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haet-sal · 10 months

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if you hold me without hurting me you’ll be the first who ever did//juyeon smut

tags: juyeon smut, sugar daddy/ age gap au (8 years lol!!), you’re 22, seduction, DRINKING!!, corruption kink, Juyeon asking you if it’s okay A LOT, juyeon calling you ‘innocent’, CHOKING, ROMANCE!!

You meet older rich guy Juyeon at a hotel bar, and the rest is history

“I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

“... I couldn’t live with myself, Y/N, please… I… I still think you’re innocent, so I can’t give in to you. But in all honesty, I want you so bad I could just…” His hand clasped against your jaw, as if he were afraid to touch you.

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

w.c.: 3.8k

You adjust the strap of your slip dress on your shoulders, it just kept falling off. Bereft of any foresight, or perhaps rushing, you didn’t bring any coat or jacket, leaving you with a side-boob out; at least the hotel bar was heated, although the lights were dim; like a dark, damp wolf’s lair you’d walked into.

You’re not really a bar type of person, although you guessed you could make an exception for a place as classy as this—jesus, you thought, how’d doyeon even book this hotel for her birthday party? How much must it even cost on a night?

You tell the bartender the number of your room—0602—and asks that he puts the drinks’ into the room’s tab, hoping that by tomorrow morning they won’t pore over the giant receipt and just pay upfront. You were less… affluent than your friends, to be very honest…

The bar was dark, and the lights lit up a dim green and orange around the seats. You order a fun cocktail, a sweet thing that you could drink all night without getting a buzz, and sit down.

You don’t know why you sat so close to someone, when there were empty seats all around the bar… You didn’t feel like switching now, though, what if the man took offense, that you didn’t want to sit next to him?

You started to chew on the kiwi slice the cocktail came with, and the gentleman beside you puts down the notebook he’s writing in, turning to face you, probably because it’d be rude not to greet at all.

Once he turns his face towards you, though, you get a terrible idea. Maybe the cocktail did make you a little braver, more effective than the taste of sharp stinging in your mouth… “Hello,” you whisper, not to disturb the quaint atmosphere in the bar. You had your purse with you, and you toyed with the faux leather just to fight the nervousness. You nodded at the notebook. “Business?” You had an uncle that did his accounting every night after he was done spending, maybe the guy was that kind of man.

But the man shook his head, and you see that he’s lean—when he turns his body towards you—a thin figure, and broad shoulders, and amazing, beautiful, narrow eyes, with a few crinkles around them when he smiles that you know he has to be somewhat older.

“No,” he says curtly, “no business at all.” He sips his drink, and you see that it’s hard liquor, presented in a no-nonsense, almost completely sombre dark orange shade of liquid.

“Oh.” You turn back to the bar, thinking he didn’t want to speak to you. What business did you even have talking to him—you’re literally here for a goofy party, he’s probably relaxing because he’s swamped with so much work.

But he extends a friendly gesture. “It’s my vocabulary book… I’m learning Spanish, so.”

“People do that on an app these days…”

He chuckled, and you saw that his voice was already quiet and light without even needing to whisper. “Maybe younger people, yes.”

“You can’t be that old.”

“You just look much younger than me,” he says softly.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, and he tears his eyes away from your lips just to look down the bottom of his glass.

“Bourbon.” His eyes are back on your lips again, tinted deep pink with a lip product, thinking you were going to look pretty for the boy classmates, but here you were with an older man… “I am here on business, though,” he says. “But I’m… well, even I get tired sometimes.”

You nodded.

“Can I ask if you’re even allowed to be drinking?”

You laughed, opening your purse and sliding your uni ID down the bar counter, towards his side of the wooden boundary, presenting him with un-fake-able proof.

“Ah, you’re a student… Second year?” He asks, reverting back to korean, dae-hak yi-hak-nyeon? He stared at the card for a while, slowly saying your name as if he was savoring it. “Twenty two,” he said softly, calculating your age.

“It’s a lucky number,” you put in. He’s eyeing your lips, but you’re eyeing his drink—maybe if you drank something that strong, you’d have more courage?

“I almost think I should take care of you. You look like a lost little girl.”

“Twenty-two,” you reminded him, unable to stop your face from making an adorable pout, which he reaches out and touches, as if trying to get you to smile again.

“Aren’t you too cute?” He pauses to swallow. “Like, dangerously cute? What are you doing at this hotel?”

“My friend had a birthday party, so they booked a room to party in, but… I just felt like… I don’t know… not partying? I didn’t know I’d meet someone like you, though…”

Juyeon smiles slightly. “Does the fact that you met me make you feel better about coming out here?”

You nod. “I mean, you’re older, and rich, probably my friends’ dream… they all want a sugar daddy.” Oh, fuck. “I mean! I’m not like… preying on you or anything, not taking advantage of your kindness... Like I wouldn’t… I’m… good? I’m a good girl.”

“Good girl?” He sips his bourbon until all that’s left was ice, and wordlessly flags the bartender down to give him another glass-full. “It’s funny you think I’m the one being taken advantage of. Ah… I really should control myself.”

“Control yourself from…?” You knew, of course, but you wanted to know if you were actually reading his mind correctly right now.

