, the rougher he got. he began going so rough, you began to feel sore. you began whimpering against his power. he loved your little whimpers of pain and exhaustion. "i won't stop, even if you beg me. i want you to hurt" he whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek, down to your neck. he began lightly sucking on your neck, then started to make out with it. biting it and sucking on it to leave a hickey. he wanted your family to see what you'd been up to, not that it wasn't already obvious with the open windows. they definitely heard you...

#toxic turner

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jenoismydad · 4 years

Note

i read ur mark night sex and i was hoping if maybe u could do one for renjun + choking and marking kink 👉👈 thank you!

[8:17 P.M.]

“Renjun, I don’t think we should be doing this right now”

Your boyfriend paid you and your squeals of protest no mind as he let his hand slip into your panties. You glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “1:24 A.M.”, it read. It was far too late and far too risky to be doing this at both, the time, and place that you and Renjun were currently in. You weren’t going to lie, you wanted this more than you could admit, and the arousal that Renjun was coating his fingers in was speaking for you. But the walls of his room were thin and you knew damn well that three out of four of the other boys present in the dorm were still awake playing video games right now. Even though they had those massive headphones sat on their heads, you knew, from previous experiences of course, that they would be of no help in drowning out your noises.

Renjun was well aware of all of this too, but if he was being honest, he could care less. That's why he smirked against your lips and pushed two of his fingers into you, silencing you with your own moan. He curled his fingers inside of you, making your head fall back onto the pillows. Renjun’s lips latched onto your now exposed neck, tongue running over the sensitive skin. He pumped his digits into your warm heat, sucking harshly on your skin with every thrust of his fingers.

He pulled away to observe your face. Your eyes were shut tight, face screwed in pleasure. Although it was dark in the room, Renjun could easily make out the darkening marks that he had painted on your neck. Soft moans spilled from your lips as Renjun kept pulsing his fingers into you. The sight had blood rushing to his cock. “Look at my princess, so fucked out just by my fingers.” You moaned at his words and pushed your hips down onto the mattress. Renjun snickered at your actions, pulling his fingers out of your soaked pussy. “Do you want more?”

You whined and nudged his hips with your foot. Renjun was teasing you and he wasn’t going to stop until you told him what you wanted. “Come on, tell me.”, he pushed, tapping your thigh, “Otherwise we can just go back to sleep.” You hid your face in his pillow. “I don’t wanna.”, you mumbled, certain that Renjun probably had the biggest smirk plastered on his face right now.

“Don’t wanna sleep or don’t wanna fuck?” You were right. Renjun was smirking, really big that too. He knew what your answer was, but he was an ass and he wanted to hear you say it. You groaned in defeat and met his gaze.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Renjun smiled triumphantly and pulled your shorts down along with your panties in one swift tug. He brought your hips closer to his, bringing you down the bed. He moved his pants down enough to let his dick spring free. Even though his cock was throbbing, he took his time rubbing it against your wet heat, thriving off of your needy whimpers. “Renjun please, just fuck me already.” You begged impatiently, walls clenching around nothing. Renjun giggled sadistically and pushed his tip into you, prodding at the entrance of your wet cavern. “Why babe? I wanna take my time with you.”

You scoffed and pointed to the clock. Renjun cluelessly followed your finger and looked back at you quizzically. “Renjun honey, I’d really like for you to take your time with me but unfortunately now is not the time for that.”

Renjun pushed himself into you all the way, groaning at the tightness of your walls. “Then don’t give me shit when the boys all tease you tomorrow morning.” And with that Renjun began pounding his dick into you. You bit down on your lip harshly, trying your best to suppress your moans. The faint sound of skin slapping against each other filled the room and you hoped and prayed that the others would think it was just the upstairs neighbours having a dance party. Renjun’s grip on your hips was tight, fingers digging into your skin as he lost himself inside of you. Your lips quivered, unable to contain the amount of pleasure running through your body.

A few sensual sounds escaped your mouth earning a dry chuckle from your boyfriend. He pushed your sweater up, groaning at the sight of your bare breasts and they way they bounced with his every thrust. He grabbed at the soft flesh squeezing them briefly, before attaching his lips onto the soft skin. He nipped and sucked on it, pulling it between his teeth, only letting go once he was sure he had left a mark.

Meanwhile you struggled to contain your moans. Renjun’s increasing pace only making it harder for you. He kissed your neck, feeling your muffled sounds on his lips. “Is my baby having a hard time keeping her voice down?” You could only moan in response, the feeling of his length slamming into you was fogging your mind. Renjun cupped your throat in his palm and pressed down, making your jaw fall slack. You arched your back, arousal pooling to your already drenched core. “Baby likes that huh?” Renjun applied more pressure onto your throat, pounding into you recklessly as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You were in bliss, the time and place completely forgotten as you let your moans tear through your throat. You knew you were close, but you didn’t have the words to tell Renjun. Letting him buck his hips into you, you clenched around his length and came without a warning, hands flying towards your neck to hold onto Renjun's wrist. Renjun didn’t slow his pace, repeatedly thrusting into you as he chased his high. “Fuck!” He cursed, pulling out of you and jerking himself off over your stomach. You swatted his hands away, edging him to his orgasm with your own hands. Renjun sucked his lips between his teeth, throwing his head back as he emptied himself on your tummy. You pumped his length, making sure to get every last drop out of him and onto your body.

Renjun brought his head back to face you and grinned at you. He fell down next to you, tossing you a random towel to wipe his cum off yourself. “Real nice after care.”, you mumbled, throwing the towel down the bed. Renjun laughed and pulled you into his arms, letting out a deep breath. “I’ll give you better cuddles that’s for sure.”

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toots-senpai · 3 years

Text

just friendly raves

Author: @toots-senpai

Fandom: my hero academia

Pairing: kirishima x reader

Rating: R {18+}

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: hard dom!kiri, exhibitionism, drug use!, slapping, cock warming, un-protected sex {wrap it up before you tap it}, creampie, degradation, cocky kiri lol

Quick A/n: yea idk who i sent this ask too but i need to get it out of my head pleaseee.. also unedited

MINORS DNI

i don't except follows from ageless blogs, you will be blocked!!

okay, kirishima is 100% in love with you. follows you around like a lost puppy and most definitely doesn't like being without you for more than 4 hours.

so when you say you're going to an all day rave and you pick ur anti-sweaty skimpy outfit, of course he's gonna wanna come and dress up with you too.

so when you dance with your friends for about a couple of hours and go to smoke, seeing your friends pull out their colorful pills and small tabs and handing a pill one to everyone with a puff of the joint, no one backed down

but you didn't expect this.

it started off as grinding to the music, your sweaty intoxicated bodies rubbing and jumping in the sea of people, eyes dizzy and sweat dripping with confidence with the colorful lights and bass around you and kiri, but though the night didn't settle down, you too did... only slightly

instead of jumping with the bass your tongues clashed with the bass, his touch almost foreign to your faded body as you too stood in the middle of the floor, the people around too invested in their friends or dancing only a few stares because of the sudden lack of energy in the crowd.

his hands were all over your body, feverish and soaked with sweat and as everything started sinking in your hand tried to go lower but was stopped by kiri, and for the rest of the night. instead you stood in front of him, his body caging you in as he made you whimper with the small alerting touches

he laughed at you, teasing your nipples and dipping down to your thighs to completely avoid the spot he's needed most. he'll go all night teasing you

'awe baby, do you wish we stayed home? i would've treated you so well baby~' he will coo

'with all your moving you're gonna bump into someone~.. you wouldn't want me to stop?'

he's gonna compliment and tease your body until your begging, almost on your knees with tears and overstimulation. but you can't keep your moans to yourself. and once you let one out big enough, kiri's gonna punish you right then and there.

though no one noticed because of his large hand clapping over your face to the beat of the 808's he would continue to tease you, slapping the bare skin of your ass that's out from the small 2 piece suit and hitting the insides of your thighs, nipples, and whatever sensitive piece of you he can get too to make you make another noise. he's gonna make you beg right then and there to shove it in. all of him bare. he'll make sure you say it too.

grabbing your throat and slapping you with his rough palm until ur crying, begging just the way he likes. once he's satisfied, he'll make sure your ok, kissing and rubbing the places he smacked before he pulls your shorts to the side and slips himself all the way to he cant shove his dick in anymore without making you whimper but the hand the pulled the shorts away immediately dipped underneath your shorts.

and that's probably where the position stayed for the last half of the rave, his hand around your throat, his dick grinding against your puffy cunt along with his hand against your clit, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm but with every time he came remotely close, whimpering cusses from deep within his throat, he slowed, teasing your dumbified form and giving you praise for taking him so well.

those last 5 minutes of the show kiri wants to leave early, so you have to say bye to all your friends short holding a puddle of your mess, cum running down in between your thighs but it's unseen in the dark outside arena.

and once you get back to kiri after the degrading moment he smiles at you, gestures you to walk in front of him so he can hold you and kiss you. calming down your spazzed out and tired nerves.

you were probably hoping that he would walk to the parking lot and fuck you when he got home, but as soon as you walked near the bathroom he was already pushing you to the wall, breathless and humping at your puffy cunt. and here you started your begging.

the 'no we're in public'

and the 'everyone's going to see'

but this bothered kiri not at all, no repercussions passing his mind as he pulls you into the girls bathroom shoves you into the stall and pulls your bottom piece off, juices separating the clothing and dripping onto the floor.

leaving the discarded clothing on your back so it doesn't fall on the floor, he grabbed your ass from behind and started lapping at your sensitive cunt, compared to before he made sure he was licking at all of your good spots just to make sure that he could hear your voice loud and clear compared to having to quiet you in the crowd.

so there your cute doggy is, slurping at your puffy overstimullated pussy until you squirted, knees giving out and your arms hitting the toiled to hold yourself up.

but to your lovely misfortune, kiri took it as a new position spreading your pussy apart just to shove his throbbing cock deep into you once again, but this time all the way to his base, so you could whine his name off your salivated lips. your arms shaking the toliet seat.

and with his powerful thrusts, groans, moans and the thick slapping of sweaty skin, a crowd was attracted outside the bathroom, small whispers turning into a loud groupchat as kiri finally dumped his thick load in you, keeping you pressed against the seat as he gave you his entire night worth of energy a nice minute full of cum filling out your cunt and even seeping outside eith just how much he dumped into you.

once he finished, he got a nice package of the post nut anti-clarity, looking down at your exhausted fucked out form.

cum dripping off of your abused cunt and onto the toliet seat.

but pulling out, the disgusting package was gone as the beautiful sight of his load leaking off his dick and sticking to your puffiness while spilling into the toilet water as along with another beautiful moan of his name from your tired lips, he was picking you up and sliding your shorts back on, attempting to keep his load locked in. and kissing you softly like the sweet boyfriend he is

but he most definitely walks out with most shit eating grin, looking at the crowd of people who cheered as he carried you to the car to get you to 'car cleanup box'.

#mmm brainrot #kirishima x reader smut #boku no hero academia #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijrou #tw:exhibitionism

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

Drunken Kisses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Alochal use, swears like twice

Request: @justsomeficsyo hey my love, I hope you're doing well with lockdown! Could I request number 46 with Draco? If not use it for any other character (if you're sick of writing for him), I always love ur writing! ❤️❤️

46- you’re drunk at this festival and dancing on the table and when you eventually fell i caught you

A/n: not gonna cap, kinda feel like this is shit but oh well. Idek what to say, I'm pretty sure I'm in a slump rn, my last two fics have been actual garbage. I hope you guys like it better than I do.