“First, from kissing you.”

You pulled back. “I’d taste like a cocktail…”

“If you worry about that, I wouldn’t do it.” But he still leaned in closer towards you.

You close the gap, kissing him, a hand on his jaw almost so tenderly, better than you’d ever handled one of the boys at your college. Then you giggle. “So I learned the taste of bourbon second-hand through a kiss…”

Juyeon looked almost scandalized, pulling away but just barely. “I can’t believe you did that… You weren’t supposed to kiss me, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to want me…” He grabs the base of your chair and pulls it close until your thigh was touching his, you didn’t even know these chairs at wheels…

“You didn’t like it?” you asked, absolutely concerned you might have to go back to your room with your friends and just…

“I liked it…” he looked pained. “Too much. I can’t resist the way you look at me and the thought of being with you…”

Shyly but seductively, you put a finger on your pink lips, the spot he couldn’t stop staring at. “You’re already thinking of it? Are you thinking of what I’d look like… under you?”

“Are you trying to seduce me now?” You think you feel what that book he was writing in must have felt, to be touched so tenderly and with so much care… He looked enraged, pained, everything… He looked absolutely seduced. “You think I don’t already imagine those things?”

“Bartender?” you asked, raising your hand, but he covers it from being raised.

“Are you trying to drink more?”

“I want to know what kind of buzz you have…”

“You don’t know how to drink. You’re so cute.” He pulls you closer. He’s the cleanest man you’ve ever even met or touched, he smells like expensive cologne… “I really can’t stop myself.” He touched your shoulder, gradually going up to the neck. “I might kiss you again. I don’t know what’s come over me…”

“Am I that sexy right now?” you joked, almost classlessly.

“I could just take you up to my room,” Juyeon whispers. “Would you still want to be a good girl?”

Your dress’s strap falls down the shoulder again, and you fix it, giggling. “Ah, my dress is already coming off!”

He almost growls. “Please… if I go any further with this I’m… I don’t know if this is the correct or right thing to do to you. Don’t do this. Please, you’re innocent.”

“I’m not.” You kiss his neck, even biting the skin, although he doesn’t react. “I’m here for you to devour.”

“You’re just a college girl… I’m an adult. You’re not supposed to want this, please…”

“Why do you think 22 is young?” You giggled. “I can drink, drive, buy condoms…”

“I just… don’t want to be a bad guy…” He pulls away. “We need to stop.”

“Oh…” you sighed. “Can I still go to your room for tonight? My friends are probably high, and I don’t wanna go back to my room.”

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N,” Juyeon says slowly, as if every word were a red-hot warning, “if you come to my room, I’m going to do things. You need to be prepared for this…”

You hesitated. “I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

“You’re going to make me do something I shouldn’t. Do you know what the right thing is here? I… you’re killing me. I can’t stop wanting you.”

You kissed him, and swiftly pulled him down to the elevators, lips attached as you waited for the doors to open. Breathless, you glanced at the buttons… “which floor?”

“12th.” He leans in and pressed you against the wall, whispering: “you’re making me want to do something very bad, little girl.” Your lips don’t touch, you just glance at him through the small distance, teasing him. The elevator stops.

You glanced around. “Woah, wait… aren’t there the suite rooms?”

“Yeah, my room’s right beside here.” You followed him in, and slowly got shell-shocked by the sheer massiveness of the room… Juyeon is loaded. Or his company is loaded. But… oh god. “You’re… this rich…”

“Enough about my room… Look at you.” He touched your dress like he’s trying to control the impulse to rip it.

Your strap fell down your shoulder again, and you giggle. “Should I leave the rest to your imagination?”

He grips your hips, pulling the dress up slightly. “You’re such a tease… this is so wrong. You’re so young.” But he pulls the strap down until both were hanging off your shoulder. “How can this be okay?”

He’d moveed on from your lips, now your chest was his new object, looking hungrily at you. “You just… you seem so innocent…” He touched your thigh, his hand going up between the legs, but stopping before he pushes anything hot and wet. “Fuck. I can’t go through with this and still have my honor… you don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t know what will happen to you if we go any further… Do you really want to be used up for your body? I can’t go through with this…”

Seeing his reluctance, you pulled back, and grab his broad shoulders, as if controlling him, and sit him on the luxurious hotel couch. “Okay, let’s take it slow. Let’s try to take our minds off what we’re going to do…”

“Fine…” he still looked weak, as if he was fighting everything in him from ripping your clothes off. “What now?”

You straddled him now, getting on top of him “Talk to me.”

His hands gripped the sofa at both sides just so he wouldn't do something wrong with your body. “Y/n… what are you doing right now? Aren’t you afraid? You’re making me weak.”

“Just try to talk, okay?” Your fingers unbuttoned his shirt slowly, and you teased him, lingering over his collarbone and ribs. “Tell me about your work? What were you thinking when you met me? Anything…” You started to kiss his ear.

He sighs in surrender, hands groping you now. “I really can’t think straight right now… You look so soft…” He kissed your neck now, and you could feel his teeth under all that softness.

“Yeah? you can’t think? What’s on your mind?”