The quidditch world cup was something you had been wanting to go to for ages. You went to one when you were fourteen but it didn’t end well and since then all you had been wanting to do was go to one where you wouldn’t be almost burnt alive. You loved the sport, you played it for your own school and made a decent beater, since you graduated and stopped playing your thirst for the game grew. You finally decided after your second year of college you would go. You rounded up a bunch of your friends and apparated to the stadium. It had been built the year before, brand new everything, you were thrilled.

You and your friends all have the same intention when going to the game and that was to watch quidditch and get completely smashed. You were going into your third year of college the next year which meant you would have to buckle down and work so this was about it for the year. You were dressed in red and black clothes that showed too much, one of your favorite teams, the Buglrians was back in the cup thanks to their far too attractive seeker; Viktor Krum. You and four others piled into your tent where Gabby and Annabeth had already started drinking. You laughed at them claiming you weren’t going to start till five and they booed mixing up a margarita with too much vodka.

By the time the match started, you were two drinks in and Gabby was nearly blackout drunk. Annabeth had already passed out. You tried to wake her up before sighing and tucking the covers up to her chin. You made your way through the crowds of people, you and the three girls you were with all should have been wearing more than you were but none of you gave areally cared. Alex had the word ‘Krum’ painted across her stomach and you and Ruby both had black and red handprints covering your legs and arms. You were all covered in glitter and glow sticks which were enchanted to circle around your frame.

Some Holyhead Harpie fans booed as you walked past and you flipped them off while Gabby shouted, “You’re just mad you're gonna lose!”

You got to the stands pushing your way through a few people and climbing way too many stairs until you were in the center of the piled seats, You stood at the railing as Alex passed you a beer. You made small talk until the announcer came on introducing the teams. You all screamed like crazy when the Bulgarians flew into the field, Krum did a handstand on his broom whipping past and Ruby mumbled, “God he’s hot” Next to you.

The game was amazing. You were getting progressively louder as it went on. 40 points Harpy’s, 20 Bulgaria, then 60 Harpy’s, 70 Bulgaria. Until finally, as the game progressed Krum came dive-bombing out of the sky streaking after a flash of gold. He caught it moments before pulling upwards holding it in his fist. You were elated.

The four of you headed back towards your tent, Gabby was giggling about something you couldn’t make sense of as when suddenly a guy around your age popped out of his tent holding a pack of beers.

“Blaise?” Ruby asked in disbelief. The name rung a distant bell.

He turned towards you, “Holy shit Ruby?”

She laughed walking over to him, you followed a bit confused, your mind hazy with alcohol.

They talked for a second before she turned to introduce you. You smiled and shook his hand and suddenly it struck you, “Oh! You’re the guy she had a major crush on in high school.”

Your eyes widened as you slapped your hand over your mouth Alex burst out laughing.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

The man brushed it off with a wave of his hand, “You guys should head over with me, a bunch of us have a bonfire going and I think someone brought a keg.”

“Then why are you carrying a six-pack of beer?” Alex asked.

“Because their stuff probably tastes like shit.” He shrugged, “Are you guys coming?”

Ruby glanced back at you and you shrugged, “Why not?”

You followed Blaise about a quarter-mile from your tent to where a massive fire was raging. There must have been thirty college kids in the area, filling picnic tables and dancing on the grass. Someone had brought two kegs actually and it was apparent that a good chunk of them were hammered. It was dead silent until you stepped into a small glowing ring and suddenly the music was so loud you had to shout to hear anything.

The smell of burning wood, weed, and beer was thick as yelling and laughter could be heard above the pop song which blared overhead. You laughed turning to see that Alex was already making her way towards one of the kegs. You followed her getting booed by a group of people sitting at a picnic table who were adorned in green and yellow.

“You’re the ones who lost!” Alex shouted from over your shoulder handing you a blue cup. Blaise was right, the beer tasted like shit.

Draco watched as Blaise returned with four girls in tow. He sighed, rolling his eyes, not at all surprised by the new additions. All four were in black and red and were smiling widely. He snickered watching as one stumbled over nothing before finding her way to a picnic table. When his eyes landed on you they widened, your hair was messy and swiped back from your face, your cheeks flushed the shorts you were wearing left little to the imagination and the t-shirt was hugging your curves. You were stunning. His mouth went dry as his gaze followed you toward a keg, you laughed as one of your friends said something he couldn’t make out. Your smile was mesmerizing.

Draco was broken from his trance when Blaise coupled with one of the girls from before sat in front of him blocking his view.

“Draco, you remember Ruby right?” he spoke gesturing towards the girl.

“Totally.” He lied, “Good to see you.” he craned his neck to the side attempting to catch a glimpse of you again.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, “Watcha looking for?” he asked, turning around too.

“Nothing.” Draco shrugged, finding you sitting on the grass with the girl from before.

“See a hot girl?” Ruby joked, smirking following his gaze, “That’s y/n by the way.”

Draco felt his cheeks go hot, “I’m sorry who’s y/n?”

“Who do you think?” She laughed, “The one you’re staring at, I’m not blind.”

“Which one is y/n again?” Blaise questioned, “Redhead or y/h/c?”

“Y/h/c.” Ruby responded, “She’s single you know.” she wiggled her eyebrows, “Very single.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” Baise mussed, “So is Draco”

He rolled his eyes at their smirks and took a beer from the pack his friend had brought. His eyes wandered back to you as Ruby and Blaise’s conversation left without him. You were laying on your back now laughing hysterically as your friend tried to drink lying down, spilling beer down her front. You lifted out your wand to clean it before leaning over and whispering something into her ear. You waved it twice at the fire and suddenly it flickered deep black and red flames.

“Bulgaria!” You and your friend shouted as Ruby turned around laughing. A few words from Harpy fans had the fire turned back to its original color.

“Y/n! Alex!” Ruby called beckoning you towards them with a hand.

You stumbled to your feet, white tennis shoes smudged with grass, “What’s up?” You giggled walking around the table and seating yourself next to Draco, Alex slumped on your other side.

“Not much we were-” She was cut off when the song suddenly changed.

You squealed, leaping to your feet and hitting your bare knees on the hardwood, you didn’t seem to notice. You snatched Alex’s hand dragging her to her feet as well. You blurted out lyrics off-key as you climbed onto the table, glow sticks hovering around you as you swayed your hips to the music. You twirled on the tips of your shoes bringing your beer to your lips as a microphone

Cheers and whistles from nearby people only encouraged you as you continued to drunkenly dance on the table “My loneliness is killing me, I must confess I still believe.” You drew out each word. Feet tapping along with the beat as Alex jumps up with you grabbing your hands. You sang together as Ruby howled with laughter beneath you.

Your feet caught suddenly and you tumbled backward with scream you knocked directly into Draco’s’s chest knocking him from his seat and onto the grass with a thump. Draco groaned, opening his eyes and feeling his cheeks flush. You were laying on top of him, your hands holding you up as your face hovered just over his.

Your eyes were wide as you traced the man’s features. His shimmering blond hair, deep red cheeks, sharp jawline, and icy blue eyes. Your heart sped in your chest as your gaze flicked down to his pink lips which were parted slightly.

“You’re so pretty.” You mumbled and Draco felt his breath leave his lungs.

“I should be saying that to you.” He countered shakily.

You giggled, staring for a moment too long, “I should probably stand up.”

He nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

You got to your feet, Draco doing the same, both of you were bright red as you turned back to the group, Blaise winked at him and he rolled his eyes.

The conversation continued and you slowly began to inch towards Draco craving his warmth, he smelt of expensive college and mint, it was intoxicating. The blonde almost jumped when he felt you lean onto him, your hand resting on his thigh. You laid your head onto his shoulder and Draco found himself resisting the urge to lean back into you.

As the party began to dwindle Ruby decided that you should probably head back to your tent when Alex passed out on the table.

“Where’s Gabby?” She asked glancing around to see her sitting with a group of girls you didn’t recognize. You pouted as she attempted to haul you to your feet.

“Y/n, we have to go.” She mumbled as you clung to Draco’s arm. He looked stunned.

“No!” You whined, “I don’t want to go!”

“God, you’re like a toddler when your drunk.” She huffed pinching the bridge of her nose.

Finally, you got to your feet, stumbling and falling almost immediately. Draco stood to help you when he offered you a hand you took it but when he pulled you toward him you used that momentum to smash yourself onto his lips.

You stood on your toes ramming your tongue into his mouth your eyes closed as you pulled him towards you. Draco kissed you back for just a second before pushing you away.

Ruby stared at the scene her jaw dropped.

“Why’d you pull away?” You pouted up at him, your hands fiddling with his shirt.

“Because you are crazy drunk.” He responded hardly able to make out the sentence.

“Fine. I'll kiss you when I’m not drunk.” You declared turning to Ruby, “Do you have a pen?”

She shook her head.

You groaned snatching your wand from your pocket and shouting, “Accio pen!” about a dozen rushed at you. You snatched one turning to Draco and grabbing his hand, pulling up his shirt. You began to write on his forearm, the cap of the pen lodged between your lips.

You pulled away, your phone number scrawled onto his skin, “You better call me.” You mumbled turning on your heels to follow your friends.

Ruby snorted “You are going to regret so much of what just happened tomorrow morning.”

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

@chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter ships #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy

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snowpeawritings · 4 years

Note

Soooo I got kind of a weird request. Due to prom being cancelled this year because of corona I couldn’t experience it. Can I get a scenario where Gundham Tanaka, Kokichi Oma, and Leon Kuwata and their prom date decide on having sex on prom night? Please and thank you 💗

rip to ur prom :(((

Reader is gender neutral

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Sexual content, swearing

| Gundham Tanaka |

He doesn’t like social gatherings. He would rather be back in the animal shelter than in this mess but he knows how excited you were for this. But what kind of a good lover are you if you won’t make him as excited as you are?

Taking him into some random storage closet, you closed the door from behind you as you giggled at his flushed face. You were sure that his redness wasn’t because of his stuffy tuxedo. You knew without his Devas of Destruction, he was practically naked but you wanted to try to make this night the best night for him.

“Such a promiscuous move!” He whisper-yelled in the darkness of the closet. “To think that my Noble of Darkness would have these thoughts... Especially in public!”

You giggled, fiddling with his scarf that he kept with his suit. “Better than those stuffy people, am I right?”

He audibly gulped, trying to quell his shakiness as he stared elsewhere from you. “H-How perverted…"

His shaking hasn't stopped which made you pause. You tried to find his hands and luckily you grasped them in your hands without touching anything inappropriate. "We can just sit here and talk if you don't want it. I'm not gonna force you into things you don't like."

You felt eyes on you as Tanaka stopped shaking. Outside, the thumping base of the DJ's party mix matched with your heartbeat as you waited for his response.

Soon, you felt hands on your hips, bringing you closer to him. He was still hesitant, but the way that he slightly rutted his hardening member against you had you gasping.

"I will admit, this is too much for me." He rasped out before leaning in to kiss you softly. "But I would rather be in your arms rather than the atrocious lot outside."

The giggle that erupted from your throat was soon interrupted by a hefty moan. No one dared to look into the mysterious storage closet that was making noise.

| Kokichi Oma |

Yes, while the dances on prom night were the best thing for you, it was the food that makes prom night worth it.

Thank god that the school endorsed a catering service that made food so goddamn delicious. Even though you felt exhausted after dancing with your partner, the smell of the main course brought your energy back. The food was so delicious that it made your foot tap with energy.

Yes, that was definitely the reason why.

Definitely not the fingers teasing your sex underneath the table cloth.

"Oh, don't mind them!" Kokichi would defer the concerns of passers-by to him with a smile. "They just danced their whole night away that one time. They're just resting their feet!"

You eased them back with your own smile. "The food will keep me energized! Don’t worry about it.”

As you watched them walk away, Kokichi’s fingers resumed their teasing. His wrist was already beginning to strain but he makes sure he doesn’t show it as he leans closer to you.