“Everything… everything about you,” he admitted. “This must feel wrong, right? Showing your body to a man almost a decade older?” He took off his shirt, draping it over the couch.

“Should I stay on top of you like this?” You could feel his cock hard and intruding right under your hip.

“Whatever you like… What do you want to do to me?”

“I want you to pin me down onto the bed… and…”

“What if I made it hurt?” He was carrying you back onto the bed, just to pin you down.

“Do it.”

“Really?” His voice is more breath than words.

Before you nod to affirm, his belt is off and thrown across the room, and his tight suit-pants are down, and he looks down from you, almost godlike, before attaching himself to you, ever single way: teeth in neck, tongue on skin, his hard length directed into your warmth by a stray, careful hand.

He doesn’t talk, almost like he’s basking in the shame. Just the rocking of his hips against yours. There’s panting, and even whimpering from him, like he’s pathetic and you control what he gets to receive, but it’s him that’s inside of you, desperate and leaking. “Please… ah…”

“You’re not going to have any regrets about this, alright? I promise,” he says.

“Of course not… I trust you…”

“You do?” He pants again, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he holds yours. “I’ve been having a fantasy of making a good girl like you turn into a bad girl, okay?”

“How do you do that?”

“I make her… drool. And beg. And get as thirsty as she can for my cock.”

You simply moan in answer, Juyeon hot and hard against you. How warm you were was driving him insane, made him weak in the core, but he wouldn’t say that out loud… Just through breaths and body language and clandestine cogitation.

“Poor darling,” he panted. “I can’t… I can’t be as rough as I want to, or you’ll regret this. You’ll be crying.”

When you’re both around to come, you get desperate, and the rocking isn’t doing it anymore. Juyeon is the first to get rough, slamming himself into you with a pace unmatched from him before… Suddenly, he decides he couldn’t leave his hands idle anymore, bringing them to your neck and choking you. It feels good, as you leave the rest of your strength in your legs, which wrap around his hips until you come.

You’re sniffling as you recover.

“Y/n, are you crying?” He held you quietly. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s just that it felt so, so good,” you say with a smile. “I get… I don’t know, teary, when it’s that good. You were good. You were kind.”

“Which part was I good to you…” he groaned. “I can’t believe you still want me.”

“Well…” you reached over and touched his hands, which were about three sizes bigger than yours. “Maybe you are too big for me… But you’re still a perfect fit.”

He opened his arms. “Sleep? I promise in the morning we can sort it out…”

You switched the lights off, crawling into bed. “Ah… messy…”

“‘S okay,” he hummed.

His cat-like eyes were watching you as you woke up, and you immediately touch him, wrapping yourself around his shoulders. “Good morning.”

“Morning… I can’t believe you’re not mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because…” he brushed away your hair from your neck, revealing a hand mark, red but not purplish like a bruise.You couldn’t see it, but seeing the regret in his eyes was enough. “... because of this.”

You kiss him in reply to tell him you weren’t mad, but he quickly pulls away.

“Do you work part time?”

“Yeah, but on nights.”

He chuckled. “Classic night owl… It’s Saturday, and my client wants to meet in the afternoon. I have something planned for us, if you wouldn’t object?”

You nod slowly. “... What…?”

“You’ll see.” Blithely, he covered your naked body with more blanket, and fished out a giant fluffy bathrobe from the shelves for you to wear.

You giggled. “Don’t you want to… continue, if your plans aren’t taking place any time soon?”

“Don’t. Be. Naughty.” He chided slowly as he typed away an email in his phone. “They’ll be here soon.”

“They?!” You’re lucky you dressed in time, because the door bell rang, and as Juyeon told them to come in, staff, dressed in hotel uniform-blank-and-white suits, brought in a whole rack of clothes, almost too many, jammed in a small pole on expensive ivory hangers. “Juyeon,” you murmur quietly, “what is this?”

“Shush.” With a kiss on your lips, he lifted you up to your feet. “I thought I’d buy you back what I ripped from you last night,” he says, referring to your panties… and the broken zipper of your slip dress. Which, honestly, seeing all these new dresses, was a horrible fit from you, plus the strap kept falling off, although that did help you seduce someone.

Juyeon finished his coffee sporadically glancing at you with the staff, who fitted you in for the clothes right away, everything you pointed at and wanted to try. Although everything was heavenly nice, you just picked out two outfits in the end: a dress, and a matching skirt and blouse, thanking the staff who folded it for you.

“Is that all?” Juyeon frowned. “You didn’t like the others?”

“No, I liked it! I just… it’s too much.”

“If you liked it, you can have the entire collection.”

“NO!” you gasped, too overwhelmed to even smile. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, and… I have no place wearing things that expensive.”

“Of course you have a place doing that,” Juyeon chided absentmindedly. “But if these dresses weren’t to your liking, I’ll just get you more from the show.”

“... Show?” you started slowly.

“That’s what I’m here for—I have to make an appearance. For the fall/winter season…” He kissed your temple, then headed off to get dressed in his suit. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

You glanced over at the bedside table, where he had laid out two watches that he chose not to wear for the day, turning them over in your hands.

They’re expensive. Heavy. Crystal-studded.

What kind of guy did you just sleep with?

After excusing yourself but getting his number (to all three of his phones, even, and he told you to contact his assistant if you wanted), you headed back to the hotel room with your friends, where they were all hungover or still zonked out.

You had last night’s dress folded in a bag, and was wearing Chanel, which your friends noticed immediately, Doyeon coming over to you asking what the hell happened…

You’d never been asked ‘what happened’ without it being bad.

“I think I met a sugar daddy,” you say.

“Here?!”

“He has three Rolexes and he bought me an entire rack of clothes.”

You’d meant to call Juyeon after your part time shift, but after you finished, you fished around your bag for the contact numbers and emails he gave you, when you found the paper with the ink bled through from the mineral water you had that spilled, that simply couldn’t be salvaged. All that’s left was his work email, which you, assuredly, would never be able to contact without being awkward…

Imagine being his assistant, going through work emails, and seeing one with the subject ‘RE: so about that night…’ no way, she’d just delete your message.

You regretted not asking him when he was leaving the hotel, hoping he’d at least remembered your existence and left something for you to find him by…

When you went back to the hotel—and the security almost didn’t let you in, being that you had no business—his room had been cleared out and he was already on a plane. You just slowly dejectedly walked back to the lobby emptyhanded, missing the way his giant hand felt intertwined with yours.

“Did he leave any messages for me?” you asked slowly.

“Depends, what is your name?”

You gingerly slowly gave out your name, and the receptionist shook her head. You sighed. Well… it’s definitely not that kind of story, where you land a prince charming… it was just one night. You should be happy, right?

It’s two months after, that your friends make you contact him. They kept talking about how real sugar daddies should never be let go, when really, you didn’t care that he bought you chanel and all those other brands you couldn’t even fit in your mouth to speak… you’d have fallen for him even if he was faking the whole wealth thing…

Which he wasn’t, as you found out after googling his company and seeing the name of his assistant.

You typed in a long email explaining it to his assistant, hoping not everyone had access to this email, making it easy to find in his inbox.

Would he check it personally? You sighed.

Doyeon wouldn't stop talking about it, ever since you met Juyeon. Always "why do YOU get to meet a sugar daddy? At MY party?" Although you thought maybe your romance dreams were well and over once the contact card bled through your bag.

The truth was, you missed juyeon… a lot… endlessly, and the thought that he was just a one-time-brush-past scared you.

You fell asleep for a nap, and when you woke up, you had a new email. It was dark, and your designer clothes hung drying out after a wash. You rub your eyes and check it in a hurry—it’s 2 a.m. in korea, although who knows where he could be traveling to?

But what you found wasn’t automated, or from his assistant, and the words were his.

Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for your message?

#deoboyznet #tbz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz scenarios #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz smut #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #the boyz #the boyz fic #tbz fic

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ryuichirou · 5 months

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I’m a little late today, let’s see how many asks I’ll manage to answer OOPS-

Anonymous asked:

Who are the invited guests for Azudia's wedding?

Idia didn’t want to invite anyone other than Ortho (he didn’t even want to have a ceremony…), but in Azul’s mind, if they’re doing a proper wedding and all, might as well get all the benefits from it. So all of the more-or-less influential NRC alumni are going to be invited, as well as Idia’s family (OBVIOUSLY!!!!!!!!), his own family and people from his mom’s restaurant, anyone the Tweels might invite from their own family, anyone from STYX and Jupiter conglomerate that might want to congratulate the older son of the Shroud family (OBVIOUSLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Azul doesn’t expect all of them to come, but the simple fact of sending an invitation is already kind of like networking, so he used this opportunity to the fullest.

Oh, and of course Malleus is invited~

hipsterteller asked:

Hide your kids hide your wife!

This is the motto of the Leech house…

Anonymous asked:

tfw your marriage partner cheats on you with his robot brother XDDD poor Azul

In all honesty, this isn’t the worst possible outcome for him lol He knew that the Shrouds are a bit… unorthodox and super close to each other. As long as Ortho considers him to be a positive influence in Idia’s life and is open to cooperation, it’s all good~

It still does sting sometimes that he, Idia’s legal husband, will never be as close to him as Ortho. But he knows how to cope with this unfortunate thought lol

Anonymous asked:

So has Idia been jealous of Jamil for being close to Azul?

I replied to a similar question in an AzuIde Marriage AU setting (although please note that Azul wanting to marry Jamil isn’t a part of this AU’s canon, it’s just a scenario). In this particular AU, it would really suck for Idia to constantly remember that he is the second option, and he’ll never forget about it. Especially with Azul being kind of bad about being tactful about these things.

In general, I guess it depends on their level of closeness and on how it’s relevant in Idia’s life. If Azul has a fling with Jamil, but never talks to Idia about it, and it doesn’t affect their own quality time in their club, Idia would consider this to be none of his business and try not to think about it. But if Azul starts to miss their club time or talk about Jamil all the time, then Idia would get pissed off. He hangs out with him to play games and talk shit about people, not to listen about how much fun Azul is having with someone else.

He also might get jealous if Azul invites Jamil to play, since Jamil is also quite good at board games… apparently.