“I applaud your stone face back there,” he whispered next to your ear, “I wonder how long you could last until the next dance?”

Your whimpers only spurred him on further.

| Leon Kuwata |

As this prom night would be you and Leon’s last, you two decided you would go out with a bang. In his words, he wants to “Baptise the baseball club’s locker rooms before I graduate!”

With you hoisted against the lockers and your legs wrapped around his waist, you keened at Leon’s rapid thrusts inside you. Your hands grabbed purchase on his still-clothed shoulders, rumpling his suit as your open mouth was left to be mauled by his eager tongue.

He was impatient enough that he couldn’t remove his pants and underwear, them bunching below his crotch as his cock pushed in and out of you in rapid succession. The sounds of skin slapping on skin and moans echoed throughout the empty locker room.

After mauling your lips, Leon attacked your neck with his teeth. You gasped at the pain of his bites as you moaned his name as his thrusts grew faster. “You close yet, babe?”

He smirked when you couldn’t even respond, too enraptured in the euphoria to properly elicit a response. He chuckled before grabbing the full meat of your ass in both of his hands as he plowed inside of you to the point that your back banged against the locker door. You screamed, not even caring who would hear you as you yelled his name over and over. Drool went past your lips, the sensations too much as your stomach tightened.

“Cum for me, babydoll…” He groaned, picking up the pace as he bit the meat of your shoulder. “Wanna see you spill all over this floor and let everyone know what happened here…!”

With one last scream, the knot inside of you exploded as you came with a high-pitched scream. Leon murmured words to ease you out of your high, your insides still shaking as his cum sloshed inside of you. Leon continued to watch you squirm from your orgasm, eyes honed in on your center as it oozed with his cum.

“This looks good on ya, babe!” He praised you. “This is definitely going into my prom night memories!”

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v3 #drv3 imagines #super dangaronpa 2 #gundham tanaka x reader #gundham tanaka #gundham tanaka imagines #kokichi ouma #kokichi ouma x reader #kokichi ouma imagines #leon kuwata #leon kuwata x reader #leon kuwata imagines #requests #scenario #snowpea thirsts for lemonade

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icharchivist · 3 years

Note

hello icha!!!!! learned from my mistakes and typed this out in a separate document. first i have to say im feeling a very deep connection with citron as of late bc i was giving myself a pep talk abt like physics and i told myself "face up and man the music!" and was like "...is that wrong. theres that song called man against the music isnt there... yeah it must be right" and. well i realized later. i also think the phrase "dont cry because it happened, smile because its over" is very good. also I’m halfway thru creating a very eclectic list of like. a Pokémon team for each a3 character which is… something. kinda knew it would happen to me. might take a while for me to finish it tho now that I’m halfway bc I’m suddenly having a crisis like “wait shit I’m only confident on my understanding and characterizing of like 4 characters am I good enough” so… it’s slow going lol. anyways. i finished that damn physics thing I was giving myself a pep talk about and so am treating myself to autumn/winter. happens that watching these events is also like. the only thing which reminds me to actually like. log into a3 lol. i am so bad at gacha games. probably a good thing in the long run. ok starting from the top!

hisoka going "zzz" as his reaction made me immediately go... oh dear, please dont fall asleep in the bath and guess what happened. yeah. good thing homare was there lol. speaking of i fucking adore homare and his poetry. id buy his collection. i also wish there was a collection like if there was a master list of every poem he says in like. at the very least main story. if not i will literally do it myself. i love homare so much im like him in that back when i had to play dodgeball id always be like kufufufu they cant hit me if im friendless enough that no one pays attention to me but like in my case it actually worked out. on the subject of the pillow fight tho, hisoka's crazy strong pillow fight throw... one more mark on the list for suspicious, maybe assassin occupation. this event made me realize how much i missed winter like. i saw the stranger pretty recently (which has caused the effect of be being like "taichi!! thats my boy!!" in my head everytime he shows up lol but anyways i havent gotten to a winter play yet so im VERY hype. especially bc this seems like it stars hisoka and homare??? like oh!! oh!!!! also detective fiction... im swooning. i also just enjoy the hisoka homare dynamic a whole fucking lot i think its nice how homare was like "yeah im ride or die for this funky lil amnesiac, why wouldnt you be?" and its just like. nice. feel like hes always reaching out to hisoka which is like. man homare is so nice.

back to chronology. ofc sakyo goes cheap for the hot springs lol. on brand as ever. was very hype for the azuma sakyo dynamic bc all i remember is like azuma trashing everyone including sakyo at some game or the other in one of the winter chapters and it was very good. or was this a clip in like a stage play? either way it was delightful. at first i misinterpreted taichi going "…" after azuma and sakyo said theyd never been on a field trip bc like. taichi being quiet or noncommunicative... after going thru autumn troupe act 1 it makes me fear for my life a little lol. anyways im glad he was just like planning fun times. speaking of taichi tho we got a tasuku taichi pair for etudes!!!! im not spoiling myself for later events but i hope to GOD tasuku and taichi do like a lead co lead in SOMETHING or at least like some mixed troupe event i want them to talk!!!

also dunno if this is an intentional pun but i enjoy that its called high spirits at the hot spring bc like oh theyre having fun but also bc like. "spirits" is used to refer to a certain type of alcohol i think? which is cool. dunno if its intentional but i liked that. anyways the talent show. taichis moving rendition of single ladies... ok i know it said single fellas but like. we know. wonder if that line was a different song in japanese? its not too old at ALL tho imo. anyways the way banri and juza being themselves Are the entertainment... flashback to when banri slaps juza live on stage instead of doing a stage slap lol. my reaction to azuma essentially went:

azuma: I can offer to bare my soul, and a little more ;)

izumi: what do u mean by that???

me: hey tasuku and omi were shirtless what's ur problem with azuma

anyways i reread and from what i understand they were maybe only flexing and doing a gun show? which like. no wonder it didnt last too long then lol. also explains why they didnt have shirtless sprites i suppose lmao. i am SO curious abt what azuma ended up doing tho that fade to black is so mysterious! did he tap dance? did he pole dance? the world will never know...

oh also im not like super familiar with azuma yet but my read on his personality is definitely like "I am so touch starved All The Time but I will be chill. :) :) this is fine :)" like he just seems to rly like being around people! just like basking in presence whether or not hes rly talking that much.

i enjoyed that juza mentioned pillow fighting with his lil brother... thats nice! i think a lot of this event was just focused on ppl having fun over the drama lol bc it got wrapped up sooo quick. i liked the bit where sakyos worried that izumi was out late searching for him tho it was so sweet. table tennis match was very fun although id argue calling hisoka and juza the two quietest tho lol like... banri exists so juza isnt quiet. just like inevitably. finally, the event cg!!! azumas hair tied up... so nice! thats how I tie my hair up sometimes tho it doesnt look nearly as nice lol. taichi rambling abt his first love for so long tho... lol. ill be honest i have to reread autumn bc i was not aware of this whole situation until it came up in the stranger and i like inferred from there. the end of this event was nice! it was cute. i dont rly have much thoughts on it but im so hype for the winter play

Hello:!!! so good to see you again, freshly learning from your mistakes then :3c

the connection with Citron is a BLAST to read about. I am glad that Citron is there, on your mind, supporting you at every turns of language. It's beautiful.

AND OH THE POKEMON LIST!!! thrilled to hear about it being a wip ongoing! take your time ofc and i hope you'll feel more confident as you go for your characters interpretation! i believe in you!

lmao i'm glad the events help you remember to play a3, i'm sure that by the time you'll be done with the events you will have unlocked so much of act 2 you won't have to worry too much about it. Anyway i'm glad you treat yourself to good things :3c

of course Hisoka fell asleep in the bath. tbh this event was a lot of "Hisoka almost dies in a spring house multiple times if it wasn't for his troupesmates". Between sleeping in the bath and almost swallowing the table tenis ball... where would we be without Winter, and especially Homare, taking care fo him.

I'm SO GLAD you like Homare that much! he's so so good! i'm sure there must be a masterlist somewhere, or well. can be done anytime i guess?? but yeah Homare is fantastic and LDJFDLKFJDF the evil plan to avoid dodgeball from both of you.. this is incredible DLKJFDLKF. But yeah alas he's loved by his own so he gets hit smh.

And yeah Hisoka is just acting sus huh.

BUT YEAH... YEAH... WINTER... BELOVED.... I feel regular and normal feelings for Winter as you know, s o .

(i'm so delighted that you feel that way about Taichi though, as he deserves!! what a good boy!!!)

But yeah Winter play next!!!!! i love the winter plays so much i hope you'll like it as well!! aND YEAH HISOKA AND HOMARE AS A DUO... for a DETECTIVE story?? so good.

I'm sO GLAD you like their dynamic! yeah i adore it too. Homare was so quick to leap into taking care of Hisoka? Like i mean he immediatly called him sleeping beauty when they first met, and immediately decided to be his roommates to watch over him, and then he did everything to take care of him and it's just so sweet. Homare has such a big heart he's so gentle with Hisoka. Homey and comfortable, whenever Hisoka admits it or not ahah.

ahah wouldn't be Sakyo if he didn't need to stay cheap. BUT YEAH the Sakyo/Azuma dynamic is pretty good. oh the event you talk about i think is in some of his very first backstage storyes (that you can read if you have them since they're at this point of the chronology). There's one where they play a mafia game and Sakyo is warry of Azuma because "people like him are those you need to worry about the most" and Azuma is just ":) you wound me :) i would never :)" and then Azuma wins the game and starts to mess with everyone. It was so fun. and yeah i see which clip you mean for the stage play!! it's so so fun they have such a neat dynamic and i loved to see it in this event as well.

and omg worrying about Taichi while he was just there preparing a fun time! this child really would have worried us all back then huh

but AHH YEAH TASUKU TAICHI.... It's such a neat dynamic! ofc i won't say anything but man i love the potential of their stories, as the two ex Godza boys. To see them bond and be comfortable with each other always make me so soft.

OH NICE CATCH FOR THE PUN! i think it must be the reason for it tbh, i love it! thanks for pointing it out!

The talent show was really fun yeah ahah! I wonder what it is in Japanese too but at least the localization was hella fun!

"anyways the way banri and juza being themselves Are the entertainment." THEY'RE SO SILLY I love them so much

AND LMAO YOUR REACTION AT AZUMA I LOVE IT. YEah i think Tasuku and Omi are just flexing (which is Still. SO FUNNY. Just there saying "our talents is.. our muscles...") meanwhile Azuma is like "my talent is that i'm crazy hot :)"

But YEAH Azuma... AZUMA WHAT DID YOU DO....

your read on Azuma's personality feels pretty spot on to me ahah omg. Staying with what you know about him, the fact that with his job and all, he seems like he's starving for connection while also terrified to make himself emotionally vulnerable. He loves staying with people, listening to them, caring for them, and he's touch starved as hell (i mean it's his job) but he doesn't seem to really know how to be on the receiving hand of affection. there's a flair talk, i can't remember where, with Omi at some point, where Azuma compliments him, and Omi is just "mhm.. but you know i think that it's more about you" and ends up complimenting Azuma in depth and it let Azuma dumbfounded because he didn't expect Omi to trick him at his own game, while Omi just genuinely don't get why Azuma is reacting that way. He gives he gives he gives, and he's genuinely happy with that, but he seems to have difficulties to take, or to demand for something, while also starving for it. I have so many emotions for Azuma.

Any mentions of Juza's little bro are the best things. I love this type of mention TwT

And yeah it was such a laid back event. Honestly deserved after the crying fest that was The Stranger imo. It's good to relax once in a while and it was nice to have them have fun. There was the bitterness of both Azuma and Sakyo's past that was always a bit looming but everyone was working so hard for them to enjoy themselves that the joy just overtake any sadness i loved it.