Anonymous asked:

That post is peak kalijami for me too. Although, to be fair, Jamil would think "Oh fuck, no..." after falling in love with pretty much anyone, no matter who they are. That's just the standard Jamil Viper reaction to any situation. It's not his fault that he is the only normal person in this school and also the smartest (he's delusional).

He really should listen to Najma and learn to take things less seriously sometimes... Oh well, i guess his stubborness is part of his charms.

(This is related to our post from the other day)

Thank you so much, Anon! <3

I completely agree with you, I don’t think there is any person in NRC that Jamil would be comfortable having a crush on. All of them are horrible, every single one. Najma doesn’t know shit about just how bad they are!! Plus, who needs love, it’s too energy-consuming and useless… (And yes, Jamil is completely delusional in his belief that he is the only sane guy in this school lol)

I guess this is exactly why someone like Kalim is perfect for him, even though all of Jamil’s sufferings are directly related to Kalim.

I think the only NRC guy Jamil genuinely wouldn’t mind hooking up with is Ruggie, but that’s a topic for another day wink wink.

#replies

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syrma-sensei · 2 years

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Moon's Scarab → Ch. 5: Ghosts.

Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly.

pre-canon fic; based on the Marvel comics and Disney's series Moon Knight.

warning: violence, cursing, angst, mentions of child abuse, smut maybe in the future (?), the majority of spoken Arabic in this story is in Egyptian dialect.

taglist: @kesskirata, @zinzinina, @psithurista, @urlocallsimp, @marcspectrr, @marcskywalker, @sherlolly-siya , @nowritingonthewall...

tell me if you wanna be added to the taglist!

beta-read by: @marcspectrr

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Marc Spector

Not a single night passes without Marc remembering each life he's taken; doesn't matter whether when he was a government agent, a lowly mercenary, or a god's avatar. He remembers them all; each face, name, and place. A daily torture led by the ghost of his baby brother each night, and the slahes of his mother's whip; he still feels the reminiscent of it stinging his body, even though the marks have long disappeared.

Marc's only time of rest is when his alter fronts, when he plunges into his own headspace, paralysed, numb, and unable to move; just sinking into the obscurity of murky darkness. It's been a while though, since the last time Steven surfaced, Marc even began to suspect that the former faded away and left him like everyone did. But no, a couple days ago, he felt it again. He felt Steven was there, when he shoved monetarily into his headspace. However, something was strange about it, indeed it was for mere moments, but he felt different, something sly and stealthy he couldn't quite point his fingers on it. Nevertheless, Marc didn't dwell on it too much, because he had more important shit to do than blacking out and surrender.

And fuck, Frenchie was right. Fuck, as much as Marc hates to admit it, but his buddy is always right. When he asked him about coming face to face with this again. In all honesty, Marc didn't take it too seriously. Because what are the odds of bumping into the daughter of the Abdullah El-Faouly? The last person he'd wish to meet, the one whom he didn't recognize their existence until very recently.

Turned out that Miss El-Faouly is no less venturesome than her father, but unlike him, she's obviously unaware of the danger she put herself into. The girl is fearless, unruly, or at least that's what Marc could see during the few minutes he spent interrogating her. But Marc knew better, with a risky life like the one she leads, any slip would jeopardize her safety. And from what appears, Miss El-Faouly isn't aware of the huge slip she made; keeping the jade-eyed idol of Sekhmet to herself.

That's where he decided to step in.

“That woman shouldn't be of any concern of yours,”

That's what his god told him —sulked about is more to it— when Marc was trying to locate her and the ones who are lurking around her with not so good intentions.

“Keeping people safe from evildoers is what Moon Knight does, right?” Marc snickers at his god, looking sideways at him, “That's what I must do. Or does it always have to come after the deed as vengeance?”

Marc's jaw was ticking, his eyes are glaring, insolent. The brazen behaviour was making his body cringe and coil on the inside more than it already was. His heart racing up. Marc's a stubborn one, of course. But he never is defiant to Khonshu. He doesn't defy the latter, won't, can't. Marc knows that without Khonshu, he's practically nothing, and perhaps below nothing.

Khonshu grumbles, but Marc adds, “If we catch one of those guys, then we'll have a lead to start with. Plus, didn't you say you don't wanna have Sekhmet's statue in the wrong hands?”

Even so, Marc can't tell Khonshu why he's really desperate to secure the young lady and make sure she's safe; he and Khonshu aren't buddies after all. But in truth, Marc can't have two El-Faouly's dead because of him. No, he can't let that happen.

Tracking down Miss El-Faouly isn't hard really, she's a full-time student at Cairo University —or so it seems— and lives in a humble flat in the large capital. Marc studies her routine for a couple of days before barking again into her life just to disappear as fast again.

In downtown, Miss El-Faouly has a favourite spot, a quiet coffeeshop, where she drinks a cup of delicious coffee and studies. Marc visited the place and the area around to form a strategy how to have the men at his advantage. He doesn't want to use the armour, or at least he doesn't want to summon it if it's not necessary.

However, it didn't go as he initially planned, and he had to summon the suit, and she saw it. And fuck, the terrified face she drew almost hurt him, and it tugs when she pushes away from him at first.

She grimaces when he emits from his suit, “What the hell was that?”

Miss El-Faouly grunts as she takes his hands, looking at him with big, beautiful eyes. He finds his eyes linger on hers for moment before he snaps out of it.

“I'll explain later,” He says gruffly, “We need to get to your place before more come after you.”

Fortunately, she doesn't argue further. Miss El-Faouly wanders her eyes around for a minute, gulping, before nodding silently and leading the way to her home.

•••

The journey to her apartment is silent, which Marc really appreciates. But the thing that almost gets on his nerves was that the toktok driver who has no intention to shut up about the increasing price of fuel, insinuating that he's going to demand an extra amount of money because of it.

Marc fights the urge not to roll his eyes, and control the whim to set a punch right in the guy's face. Luckily, thanks for years of practice, Marc calms his alarmed nerves, or at least shrugs that primal need of violence off.

In an attempt to distract himself from the proximity to Layla El-Faouly, and the gibberish of that driver, Marc gazes aimlessly at Cairo's street. However, the young woman's scent is overpowering his senses. She smells of sweet things, caressing his skin like soft, soft marshmallow.

Fuck, Marc nearly hisses under his breath. His eyes are looking but not exactly seeing anything special. He's been in Egypt before, when he first became Khonshu's Fist. He spent some time here for Moon Knight-y business, before leaving to track down the ones Khonshu wanted them punished. It became a more difficult task after the disassemble of the Avengers; Sokovia Accords made his mission a lot harder than before. Because if he's ever caught using super powers, his life would fuck up entirely. They're going to study his supernatural gifts and they're going to find out that it's not human's nor alien's, but a god's, and most people didn't have good experience with the either of the last two in the recent years.

An avatar of mythical, lunar god? Ha, if they deemed him dangerous and unqualified to be a hero, which is most likely to happen, because of course, they'd find out about his broken self and his dark past, and that will drag him, most likely, into some psych ward or a prison or even worse.

However here, in Egypt, he can be a bit more comfortable with his vigilante business; it's still turbulent, and in complete chaos, much like his soul. Perhaps that's why he feels a sense of familiarity in this country, because what he and it suffering is one.

Marc snaps out of the train of his thoughts when the toktok stops.

Luckily for him, Miss El-Faouly handles the driver and tips him off without much ruckus. When the small vehicle drives off, the two give a quick scan of their surroundings before make it to the building gate.

Once in her flat, and the door is closed shut behind them, the young woman slides a dagger out of her pocket in such agility Marc rarely sees, and points it at his neck.

“Who the hell are you?” She hisses.

For a moment, Marc stills and his eyes dilate in awe; his reflexes are normally faster than his mind, and his body acts before his commands. How the hell was that happening?!

Marc's eyes don't leave her fierce ones; big and burning, and he notices the way her body shivers lightly. Perhaps the adrenaline is still rushing through her blood and her whole body is alert.

Marc decides to appear harmless and raises his hands, “What do you mean, Miss El-Faouly?”

The latter groans, tugging on his collar, “Don't play dumb, it's not gonna get you anywhere, so don't even try. I saw you getting out of... of those mummy wrappings or whatever the hell they were. Are you a dead man or something? A walking zombie?”

“No, I assure you I'm as alive as you are,” He says through gritted teeth.

“Then what the hell are you?”

“Okay, okay,” Marc breathes in then out, his voice low.

Since he never is good at words, he rather shows her, because fuck it, she already did see it. Marc closes his eyes, rummaging through his depths; his core where the connection he and his god have lies, within his soul, and it kicks in. The fierce woman's eyes go wide when his eyes glow into crescents then full, gleaming moons. She stands in awe as the timeless power swallows him hallow. Gold pads and greyish fabric roll down his shoulders and arms, and a chest plate emits from the centre of his heart —where a carved, golden crescent within a silver full moon is embedded— and threads out from his front to his back, while his legs and feet are engulfed in sturdy, white leather. The hood of his cape crane up over his head as the mask of Moon Knight covers his face. Marc feels overpowered and extremely strained at the same time, the two excessive edges of having these godly powers, he feels as if he's an interdimensional being; ageless, relentless, flawless.

The dagger lands on the floor with a loud clang as the coiled-haired woman is in pure astonishment. Her eyes try to fathom what she's beholding, her lips crack open to say something, but nothing comes off that smart mouth, just a mere whisper, “What are you?”

Her eyes ram down to his thighs, and she catches the balck hieroglyphs ornamenting the leather, “The Protector Soldier of the Moon.” She utters, voice hushed. Her widened eyes come back to his masked face.

“You... you're an—”

“Avatar.” Marc's hood and mask fade away as he looks at the bemused woman gingerly, his hands defensive. “You're an archeologist, Miss El-Faouly, you surely have heard of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon, hm?”

Her eyes blinks away, pupils still wide as saucers. She takes air in then breathes out, gazing back at him. “Yes,” Her voice is hushed. “Yes, of course I have,” She gulps, shaking her head, “So you're telling me, you're Khonshu's avatar?”