Sakyo worrying about Izumi is always adorable TwT

And yeah the Table Tennis match was so fun and chaotic LMAO. I love the dynamic between Juza and Hisoka. Just two usually quiet boys who like sweets. Except that yeah like you say, as long as Banri is around, Juza cannot be 100% quiet. Rip.

THE CG WAS SO PRETTY i loved seeing it. And omg you can share your hairtips with Azuma how nice :D Azuma manages to make everything look beautiful smh....

Oh yeah Taichi and his first love! if i recall he mentions it quickly at the begining, that Yuki reminds him of his first love, and he says that again at some point - then the fake Portrait he does he mentions his first love again. And since then it's been a reccuring topic so yeh :3c

but yeah! this event was really sweet and laid back, not much to say about it, but it was nice to have it at all!

Hope you'll like the winter play :3c

Take care and thank you again for your thoughts <33 i love reading them!! bless you!!

#ichafantalks a3 #sonnets of beauty #ichareply

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welkynars · 4 years

Text

Morrowind was not a pleasant place. Seyrena had known that even before the prison ship had docked in the waters of Seyda Neen. Even the other Dunmer in Cyrodiil spoke of the ashy air, unpleasant patrons, and the lingering scent of tar that followed wherever one went. The province was disagreeable even at its best, and on nights like tonight she longed for rolling hills and sweet-smelling lavender fields of Cyrodiil.

Because… well, Cyrodiil was her home, was it not? It was the only place she ever remembered being. Cyrodiil was where she grew up, where she learned her trade and fell in love for the first time and where she’d made her mistakes. Mistakes that had landed her here. In Morrowind. A hot, unfamiliar, wretched land.

It should be unfamiliar, at least. Recently it had felt more and more like home. She did not want Morrowind to feel like home. She never asked for any of this. She never asked to be the savior of an ancestral land she’d never even been to. She never asked to be the incarnate of a man who’d died so long ago his existence was unfathomable. Never asked to be forced to bring the downfall of three fervently worshipped gods, one of whom had given her a welcome she did not deserve. Never asked to have to stand over the corpses of two mer who she apparently once called friends in a life she didn’t remember. Never asked to feel like she’d killed her own friends.

Seyrena sighed deeply and took another swig of the unknown drink. It tasted like guar piss but it got her intoxicated and that was all she cared about. That, and the fact that the patrons of the small tavern in Pelagiad hadn’t a clue who she was. If she had to hear the title ‘Nerevarine’ one more time she would certainly slice the fingers off of whatever poor soul it was who’d said it.

No, to the Dunmer of the Halfway Tavern she was just any old Empire-assimilated Dunmer. An outlander; a term she’d hated when she first arrived in Morrowind but longed to be called again. She was an outlander. Her own personal feelings of the Empire aside, she was of the Empire. Raised in Cyrodiil. There was nothing else she knew and nothing else she wanted to know.

A year ago that was how it had been. The alcohol in her hand let her pretend that’s how it still was.

“If you’re not careful there, elf, you’ll drink yourself to death with that,” A voice mumbled from a few feet beside her. She looked up from the corner she was sitting in. A grizzly-looking Nord man sat on the bench to the right of her, watching the bard sing and swing with harsh eyes. His clothes were splattered with dirt and grime and his hand gripped a large wooden mug. The stench of alcohol filled her nose even with his distance from her and she wondered how he was one to talk.

“I can handle my drinks just fine, Nord,” She replied coolly, also averting her eyes to the bard. A pretty young Breton woman playing the lute and singing tales of dragons. Seyrena was glad there were no songs written about her feats just yet.

The man laughed a hearty but mocking laugh and she scowled at him. She hadn’t said anything funny.

“You Dark Elves wouldn’t know drink if it slapped you in the arse,” He was looking at her now with a dangerously mocking smile.

“Well, I grew up in Cyrodiil so I’d wager I know more than you think I do,” She took another sip of her drink as if to prove a point. “And whatever this is, it's certainly better than that poor excuse for alcohol you call mead.”

He laughed again, and again she did not know what she said that was so funny.

“Imperials are even worse!” He managed to breathe out between howling laughs. He was obviously very drunk if he found a conversation about beverages so hilarious. Seyrena turned away from him and went back to festering in her own misery and regret and longing for a life that no longer existed. She’d rather that than any sort of conversation with a drunken man.

Apparently the gods were again, not on her side and Nords were unable to take obvious hints, because he continued speaking to her. Spoke to her about his homeland(“If this were Skyrim I’d teach you a thing or two about mead, lass”), about how he was grateful the Empire was reigning in the uncivilized Dunmer(“Imperials are good for something, at least”), and finally, about the pretty little Breton girl dancing along to her tunes.

“They don’t make them like that in Skyrim,” He grunted, watching the bard with a look that made Seyrena’s stomach twist. “We Nords are beasts of men, good for fighting and drinking. But it makes for unflattering women at the very least.”

Her anger was only growing at this point, fingertips clenching into her own fists. The young woman was simply trying to make coin, perform, and have fun. She didn’t need some malodorous man twice her age commenting on her appearance. If Skyrim was so much better then maybe he should return.

“Is that why you’re here instead of Skyrim? Because of the unflattering women?” Her tone was cold but the man was too drunk to notice.

“Ha! No, despite her flaws I’d return in a heartbeat, if I could. I’ve been exiled for one reason or another.”

Well, wasn’t that poetic.

The Nord stood, steadying himself on a wooden post and slamming his mug on the table. Seyrena narrowed her eyes.

“Well, I’d best be off. Better if I talk to the bard before some other skeever can get his hands on- hey! W-What’re ‘ya doin’?”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or her desire to protect the Breton girl, or maybe it was just because she’d had the worst year of her life. But Seyrena found herself with her longsword drawn and pointed to the Nord’s throat, his eyes wide with fear and hands up in surrender. So much for the mighty warrior.

She was also, suddenly, very aware of the people in the room with her; as they’d all turned to stare at the quiet Dunmer in the corner with her sword to a man. Pelagiad was a quiet and no-nonsense settlement. They weren’t quite sure what to make of the scene. And then, her voice rang out from the crowd.

“Rena? What on Nirn-“

Mehra pushed her way to the front of the forming crowd. She looked as beautiful as ever, dressed in a quaint traveler's garb with her hickory-colored hair let loose to fall over her shoulders. She looked quite different from the Temple-apprentice Seyrena had met what felt like so long ago; older, only by a year, but her eyes held the same burden Seyrena’s did. Seyrena swallowed. Mehra didn’t deserve to be weighed down by her troubles.

Mehra pulled her ash-cover down from over her face, looking incredulously at the scene Seyrena had created. Seyrena couldn’t fully tell if the look on her face was one of disappointment or defeat.

Before her lover could even get a word out, Drelasa came marching over, huffing something about outlanders. Seyrena rolled her eyes.

“Mehra, I am fond of you but if your friend is going to cause scenes in my tavern you’ll never see the inside of it again!” Drelasa wagged her finger in Mehra’s face and Seyrena had the impulse to swing her sword and cut it off.

“I know, Publican, I-“ Mehra turned to Seyrena, her eyes pleading. “Rena, please. It’s a day long trip back to Seyda Neen.”

Seyrena scoffed and looked back to the Nord who was now backed up against the wall. “You leave that girl alone or I’ll cut off your hands and stitch your lips shut.”

The Nord nodded, and she lowered her sword. He scurried off like a mouse out of the Inn to the border of the Ascadian Isles and the Bitter Coast.

She defeatedly let Mehra take her sword from her and place it back in its sheath on her back. The Publican was still watching them, arms crossed and tapping her foot.

“It won’t happen again, Drelasa. I apologize on behalf of both of us.” Mehra sounded sincerely sorry and Seyrena felt a pang of guilt.

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again. B’vehk, it’s every other night with you two.”

Mehra took Seyrena’s hand and led her to their room. The latter Dunmer’s head was held low, not out of shame but in an effort to keep any patron from doing a double-take on her. “Hey, aren’t you that…”

When the two reached privacy, Mehra’s fist promptly collided with Seyrena’s shoulder. Much harder than she’d expected the mage would’ve been capable of.

“Ow,” She muttered, rubbing the raw skin. Mehra’s gaze was as fiery as her palms in battle, and Seyrena found herself unable to meet it.

“Why do you do these things to us? Do you want to have to walk miles in ash to find a new place to stay again?”

“He was being a s’wit,” She silently cursed herself for using the Dunmeris term. This was not her home.

“So was the Imperial Guardsman in Suran, and the Telvanni Noble in Sadrith Mora, oh! And, of course, the poor fellow who simply wanted your autograph in-“

“Alright! Alright, I get it. I ruin everything I touch. I’m sorry.”

Seyrena took a seat on the bed and pulled Mehra to stand in front of her. Apologies weren’t her strong suit. It was hard to apologize to someone else for your actions when you couldn’t forgive yourself for them. So, she intertwined their hands and looked up at her with the most apologetic eyes she could muster, her actions speaking the words that got lost in her throat.

Mehra sighed. “You don’t ruin everything.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. In fact, you make many things quite grand,” She smiled and Seyrena, who smiled back despite herself. “You saved me, for instance. You saved Morrowind. Twice.”

Seyrena’s smile dropped and she moved away from the other woman, laying down on the bed and turning the other way. She wished Morrowind just did not exist at this moment.

“I doomed it, more like,” She said. “Doomed to it to a future of political discourse and perhaps even religious wars.”

“That is inevitable for this country.”

Seyrena made a sound of exasperation and sat up again. “You don’t understand, Mehra. I know what is good for Morrowind. I don’t know how and I truly wish I didn’t, but I do. And this was not. Yes, Dagoth Ur had to die. The Blight had to end. But how can you diminish everything a country believes in, how can you kill-“ Her voice caught and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, which she absolutely would not allow. “How can you kill a goddess who has spent thousands of years keeping a country and it’s people afloat and expect everything to be the same, or better?”

“Almalexia went mad. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But she wouldn’t have!” Seyrena cried, frustrated that Mehra couldn’t understand what she was saying. “She wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for my existence! Everyone keeps telling me I am a blessing, that this prophecy Azura created is a blessing; it’s a curse, Mehra. It’s a curse of vengeance and I don’t want to be a part of it. I never did. I don’t want this,” The Moon-And-Star ring slipped off her finger and was thrown across the room. The tears were now falling freely from Seyrena’s face. “I’d rather have been executed for my crimes in Cyrodiil. It would’ve been merciful.”

Mehra was quiet, and now she was the one who couldn’t look at Seyrena. It was silent for what could’ve been hours.

“There’s so much blood on my hands and no matter how often I wash them it won’t go away. Please, just make it go away.”

Still not speaking, Mehra pulled the Nerevarine into her arms and held her as she sobbed. There were no words that could be spoken to comfort her at that moment, she knew that. But it broke her heart to watch the woman who she viewed as a hero come undone before her.

Eventually Seyrena pulled away from her, dried tears stuck to her face. Her eyes were wide and bright and Mehra wanted to latch onto her before she realized the vulnerability she’d showed and promptly went to bed.

“I want to go east,” She said, surprising Mehra.

“East? Like, back to Azura’s Coast? I suppose-“

The Nerevarine shook her head. “No. Farther. I want to leave Tamriel. I want to see something else, anything else.”

Mehra’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “But-“ She’d heard stories of other continents on Nirn, and none of them were good.

For a moment she believed her beloved had lost her mind right there and then. That the stress was too much to handle. But Seyrena’s eyes were dead serious and her composure was eerily calm.

“Will you join me?”

#for a friend #seyrena almost beats up a gross old nord #tw alcohol #ok goodnight #oc seyrena #nerevarine #morrowind #tes 3 #morrowind fanfiction #elder scrolls fanfiction #nerevar #dunmer #almsivi #the tribunal #fanfiction #the elder scrolls morrowind #dark elves

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

crush, fred x reader

request: from anon: I don’t know if ur accepting requests right now but if you are, could you write about Fred having a crush on a girl that happens to be best friends with Ron? Btw I hope that things with your boyfriend are beginning to get better x | hi darling sunshine! of course i’ll write that for you! & yes, requests are open indeed :) aw thanks lovey, we’re always working at it, also this is hella long i got so carried away i am so sorry lmao x also idk how i feel about this ugh cause i tried to make it sound like the reader and ron are best friends but reading it back i’m kind of like ??? but also i rewrote the first portion like literally four different times UGH i struggled with this one but it was a good struggle anon THANK U for the request!

prompt: none

warnings: instability bc weasley perfection? IDK MAN

You and Ron were sitting in the Great Hall, watching as brave students from each house and the other wizarding schools placed their names into the goblet, hoping to be chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. “I wish I could enter,” he told you.

Just then, Harry appeared beside you both. “No you bloody don’t,” he told him and laughed.

“Yeah, Ron, you’ve got to be barking mad to want to enter,” you said. Just then, his older twin brothers ran into the Great Hall, ringing in cheers from everyone around them. They were both holding something in their hands. You just rolled your eyes. “Case in point, Ron. Look at those two.”

Fred and George were showing off whatever concoction they’d brewed up when they came over to the three of you. George asked, “Don’t think we can do it?”

“No,” the three of you said together.

Fred overdramatically fell backwards and into you—pretending to be offended by your doubt that they were going to successfully be able to place their names in the goblet, whilst somehow being able to trick Dumbledore’s age line.

“Y/N,” Fred whined, “I’m heartbroken. Literally heartbroken that you don’t believe in us.”

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t believe in you, Freddie,” you told him and his eyes were swimming with excitement. “It’s just that I believe in Dumbledore more.”

Ron and Harry began laughing next to you when the twins began to shake their vials. The surrounding students were becoming more and more excited to see what was about to happen, and many people began whispering animatedly. The goblet was showing off a deep blue color fire, and Fred and George were more than ready to place their names in.

“Just wait,” Fred told you and swung his arm around your shoulder. “In three days time I’ll have been chosen to compete in the tournament, and by the end of the school year, I’ll be the champion, and you’ll be so impressed that you’ll fall head over heels.”

You scoffed at him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he told you, “It is. Ready, George?”

“Ready, Fred,”

“Bottoms up!” they said together.

And that’s when hilarity ensued.

Later that evening, in the common room, Fred, George, Harry and Ron were playing a game of cards, while you, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting around the fire, chatting about the upcoming tournament and the Yule Ball.

George was scratching his face and saying, “I still have remnants of that bloody beard from this afternoon. Who knew our aging potion wouldn’t work?”

Ron laughed. “Everyone, mate.”

“Oh, it definitely worked,” Harry retorted, “just not the way you wanted it too.” Him and Ron started snickering like little girls.

Fred wasn’t listening. He was shuffling his cards slowly, sort of in a daydream like trance, and Ron was snapping his fingers in front of his face.

He was too busy peering at you to notice anything else around him. He was focused on the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders in soft curls, the rosy pink your cheeks turned after being out in the cold, your voice bouncing off of the common rooms walls every time you let a giggle escape your lips, the clothes you wore other than your Gryffindor robes.

“Hello?” Ron said, slapping Fred across the cheek.

Surprised and brought back to reality, Fred placed a hand to his cheek. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

George just laughed. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes, Freddie,”

Fred softened and turned back towards you. “Oh,” he said, completely forgetting the moment. He watched you still, and when you looked up from your conversation with Hermione and Ginny and caught his glance, you beamed at him. It’s almost as if you could hear his heart begin to pound.

He turned back towards his friends and told them, “Erm, guys—I’ve something to tell you,”

George, Ron, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, just a little bit. The common room fire was roaring and the students around were buzzing, but Fred Weasley was nervous. He was actually nervous.

George smirked when he told him, “Yeah? Go on then.”

Fred swallowed over a lump in his throat. He made sure that you were out of earshot. “I’m...kind of mad for Y/N.”

The three boys sat for a moment and then burst out into laughter. Fred furrowed his brows, obviously offended by their laughter and his humiliation, when Harry spoke.

“We know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, mate, the whole bloody world knows,” George told his twin. “You’re not exactly subtle with it.”

Ron snorted before saying, “Yeah, and your flirting isn’t the best, either.” Fred punched him in the arm. “Don’t worry, she hasn’t said anything to me about it. Pretty sure she doesn’t even realize it’s flirting—” Ron couldn’t help but snicker, and Fred punched him in the arm again.

He turned back towards you, watching you again, wanting nothing more than to run over, spin you around and kiss you, but he held back the urge. He placed his hand under his cheek and rested on it, peering at you with admiration. To the boys, he said, “So what the bloody hell do I do now?”

“What you’re good at,”

Fred looked towards his twin with confusion written on his face.

“Be honest, do your thing and tell her.”

You were suffering silently in Potions with Ron. Across from you, Harry and Hermione seemed to be brewing something perfect, while yours, on the other hand, wasn’t looking terribly great. Ron kept groaning and letting his head fall onto the desk.

Snape was in a particularly bad mood that Wednesday afternoon, for whatever unbeknownst reason. He had given you all the hardest potion to brew, with directions that weren’t clear in the slightest, and left you all to the cauldrons. And the punishment for not brewing it absolutely perfectly? Two weeks detention.

You wished you could be outside in the snow, walking through Hogsmeade, heading into Zonko’s, warming up in The Three Broomsticks with a butterbeer. Anything but this.

“I hate this bloody class,” Ron said as he added a sprinkle of something to the potion that prompted it to turn a nasty, purply-brown color. Ron scowled and peered at the directions on the board once more.

“Just think—in a week, we’ll be at the Yule Ball, dancing the night away, not worrying about this stupid lesson,” you told him and grabbed his hand before he disastrously placed way too many porcupine quills in the potion. “No, no—two, Ron, not five.”

Two did the trick. The grody, brown looking potion in front of you seemed to take a turn for the better when it slowly became a nice looking green color, which is what it should have been in the first place. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hey, who’re you bringing to that, anyway?”

“I dunno,” you told him truthfully as you added another mistletoe berry into the potion. “Why? D’you want to go with me, Ron?” you teased.

“Ha-ha,” he said sarcastically, and you could’ve sworn you saw him glance admiringly at Hermione, who was almost finished brewing her perfect potion. Ron cleared his throat when he noticed you saw him. He continued, “No, really, who do you think you’ll go with?”

“I dunno, Ron!” you laughed. “I genuinely have no idea. Why are you pushing this?” You saw his cheeks turn rosy and he seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He was hiding something. “Ronald Weasley, what do you know?”

“Nothing!” Ron jumped up. Snape looked up from the other end of the room where he was observing the Slytherin’s potions. He shot the both of you a look of pure disgust, and went back to his observations. Ron swallowed over a lump in his throat when you kept prodding him with your wand. He rolled his robe sleeves to his elbows and breathed out slowly. You loved how nervous Ron got when he was keeping a secret, because truthfully, he wasn’t very good at keeping them. He kept pushing his long hair out of his eyes and tapping his feet against the floor. When you wouldn’t let up, he finally blurted out, “Enough with the third degree! Freddie’s mad for you, alright?”

You were so taken aback, literally, you almost knocked your cauldron onto the floor. Luckily, behind you, Dean Thomas caught it with mere milliseconds to spare. “What?” you asked Ron. “No he isn’t,” you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

Ron’s nervousness seemed to slip away when he laughed and said, “Don’t make me say ‘I told you, so’.”

It’s as if Ron’s words made them appear, because Fred and George slipped into your Potions class, somehow, without Snape seeing. At least, at first.

“What the bloody hell are you two doing in here?” Ron and Harry asked them.

George just rolled his eyes. “I tried to stop him, but he took my advice way too literally.”

“What advice?” You and Hermione wondered aloud at the same time.

Fred stepped closer to you and your heart started to pound. In the middle of class? Was he kidding? With twenty or so other students there? And Snape?

“You’re coming to the Yule Ball with me,” he told you straightforwardly. It wasn’t a question and you didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.

You asked him. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he told you confidently. “Yeah, it is because I’m mad for you,” he winked, “and I know you’re mad for me, too.”

You could feel your lips curl into a sensual sort of smirk. Just then, someone from Slytherin yelled out and pointed towards the twins, and Snape turned swiftly from the back of the dungeons. You could’ve sworn you heard him yell out, “Weasley!” but you were too distracted to even care. All you cared about was the boy in front of you—with his long red hair, his heart melting half smiling, and the fact that he was a bloody idiot sneaking into your class. You didn’t care about anything else. Your heart was racing. The dungeons were bustling with chatter now—about Snape being even more angry than he already was, and about those older, redheaded Weasleys that somehow managed to make their way into a busy Potions class.

George was kicking Fred’s leg, saying, “Bloody hell, mate, let’s go!” but Fred didn’t move. Instead, he stood there, waiting for you to say something, anything.

“So?” Ron, Harry, George and Hermione all asked together.

You looked at them and then back towards Fred and asked him, “Well what took you so bloody long to figure it out?”

His smirk only grew, his eyes enticing you to run out of that classroom and back to whatever empty room you could find. But just then, Snape reached the top of the classroom and tried to grab Fred by his robe sleeves.

George kicked Fred once more before sprinting out of the classroom, and before following his twin, Fred squeezed your hand and said to you, “Being chased by Snape is totally worth it, by the way.” He slipped out from underneath Snape’s grimy fingertips and left the Potions professor seething at the seams.

Professor Snape turned to you, red faced and livid, and announced in front of the entire class, “A week’s detention! Was it worth it, Y/L/N? Was it worth it for that Weasley boy?”

But Fred was still there, outside the classroom. He was careful not to be seen, but he was still peering in at you to make sure you didn’t receive too bad of a punishment for his shenanigans. You knew Fred would probably manage to sneak his way into your detention, too. You smirked at Snape and then turned your attention to Freddie in the corridor. Without skipping a beat, you winked and responded, “Totally worth it.”

#fred weasley #george weasley #weasley twins #fred and george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley reader insert #hp imagine #hp imagines #harry potter imagines #do we like this #or????

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sugacouture · 4 years

Text

Pixie Dust

summary: You’re persuaded by your friends to go to a club after you get rejected from the best residency program in the nation. However, after a few drinks, the cute bartender notices your gloomy mood and decides to bring you a little bit of happiness by sprinkling a bit of golden dust...

{magic!au (?)}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader

genres: fluff, slight angst

word count: 4.4k

rating: pg

a/n: this fic was inspired by disney’s Peter Pan! i’m planning on making a series of one shots inspired by disney movies or fairytales but idk, we’ll see how it goes :)) once again, thank you @1yanan for proofreading this! tbh idk what i would do without u and ur amazing editing :’)

“What the hell.”

You blink at your computer screen that’s showing your rejection letter to the top medical residency program in the country. It was supposed to be the next step in your journey to become a doctor. You planned on getting accepted, finishing your few years of residency, learning a shit ton of medicine, and becoming the badass medical professional you had always wanted to be.

Obviously, this presents itself as a large bump in the road.

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands. After your brain has comprehended the sting of rejection, you call Jennie, who applied to the same program as you. Unsurprisingly, your best friend had gotten turned away too, which probably had something to do with her submitting her application a few days late.

“Whatever,” Jennie scoffs. “That program is probably full of egotistical assholes anyways. They can eat shit.”