Marc's tongue darts out to wet his lips. He closes his eyes for a second while nodding, “I know it seems preposterous and nonsensical but—”

“Oh my God,” She gasps, “Oh my God, my father was right, he was always right,”

Marc watches her move aside while passing a hand over her sweating face, “The Egyptian gods do walk among us,” Her lips draw a private grin as she looks back at him. Marc nods gingerly, the ceremonial suit of Khonshu's temple vanishes piece by piece, and he takes deep breaths.

“Does he like... talk to you...?” She raises a brow at him.

He never shuts up, that's what he was going to say before a grumbling voice cuts him off, “Don't you dare tell her anything further, Marc Spector,”

A quiver passes through the latter's body, and he tears his face away from her, “I-It's a bit complicated how he and I communicate,”

“Oh,”

Marc looks at her again in the eye, face back to its stern frown again, “The statue,” He reminds her, raising his brows up.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, sure.” She threads her way inside her bedroom, and Marc could've sworn he heard her muttering in Arabic though he can't make out what she's uttering in that muffled voice.

After several minutes, she emerges from the room with the idol cradled in her arms. He takes a step towards her but she backs away. “What are you gonna do with it?”

His stretched hand drops to his side as his eyes avert her gaze for a moment then go back to her again, “Gonna use it to lure in Mr. Profile, then I'll give it back to its rightful owner. Masr.”

“What about me?”

Marc answers almost instantly, “As for you, you're gonna hide for a while and lay low, till I finish this.”

She opens her mouth to say something but he doesn't let her, “Don't worry, you'll be under my protection; I have another safe house here in Egypt, you can use it till this is done.”

“What?!”

“As you heard, Miss El-Faouly.”

The burning fire rekindles within the brown of her eyes, the same way his chest sets on fire again. This woman is unbelievable, her affect on him is already starting to freak him out. No, he knows she isn't the one doing this, rather the looming ghost of her father over her is.

“The other day, you said you're on a mission to stop a bunch of bad guys.” Miss El-Faouly states gingerly.

Marc glances at her, nodding slightly, “Yeah, I did, and I'm still on that mission.”

She gazes down at the floor, and moves her crossed arms in a nervous way, then looks up at him again, “I want to be in.”

Marc's face deadpans, “Ms. El-Faouly, I also told you that I work alon—”

She cuts him off impatiently, “They have something to do with my father.”

At the new information, Marc stills as though a bucket of iced water is thrown over his entire body, the pale face of Abdullah El-Faouly is staring right into him. His eyebrow twitches, and his jaw ticks. Nevertheless, he conceals any sign of emotion, and asks.

“How did you learn that?”

“On that day of the operation, heard Mr. Profile speaking to his buyer about this...” She points her hand at the idol, “My father and I were the ones to first discover it, he said baba used to work for them.”

Marc's shoulders go stiff for a moment, the tip of his stomach coiling horribly.

Fuck, Bushman never told him they were hired to do dirty work for a vile organisation. To think of it, Bushman never divulge any detail to him in the first place. Perhaps the mercenary predicted that he'd not allow casualties on the mission, which explains the last minute change of heart Bushman had. Because it was all planned out from the outset, and Marc was nothing but a puppet, his strings being pulled by his partner and this depraved system.

Marc feels a bit nauseous.

“Could be lying,” He says roughly; he's lying to himself more than to her.

The doctor's daughter shakes her head, “He also mentioned something about destroying beautiful countries like Masr. Do you think they have something to do with all of what's happening here?”

Marc licks his lower lip, his eyes never leaving hers. Wordlessly, he nods affirmatively.

“Whatever you're gonna do to stop them, I'm coming with you.” Ms. El-Faouly asserts.

“What? No!” Marc scowls at her.

“Look, I'm not gonna hide for God knows how long in one of your safe houses and do nothing against the ones who possibly have killed my father and aiming to destroy my country.”

They didn't kill your father, I did. He wants desperately to tell her that, to kneel before her and ask for forgiveness. But he can't, he just can't. If what she's claiming turns out to be true, it's his duty to help her find out about the truth and clear her father's name if that's possible, it's the least thing he could do to atone for his sin beside protecting his only daughter.

Marc takes in a long breath, before embarking on his last attempt to discourage her from doing so, “Ms. El-Faouly, please, it's not like what you're thinking, it's too dangerous—”

“I don't give a fuck,”

Marc stops when he sees her lips quivering and the tears gathering around her eyes; the anger swarming within those dark orbs, he can feel the fire searing right through him.

Marc is beaten, he sighs. “Okay, but know it's my mission, and it's gonna be by my rules.”

Ms. El-Faouly nods firmly, a silent promise.

Marc nods too and claps his hands slightly, “Pack up, only the essentials, we don't want anybody to suspect you're gone if they decide to break in here.”

Ms. El-Faouly nods again, and heads to her bedroom again but before she enters, she hauls, and turns her head to him and asks, “Didn't catch your name yet by the way,”

“Spector, the name's Marc Spector.”

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elijahkelly · 1 year

Text

1/22/2023

I'm at a work meeting. I can't remember if I've mentioned it before, but I work at the campus gym at my college. For what I'm about to discuss to make sense, I need to first describe the role hierarchy of my job.