“Yeah,” you echo softly, staring at your ceiling. “Eat shit…”

You hear her sigh from the other end of the line. “Honey, I know you wanted to get into that program, but there are plenty of other ones that I’m sure you got into. Maybe they aren’t ranked number one in the country, but I’m confident that your parents would have been just as proud of you for even making it this far.”

The mention of your parents makes you freeze up, and you think – maybe Jennie’s right. Maybe you got rejected not because you didn’t work hard enough, but because you wouldn’t survive in the environment that the program would have provided.

However, that thought isn’t enough to convince yourself that you aren’t an utter failure.

“I know you’re probably trying to come up with a way to cope with this,” Jennie continues, “but I think we should just drink it off tonight, you know? Get buzzed and forget about this whole mess. What do you say?”

––––––

After slipping into a satin midi dress, you hop into the cab with your girlfriends and tell the driver to drop all of you off at The Castle: a prestigious club full of high-end drinks and high-end people. The atmosphere was much more mellow than the raging bars downtown and attracted crowds who were more well off. Much cleaner and safer than any sleazy bar in college town, it was the type of environment that your group of friends preferred over a frat party at any day, any night.

Although the entrance fee was somewhat expensive for a party of med students who were knee-deep in student loans, your best friend had unknowingly slept with one of the owners of the business during one wild night, gaining special privileges in the process. One of those benefits was getting into the club for free, and, quote, “if you bring your friends along, I guess they’re free too.”

Upon arriving, you pay the cab driver and head towards the entrance of The Castle. Its neon sign casts a purple hue against your skin as you approach the front door. The intimidating security guards up front meet your friends with emotionless expressions, even though they’ve seen you before. Nevertheless, they ask for your IDs and the entrance fee, to which Jennie rolls her eyes and ignores them.

If it was anyone else, the guards would have stopped the trespasser immediately. However, Jennie has made it very obvious that she’s screwing their boss, so all of you slide into the party and beeline towards the bar.

You drop down on a stool and ask for a strawberry margarita with double shots of tequila. While waiting for your drink, you tap your nails on the bar, the letter of rejection still swimming in your head.

As if she knew what you were thinking, Jennie nudges you on the shoulder.

“Hey, don’t look so depressed, ____,” she murmurs. “We’re here to dance the night away, not to encourage chemical imbalances in our brain.”

“I know, but I can’t help but be disappointed.” You shoot her a wry smile, taking your drink from the bartender. “I mean, I thought I had this all planned out, you know? My school, my career, my life–” you sigh, swirling the pink concoction of alcohol. “But now I kinda just want to sit on my couch and eat a tub of ice cream while Up is playing.”

“Things change all the time. Don’t let this get to your head.” Jennie pats your back and you lean your head on her shoulder.

“Forget about medicine for a few hours, yeah?” she continues, slapping a few bills on the counter. “Drink all you want. It’s on me.”

Before you can protest, she scurries off to the dance floor, winking as she retreats into the dark lights. You return the meanest face you can muster, but really, you’re truly grateful to have a friend like her. Not because she paid for the drinks–though you certainly don’t mind it–but because she knows that you need to get your mind off of the residency before you turn paranoid.

The bartender chuckles and you turn back to him. “You can buy around thirty strawberry margaritas with that money,” he says, wiping a cup. His brown hair falls over his eyes while he carefully runs the cloth over the glass. He looks up to catch you staring, and he flashes a wary smile. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering it.”

Squinting, you try to read the faint letters of his nametag, making out the name Kim Taehyung.

You shrug, sipping your margarita. “I mean, didn’t you hear what she said? ‘Forget about medicine for a night, ____.’ I don’t know what it sounds like to you, Taehyung, but it seems like a good offer to me. ”

Sighing, you send the cute bartender a weary smile. “To be honest, I think I’ll just leave. This isn’t my crowd, anyway.” You motion towards the extravagant dance floor full of women dripping in diamonds and men in Armani suits.

After pocketing Jennie’s money so you can return it to her tomorrow, you finish your drink in one fell swoop and push the empty glass back to the bartender. “Thanks for the drink.”

He takes the cup, nodding slowly and watching your face while he does. You must’ve looked so dejected that it makes him say: “Wait, I have something for you.”

“Huh?” you answer, surprised. “Did I forget to pay or something? ‘Cuz I’m pretty sure Jennie–”

“No,” he blurts, eyes darting around the room. “It’s just—do you want to come to the back with me for a second?”

You nod, but he searches your face for any signs of alarm or suspicion. After only finding curiosity in your warm eyes, he walks over to the side of the bar to open a small swinging door for you, and he escorts you to the other side of the bar.

You’re met with shelves of supplies and a few unopened boxes in the corner. Other than that, you don’t understand why the bartender brought you here. He’s fumbling with one of the boxes, squatting down as he tries to open it.

“So, what’s the purpose of bringing me here? Are you gonna kidnap me?” you joke. “That’ll be an interesting bullet to put on my resume. It’s not every day that someone gets captured by a stranger in the back of a bar.”

Taehyung finally pries the box open with an “Ah-hah!” and motions you over. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Curious, you walk over to him and the box. It looks like a normal cardboard box until you see its contents. There’s a few bottles of vodka and whiskey, which seems normal. When you look closer, though, two small purple pouches stand out among the drinks.

“What’s that?” you murmur, pointing to a pouch. The velvet brushes against his palms as he dips his hand in the box and pulls one out. It sits on his hand, soft and shining, as he presents it to you.

Suddenly, you’re looking into his sparkling brown eyes and he’s giving you the brightest grin you’ve ever seen. It stuns you, blowing away the fog that’s gathered in your brain from your previous drink.

“___,” he whispers, excited. “Do you believe in magic?”

Unable to breathe, you can only nod in shock as he grabs your hand and yanks you out of the back room. You’re pulled up the stairs and onto the rooftop of the building where you can see the city lights for miles. They swim across your vision as you watch the cute bartender open the mysterious velvet pouch.

Peeking to see the contents of the bag, you almost trip when you see what’s inside.

Glittering gold dust shines in the man’s palms, so fine that the breeze could carry it away. In awe, you meet his eyes.

“W-what is–?”

“Pixie dust,” he whispers, eyes glimmering. “It’s pixie dust.”

What.

You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shaking your head, you start laughing. “What the hell did you put in my drink, Taehyung? I’m definitely hallucinating.”

His grin morphs into a puzzled frown. “I didn’t put anything in your drink, ___. What you’re looking at is pixie dust. Real, genuine pixie dust.”

“Prove it,” you challenge, crossing your hands across your chest. “It could be bird shit, for all I know. Glittery, golden bird shit.”

The bartender’s eyes harden in frustration and he suddenly flicks a pinch of the dust onto you, making you splutter indignantly.

“Hey! What the hell was that for–” you shriek, cutting yourself off with a gasp.

Your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore.

Eyes widening, you realize that you’re slowly levitating off the rooftop, the dust that Taehyung threw at you glimmering on your body in the moonlight.

“Tae!” you panic, flailing your limbs around. “Help! I’m like, flying and I’m probably going to fall and die in a few seconds oh my god tell Jennie I love her–”

“Shh,” he says, sprinkling some of the gold on himself too. As soon as the dust settles onto him, he joins you in the air. He moves elegantly and fluidly, as if he’s done this before, while you’re scrambling in the air. You’re like a falling leaf, at the mercy of both the wind and Kim Taehyung.

And not in a good way.

You scowl at him when you see his amount of control, watching him push himself off the roof and into the sky. His hair, lightly scattered with pixie dust, stirs as he swims through the air, graceful as a swan. He moves towards you and holds out a hand.

Alarmed, you shake your head vigorously. “I–I don’t know what this is or who you are but I’m literally in the goddamn air–”

“___”, he interrupts softly, still floating towards you, reaching for you. “Trust me.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you decide there’s nothing you can do other than take his hand. So you do.

And the first thing this man does is fling you higher into the air.

You squawk in surprise as you’re propelled towards the clouds, away from the earth. If you weren’t scared before, you are sure as hell are now.

“Taehyung!” you scream, your voice echoing across the sky. “Tell me how to frickin’ fly or whatever, goddammit! I swear to god that once I’m on the ground I will chop you into microscopic pieces and feed them to–”

“Okay! Okay,” he laughs, catching up to you. “Sorry. Surprising you like that was too good of an opportunity pass up, especially since you’re new to all this.”

You frown at him. “Whatever. Just, please tell me how to maneuver myself so I don’t accidentally die. I wouldn’t want to leave my student loans to my aunt, thanks.”

A glimmer of amusement shines in his eyes as he takes your hands in his, pulling you to face him. He releases a hand to tilt your chin up so that you’re eye level with him.

“Flying is easy,” he whispers, gazing into your eyes. “It’s kind of like swimming, except with less effort.”

He gently breaks away. “Just watch me.”

He lifts his arms above his head and, after sending you a wink, pushes them back to his sides in one swift movement. You gasp as you watch him soar through the air, leaving behind a light trail of gold dust in his wake. He dives down towards the ground before he cranes back up, smooth as water.

The momentum he gains from the move is incredible; it provides him enough speed so that he’s rippling through the sky. He doesn’t stop until he wills himself to, when he moves from the streamline position to standing up.

“You try,” he encourages softly, now a few meters away.

You want to, but you take notice of how high you are above ground and a flash of fear runs up your spine. The city lights beneath you are suddenly much more glaring and unforgiving than they were before. You feel yourself losing the fearlessness that you had initially faced this absurd situation with.

“___,” Taehyung calls out, bringing you back to reality. “Are you okay? Do you need me to help you?”

“Y-Yeah, please,” you reply, sending him a panicked smile.

Returning your smile, he flies (God, he flies) back to where you’re currently having a mini heart attack.

“Relax,” he murmurs, guiding your arms above your head. “Like I said—it’s like swimming, but easier. Don’t overthink it, just push yourself up.”

He leans back to watch you, clothes fluttering in the wind. “Now, quickly pull your arms back to your sides,” he instructs,” and move your head in the direction you want to go”

You hesitate. However, once you bring your arms back down in one fast motion, you’re speeding through the night sky.

“Holy—” you shriek, still new to the feeling of weightlessness. “This is amazing!”

“Tilt your head to the right a bit,” Taehyung instructs from behind you as he follows your trail of gold, “and turn back towards me.”

Grinning, you propel yourself back towards him, a smile painting your face. It falls, though, once you realize that you’ve forgotten how to stop.

“Taehyung,” you warn, coming at him at full speed. “I can’t remember how to stop—”

You realize that you’d spoken a few seconds too late as you crash into his chest, sending both of you tumbling into the clouds. He wraps his arm around as he and you somersault through the air. Thankfully, the chaos only lasts for a minute and then you’re still again, face buried inTaehyung’s chest.

“Are you alright?” he frets, looking down at your face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth to answer when you realize the position you’re in is a little too intimate for your liking. A blush burns on your face as you detach yourself from the man, dusting yourself off and composing yourself.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stutter, internally cursing. “Sorry that I crash-landed on you. I forgot how to stop.”

Taehyung chuckles, his boxy smile sending your heart into a frenzy.

“No worries. I’ve been there, done that,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Plus, it’s always fun to watch someone humiliate themselves.”

You feel your face burn even more and you stare at your shoes. “Whatever,” you mumble. “I’ll get it next time, I guess.”

“Or you could get it now,” the bartender suggests, drifting towards you. You’re still looking down, refusing to meet his eyes. Your silence worries him—he's afraid that he’s frightening you too much or is pushing you too far. “Unless you want to go home…?”

“No!” you blurt out, your head snapping up to look at him. “I-I don’t want to go home just yet,” you add, embarrassed at your sudden cry. “...I want to keep flying.”

Taehyung’s face lights up with a grin and he holds out his palm. “Well, then. What are you waiting for?”

With wide eyes and a full heart, you take his hand and he whisks you away, towards the clouds.

–––

The buzzing of your phone wakes you up the next morning.

You throw your arm over your eyes in annoyance. Your head pounds, and there’s a dry feeling in your mouth, as if you had spent the whole night flying against the wind.

Flying.

You sit up so quickly that your back cracks in protest. Ignoring the newly-popped joints, you reach over to your phone and answer whoever’s calling you at this ungodly hour. “Hello?”

“Oh my god, I thought you died,” Jennie shrieks, making you wince. “Where did you end up last night, ___? The girls and I couldn’t find you anywhere and we almost went to the police station to file a missing persons report–”

“I’m fine,” you croak out. You sound like a frog that got run over by a bus. “I’m fine.”

You can hear Jennie shuffling around her kitchen and the jangle of keys.

“Judging by your voice, obviously not. I’m coming over,” she announces as you hear her open her front door.

“No, Jennie, it’s fine–”

“I’m coming over,” she says with finality. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Sighing, you know that it would be a waste of energy to keep trying. “Alright, just shoot me a text when you’re a few minutes away,” you grunt, and then you hang up.

Throwing your phone the other side of your bed, you wallow in your thoughts. Images of gold dust and the night sky flash before your eyes before you close them in—annoyance? Frustration? Honestly, you don’t know what you’re feeling right now, but you know that something very out of the ordinary happened last night.

A few moments later, Jennie texts you that she’s a block away from your house and will be arriving soon. You heave a sigh as you will yourself to stumble out of bed and towards the front door. You fling it open and, lo and behold, there stands your best friend, who’s very obviously both pissed and concerned.

“Hi,” you try before you’re pushed back into your apartment.

Jennie closes the door behind you and drags the both of you into the living room. “Sit,” she demands, pointing at the couch.

You obey.

“Stay,” she continues, and walks to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Jennie walks out with a bowl of what you can assume to be hangover soup, something you will be eternally grateful for. After placing a spoon in your hand, she plops down on the cushion next to you and watches you eat. Initially, you’re fine with the staring, but after a few minutes, it starts to get creepy.

“Um, is there something on my face?” you ask, slightly disturbed.

She shakes her head. “No, sorry,” she sighs, turning her attention to the blank television. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” you inquire, curiosity piqued. You sound a lot better now; the soup has soothed your throat and given you a boost of energy.

Jennie shrugs. “About all the places you could’ve disappeared to last night.”

You sigh and place the bowl and spoon down on the coffee table. “Look, Jennie, last night–”

“Was probably completely my fault,” your best friend interrupts.

“What?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “___, I was the one dragged you to the club. I was the one who dragged you to the bar. I was the one who tossed you a wad of cash and then abandoned you in a room of filthy rich strangers.” Regret crosses her face. “If anything had happened to you, I would’ve been held responsible. Hell, I would’ve held myself responsible.”

“No,” you object. “It’s not your fault that you ‘lost’ me, Jennie. I decided to leave the club and didn’t call you. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. I’m responsible for myself—don’t feel obligated to be my babysitter because I was depressed last night. I can take care of myself.”

She sends you a pained smile. “But—”

“Nope.”

“I mean—”

“Nada.”

“Technically—”

“You’re fighting a battle you can’t win, hon,” you smile. “Come here.”

You open your arms and she crawls into your embrace. The two of you sit like that for a while, enjoying the other’s warmth.

“Fine,” she mutters, “but where did you disappear to last night?”

You pull back from the hug. “Do you remember the cute bartender?” you ask, and Jennie nods. “After you left me with the money—which I plan on returning to you, by the way—he took me to the back and showed me this... this glittery, golden stuff.”

“What?” Jennie shrieks. “Even the bartender is rich? I swear, Jackson better tell me why everyone in that club is filthy rich–”

“It wasn’t gold dust,” you interrupt. You begin fiddling with your fingers. “He told me it was pixie dust and then brought me up to the roof.”

You glance up to look at your friend and she’s bewildered, to say the least. “Excuse me?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, and then he threw some at me and on himself and we started to fly. Or at least, I think we did.”

“What do you mean you think you did? Hell, ___, how many drinks did you have last night?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, you didn’t take any drugs, did you? I swear to all things that are holy that if you did, I will rip off your nails and feed them to my aunt’s alligator—”

“I didn’t do any drugs!” you deny. “And I didn’t drink that much either. Just that strawberry margarita you saw me down and that’s it. I was completely sober and 100% lucid.”

“Then why do you think that you flew?”

You press your lips into a tight line. “I don’t remember much after the first few minutes we started flying. I just remember crashing into Taehyung and him offering to let me fly the entire night.”

“Taehyung?”

“He’s the bartender,” you clarify. “And when I woke up, my memory was all blurry.”

Jennie shakes her head and tosses her arm over your shoulders. “Girl, I think you’ve gone insane. I’m not leaving you alone next time we go.”

You smile at her ruefully. “Yeah, I guess that’s for the best.”

–––

Two nights later, you find yourself at The Castle yet once again. This time, though, you’re on a different mission. Instead of getting drunk and trying to forget about what had happened, you’re trying to remember.

Specifically, what happened two nights ago.

After entering, you beeline to the bar where you remember where Taehyung worked. Sitting on a barstool, you wait for the brown-haired man to serve you.

But he’s not the one who greets you.

In his place is a black-haired, baby-faced man. He’s a few inches shorter than Taehyung (from what you can remember) and his fingers are long and slender.

He notices your gaze and drifts over to you. “What can I get you, miss?”

“I’ll get a strawberry margarita…” your eyes dart over to his nametag, “Yoongi.”

Yoongi shoots you a gummy smile. “Coming right up.”

While he shakes up your drink, you try to make some small talk. And get some answers, while you’re at it. “So, do you work here every night?”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, only from Monday to Thursday. My buddy Seokjin handles the rest.”

“Really?” When does Taehyung work, then? “Do you know of a Kim Taehyung that works at the bar, by any chance? I came here Saturday night and he served me.”

Yoongi frowns and slides you the strawberry margarita. “I don’t think so. It’s just me and Seokjin who work here.”

What?

“Oh,” you murmur, taking the drink. “I see.”

After asking around the club for a few hours with no avail, you decide to head home and deal with the mystery in the morning. It’s not like someone could work there for a night and then disappear, right?

You lock your apartment door behind you and kick off your shoes. Sighing, you decide to to call it a night—opening emails about residency can wait for tomorrow.

Just when you’ve finished slipping into a comfortable pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you hear a peal of laughter coming from your balcony.

Confused, your sock-clad feet pad through your living room and you open the curtains to your balcony, only to see no one there. Unlocking the glass door that protects you from the outside, you step onto the concrete that juts out from the building. You abandon all fear and peer down at the streets under you, bright lights of cars flashing by.

A gentle breeze hits you and you swear that it’s carrying the sounds of Taehyung’s laugh. You whip around in hopes of seeing the man once again, but you’re met only with the cold air of the night.

However, a flash of white catches your eye. On the opposite corner of your balcony lies a white envelope on top of a small green box, its clean ivory paper contrasting with the dark green of the cardboard.

Ripping open the envelope, you read the letter that’s inside:

Dear ___,

I had such a lovely time with you a few nights ago. You were truly born to fly :)

However, it saddens me to say that I don’t think that you’ll be seeing me anymore. For reasons why, I cannot tell. Even so, please continue to live happily and healthily—never let obstacles stop you from reaching your goal.

But when you do inevitably stumble into a dark hole of hopelessness, please use the gift I’ve given to you to your advantage…

Wishing you a safe journey,

Kim Taehyung

Gift?

You immediately set the letter down and start to open the green box instead. Once you’ve undone the ribbons and tape, your eyes widen when you see what’s inside.

Within the cardboard walls sits a small pouch of pixie dust, identical to the ones that were hidden in the room behind the bar.

Why Taehyung would entrust this to you, you don’t know. But what you do know is that two nights ago, you believed in magic and a boy helped you fly. Two nights ago, he helped you look at the world through a different lens.

Your mind was opened, and your thoughts are clear. Looking up at the night sky, you smile.

“Thank you.”

#btswritingcafe #btsgoldnet #bangtanhq #btscreatorscorner #kim taehyung #bts #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #bts fic #tokyii #bts fluff #bts angst #fluff #angst #w: pixie dust

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caligobeltrao · 4 years

Note

I for one would love 2 hear ur thoughts on the hannibal novel 👀👀 - bloodybrahms ☺

ahhh thank you BB!! <3 I’m gonna throw it under a cut bc I know people aren’t gonna want my ramblings clogging up their dash lol.

Edit after I’ve written it: Holy shit this turned into a monster but tbf I did say I was going to rant. I think I miss writing college essays...

Also, I would like to note bc I’m about to bitch, I do still love Hannibal and Clarice and all of the franchise. Hell, I even love book Hannibal because I’m garbage and want to be special. So yeah. It’s a fond bitching.

Okay where to fuckin begin man... This novel was a fucking Shit Show, my dudes. It was like baby’s first fanfiction.

Let’s just jump in, shall we?

So by now, having read both Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs, I know Harris injects of lot of sexual shit into his novels, fine whatever, but the amount of pedophilia is insane. Like, Red Dragon with the grandmother threatening to cut his dick off by holding it in between scissors????? And then we have Mason Verger, worst human on the planet. Like jfc I’ll go into him specifically more later but just. Men. Why does it always have to be sexual.

Like that time Clarice wasn’t wearing a bra and she wanted to prove to Paul Krendler she wasn’t wearing a wire so she flashed him her tits?? Unnecessary, Harris. Bullshit on all counts.

Next, poor Ardelia Mapp. So he clearly wrote out her accent in Silence, which frankly reads racist since to me it seemed like he did it every time a character of color was met but he didn’t for Clarice’s Southern accent except for this book when she was talking to Ardelia. Now, that’d be a cool way to show how close they are, sure, but it just... She didn’t show up enough to warrant that reaction from me, plus all the other casually racist shit he throws in.

Ardelia’s literally there as the wise Black best friend to help Clarice along. She doesn’t feel like her own character, she’s only there in conjunction with her, or doing something for her. She was the fucking valedictorian for Christ fucking sake, she also works at the Bureau but if her department was mentioned it was only once in passing. She was not a full character which fucking blows because she could’ve been so cool.

And real quick before I forget, I hate how she’s treated in the end. I do like she gets a reference and that brainwashed Clarice sent her an emerald ring and a note saying she was okay, but Ardelia was abandoned by her best friend (that she had lived with) with not even a phone call and they will never see each other again and I think Ardelia knows it. It sucks and I’m heartbroken for this woman.

I’m gonna touch a little bit on the racism too. Now I’m white and not the most qualified to talk about this shit, but I do wanna mention it because it makes me mad. There’s just so many unnecessary slurs, any POC is more of a background helper character to Clarice than anything or a foil.

For example, Evelda Drumgo. She starts us off. Badass Black woman who runs a drug cartel. She chooses to shoot at Clarice and risk her baby’s life, and we have Clarice wash the baby off and save his life. Then Evelda’s mother is written as irrational when she slaps Clarice for visiting the baby in the hospital; I get Clarice’s impulse, but that woman just lost her daughter because Clarice killed her. I would’ve slapped Clarice too, even if it was a totally justifiable shot.

The baby himself is used as a foil throughout other parts, most notably to me when Clarice goes to visit Mason the first time. There are two Black boys from a foster home playing in a room with a camera so Mason can watch them, and it shakes Clarice up a lil bit because of the baby, but it says she’s getting more used to it.

Now this is half and half well written and shoddy to me. It’d be a cool moment, if the whole incident wasn’t nearly completely forgotten for the rest of the book shortly afterword. It could show growth, if Clarice had any growth to show.

And then the Romani people who are literally just used and thrown away. Sickening. Also very broadly used the stereotypes we hear which Sucks; the three we meet in any sort of depth are pickpockets, one was already in jail and Pazzi used his leverage as a police officer to get her to do what he wanted and threatened to have her baby taken away from her permanently, like it was just bad. And then the man got killed. Pazzi let him bleed out. Asshole.

The slurs. I could take out all of them and pretty much have the same damn thing. Like I get showing negative aspects of characters and just because a character’s racist doesn’t mean the author is, but with the characters already being as shitty as they are, fully didn’t need it to make them worse. Entirely unnecessary. Racism or the character being racist has no impact on the plot is the major thing, I think. And you can replace that with anything along those lines, like sexist, homophobic, transphobic. It didn’t impact the plot, they can still be shitty, you just don’t need to use them.

This also goes in reference to Margot being a lesbian. And the transphobia holy shit, it was disgusting. Harris had Clarice think something so cruel and unnecessary it’s like my guy why was that even remotely something we needed to hear. We didn’t. I wanted to stop reading because that’s not my Clarice, first and foremost, and second, this is supposed to be the character we LIKE. And now I don’t like ANYBODY in this damn book.

And he treats Margot like shit too, and Barney.

Their friendship was beautiful and great and finally for once something nice was happening in Margot’s life and I was happy reading it, and then FOR SOME REASON Margot goes to shower in the same room as Barney after a workout, which makes no sense, and then Barney tries to force a kiss on her (and he was hard, Harris made that very clear) and she had been sexually assaulted by Mason her brother and ruin the whole damn thing and none of it would have changed any other piece of the novel if you removed it!!!!!!!!! Entirely unnecessary!!!!!! And Barney had the gall to say well I couldn’t help myself like none of that was realistic in the slightest, she never would have went in the same room to shower with him.

Something you need to do is basically get some suspension of disbelief from your reader and maintain and stretch that as you go, right? Well mine was gone at that moment.

Also side note Margot is basically just there to show how shitty Mason is for the umpteenth time. Her whole thing is lesbian sexual assault victim.

Also heavily implied she was a lesbian because of the sexual assault. And we rarely see Judy, her girlfriend, so. Bad. Bad all around.

Circling back around to Clarice and how disappointing she is in the books as compared to the movies. Well, Clarice is also a poorly written character. She’s 1000x better in the movie. Hell, she’s even better in this book than she was in Silence, but that’s not fucking hard.

Pretty much all the characters are so flat they don’t even classify as two dimensional.

Like sure, maybe we wanna say Clarice didn’t really solve much in the first book and was just handed everything because she was a trainee and that’s what Hannibal wanted.

Like if you remember the John Mulaney sketch of Delta Airlines where he’s just going “Okay!” and running to the next place he’s told, that’s Clarice.

Okay so why does she get goaded into all this shit now? She should know better. She should know how to handle herself better. Like she messes up basic fucking shit like clearing a room before untying Hannibal, which was stupid, she seems oblivious to some of the politics at work even though she’s been in the FBI for like 7 years now, she would at least have more fucking contacts than Brigham who died in the beginning and Jack Crawford who died at the end by rolling over in his bed to his dead wife’s side and Ardelia who would be near the same level as Clarice I guess but I still don’t know her damn department???? Like you fucking network.

Plus after her final fall from grace with the FBI, we meet or are told of random side characters that go no where and do nothing just to say “hey look at my special little girl, everyone likes her and looks up to her!!” Why? Because she caught Buffalo Bill 7 years ago and then never got a promotion or even worked with the BAU? Again, it does not make sense. People may pity her? But a random girl in the lab wouldn’t be fangirling. Starling herself said her career had gone nowhere because of the politics and not sleeping with Paul. You need to show me why she’s likable in her actions not others words.

We spend more time away from her than with her anyways but Jesus.

AND HER IN THE ENDING. She was fucking BRAINWASHED????? Bull FUCKING SHIT. He completely ruined anything he even remotely might’ve had in this cluster fuck of a novel.

Case in point, difference from the movie, Hannibal spends weeks (possibly? it’s left purposefully vague and I’m guessing that’s because Harris didn’t know the ins and outs and wanted his novel done) meticulously brainwashing Clarice, he had stolen her father’s bones and she’s so far gone at that point she doesn’t care, and the whole scene where Paul is getting his brain eaten? Yeah, she happily indulges and when he insults her, she asks Hannibal for more. Fuck you, Thomas Harris.

And Hannibal’s a Gary Stu, fucking fight me.

In the movie he either is or he’s tap dancing on that line, don’t get me wrong, but in the novels it’s insufferable because it doesn’t seem earned. The pigs didn’t attack him because they didn’t smell fear on him. No. He’s easily able to drug and brainwash Clarice and take her as his lover. No. Go away. He’s so smart and one step ahead and can manipulate anyone and everyone into doing what he wants and blah blah blah shut up! A character being perfect isn’t interesting even if he’s evil!! We all know he’s never truly in danger because of how Harris writes him and that’s boring!!

And I personally have a pet peeve where the villain is described as a monster or unstoppable. That’s boring and I no longer care about your story. I know 9 times out of 10 your main character is going to find a bullshit way around the impossible and kill it. Or it’s just like a default personality and nothing else is added to it. And that’s Hannibal.

I’m on Hannibal Rising now and, spoiler alert, he’s very bland as a character. (Also Harris switched some details in the novel which kinda annoys me like get your own canon right my man but whatever.) The plot itself is pretty fun? I guess? Like there’s action and stuff and I’m enjoying that. But it’s the same set up where Harris’s Gary Stu always wins, like he was 13 in the book when he killed the butcher. Let. Your. Characters. Lose.

Also even more racist shit but what did I expect really.

Anyways, I have no idea who I’m supposed to root for in the novel because all the characters are just kinda shitty. It really just boils down to Harris not showing any redeeming qualities or actions from any of his characters. I liked Margot for a while out of spite but she never really went anywhere and the way she killed Mason (btw she sodomized him with a cattle prod to get his semen bc side plot and then stuffed his Moray eel down his throat and somehow I still don’t think that’s the worst part of the novel) just. No thanks really.

All the random little side plots were also pretty not great. How many time does Harris have to say Pazzi of the Pazzis? Like I fucking get what you’re going for, even if I hadn’t watched the movie I’d be like, “Oh this dude’s gonna get hung outta that window, dope,” the literal first time. Stop treating your readers like idiots.

And then Margot’s side plot was that the will their father left said she needed a biological heir to inherit because he was pissed she’s gay and we needed the homophobia I guess, so Mason got everything, and she was helping him with the Hannibal shit because he’s pretty incapacitated duh, and in return he would give her his jizz so Judy could be artificially inseminated and they could have a child and get some of her inheritance. I don’t care. It was all very gross, and Mason kept saying shit like suck me off you’ve done it before, I won’t be able to feel it anyway, maybe Judy’ll suck me off you think she’d like that. It’s all gross.

And I guess this is a good a time as any to finally start on Mason. So a great rule of writing to make everything work better and give your story more depth is to give everyone both positive and negative traits right, even and especially the bad guys? Like, rules can always be broken if you’re a good enough writer, but I believe I have established that Harris isn’t quite there yet, to put it nicer than I have.

Mason is one bad trait after another. It’s like when Harris was bored of constantly writing about plain ole pedophilia, he threw a dart at a board of horrible things and landed on topics such as: pedophilia but make it incest, extreme sadism, sadism but against children now, and good old fashioned racism! Fucking Cordell was supposed to collect the children’s tears after Mason would make them cry and put them in martinis for him. Realism went out the goddamn door real fast with this novel y’all. Like a fucking Scooby Doo villain over here.

And he loves talking about being a sadistic pedophile, he will literally not shut up about it to Clarice when she first gets there telling her about his trip to Africa and this portable guillotine he has and just. I get it was probably like trying to make her uncomfortable on purpose because he’s a Freak, but it went way too far if only because it was annoying, not even uncomfortable for me as a reader. I was bored real quick. Get to the shit I actually wanna know.

And it sucks because of the weird, over-the-top way of how he died, I got zero satisfaction from his death. I couldn’t even be like, “Well at least Margot got her revenge,” because that’s not how she originally wanted to kill him!!! She wanted someone else to extract his semen for the insemination but couldn’t find anybody to do it for her, and then Hannibal, whilst tied up, said use a cattle prod and you won’t have to touch him and when you kill him you can blame it on me, and I’m pretty sure even if she hit his prostate right every time and he COULD cum from that alone in addition to how his body is Fucked Up now, it would’ve been a lengthy, gross, and re-traumatizing experience for her because all she wanted to do was avoid seeing and touching her brother’s private parts again, which I think is a totally fair and rational desire.

So I have to live with the fact that she was desperate enough to not lose the house and business because of her homophobic father to go through her childhood trauma again. There’s no place in this book that has a somewhat positive conclusion.

Even the very last bit where Barney has a girlfriend and a ton of cash from Margot, all he wants to do is see every Vermeer in the world right? Well, because Hannibal and Clarice are in Buenos Aires where one of them is on display, Barney gets spooked and has him and his girlfriend leave before he can see it and it ends that bit with he never got to see it ever so he didn’t even complete his dream!!!

Also for good measure, Harris throws in that Hannibal and Clarice enjoy having sex regularly. For no reason. Just letting us know.

I know this seemed like just a bitch fest, because it was, but I kinda sorta enjoyed it? It kept my attention at the very least. It’s really disappointing because like I said, I love the movies, all of them, and have since I was little. To see the original not stand up to that image in my mind is a little heartbreaking. Especially Clarice. She was a strong female role model to me, but turns out she’s... just kinda there. And her ending is that of her no longer being herself and getting that agency taken away from her.

There is a reference to her waking up from a sleep, if she is asleep (that’s kind of how he worded it), that kinda let us draw our conclusions on whether she was just brainwashed into being good for him or if she was willingly going along with this and was in love with him I guess and it felt like a slap in the face. She turned from a hardworking, modest country girl working her way up to the FBI into a female Hannibal. Which on the surface sounds kinda cool because we love luxe serial killers, but that’s not what she wanted or who she was set up to be. And to insinuate that she would even remotely consider choosing that path for herself is at its best an insult to her and at its worst a complete erasure of her background, what little character Harris did set up. It also completely erases my own connections to her, as a girl from a small town myself who has bigger dreams than this and also... a good, strong set of morals. He just tossed that out the window.

Obviously if you’re on this blog, you like slasher x reader shit, and this is a novel with a slasher x a person, right? So why am I so mad about it? Because the whole point of this blog and reader insert fanfiction in general is that you are taken as you are and loved wholly as yourself and that you are worthy of that love (in a fictional setting, not really loving people who are like this, which I think we understand but I want to clarify). She was not taken as she was. He is not in love with her, she is not in love with him. She was transformed into what he wanted out of her. He couldn’t get her to be Mischa, his first plan, so he made her like himself. And the fact that he was so easily able to do it makes me upset, and even more so is that it’s not written like it’s weird or wrong. It’s written like they’re in love and this is a good thing.

He may have been going for the classic “everyone is capable of doing bad things” stuff we see a lot, but we got that from Margot already. And Barney, for stealing Lecter’s stuff and selling it. And Paul, and the entire FBI for turning on Clarice, and the kidnappers, and Pazzi, and random shitty side characters. And none of it was particularly well written or made some sort of strong statement. It just was. And that’s not a good enough basis for a novel.

Anyways, if you made it this far holy shit you’re a saint and I love you, let’s be friends?? <3 Have a good day y’all, thank you BB for giving me permission to ramble.

#bloodybrahms #ask #no joke i spent like 5-6 hours total writing this i had a Lot to say

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