The entry level position at my job is the CSD (Customer Service Desk). You work the front desk and all that, nothing crazy. The next position higher is the Head CSD, which is my job. I am essentially a mentor for the other CSDs to ensure they are performing to the best of their ability. I have a leadership role in my job, but I am among the lower ranked employees. Above me is the BS (building supervisors). I have applied to be a BS several times, but my boss doesn't believe I've reached that point yet. Above the BS is the PA (program assistants). My boyfriend is one of the program assistants. This is the highest ranking that an undergraduate student can reach. Beyond this are the GAs (graduate assistants). There is generally only one. Leading our department is the Facilities Coordinator, and his name is Landon.

Like I said before, I'm currently at a work meeting. We had a leadership meeting first, which consisted of Landon, the GA, the PAs, and myself, the Head CSD. After this meeting was over, a BS meeting started. I had to leave the room and the BSs came in, so I am currently sitting outside of the meeting typing this while they have their meeting. I wanted to make this post because, during the meeting, I started thinking to myself.

I feel like I'm nobody's best friend, really. I am pretty confident that all of my friends have a friend who they prefer over me. That's just a product of my poor self esteem and experiences I've had in childhood. I'm always the second choice. And being in this work meeting reminded me of this.

Dylan (my boyfriend) drove us to the meeting. We went in and I sat down, then Dylan decided he wanted to sit next to one of his friends. That's fine, whatever. There were only six people in that meeting, so I didn't think much of it at all. He has other friends who he doesn't get to see as much as he gets to see me, so I wasn't too upset about this. When the BSs came in for their meeting, though, they had people they wanted to sit next to because they were good friends. No one sat next to me. That stung, but I wasn't bothered because I needed to leave the room anyways. It made me start thinking about how I'm really nobody's first choice. Almost everyone I could think of who I'm friends with has a friend they prefer over me. Becca prefers Heather. Heather prefers Becca. Haizley prefers Savannah. Jena prefers Dylan. Keigh prefers his friends in St. Louis. Lily prefers Haizley. Katy prefers her friends in college. Isabella prefers Brennan. All of my friends who I am closest to have someone else they would rather be with than me. That stings. It made me feel hopeless, alone, and honestly worthless.

In complete honesty, one of my issues has been the polarizing difference between mine and Dylan's personalities. Dylan is a very attracting energy. People are drawn to him, they want to be friends with him. He's kind, funny, energetic. By contrast, I seem to be a less welcoming energy. I want to exude kindness and be welcoming, but there's just something I can't do right. Being in a relationship with Dylan, I'm very used to being the second choice. In a lineup between me and Dylan, people are going to choose Dylan, and that's not his fault nor is it something I harbor any resentment about. It just stings. Being around Dylan all the time and always watching people choose him over me? Definitely a blow to my self-esteem.

I really just needed to get this off of my chest. Verbalizing my feelings makes me feel a little better.

#gay #lgbt #lgbtq #nonbinary #life #update

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lovelybucky1 · 3 years

Note

please please can we get some Wanda x Agatha content? I know that you said that you were taking blurb requests so pretty please!!

Retribution

DARK FIC, READ WARNINGS

warnings: slight dubcon, dom!wanda, sub!agatha, use of magic, bondage magic, angry sex, face slapping, hair pulling, spit kink, manipulation, mentions of (non sexual) violence,

“You ruined everything!” Wanda yells, sending furniture sliding across the floor and slamming into the opposite wall.

“Calm down, Wanda, it’s just me,” Agatha says in a sickly sweet voice that fills Wanda with boiling rage.

“Everything I built, you ruined! I had a life, a family, and you took it all away!”

Wanda crosses the room in long steps and as she gets closer, Agatha takes a step back. She hits the wall behind her and she puts her hand out to stop Wanda, but she bats it away.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she hisses.

“You know,” Agatha clears her throat, “your accent gets thicker when you’re mad.”

Agatha immediately regretted the teasing remark when Wanda brought her hand up and slapped her across the face. She chokes on a surprised gasp and works her jaw to alleviate the sting.

“You’re quite the little firecracker, aren’t you, red?” she laughs humorlessly.

Wanda, having enough of Agatha’s jibes, covers her mouth with her hand and gives her a threatening glare.

“Speak again and it’ll be the last time.”

Agatha didn’t believe she would go through with the threat, but she doesn’t push any further and only nods.

Wanda releases the other woman’s mouth, then grabs both of her wrists and holds them over her head. Agatha feels a warm tingle, and when she looks up, she sees glowing red chains wrapped around her wrists.

“Come,” Wanda orders bluntly as she walks to the center of the room. Agatha only hesitates for a moment, but it is apparently too long for Wanda. She uses her magic to pull her forward and stops her only inches in front of her face.

Wanda attaches the bonds to the ceiling and starts to pace around Agatha’s suspended body. She admires her former neighbor’s figure; she may hate the woman but she isn’t blind. Wanda reaches out to place a hand on the center of her back, and Agatha jumps, making the chains jingle.

“What are you so afraid of?” Wanda asks, walking back in front of her. Agatha looks down at her with a pleading expression, and Wanda almost feels bad for her. Almost.

“Please let me go,” Agatha begs.

“What did I say about talking?”

Agatha squeezes her eyes shut and forces tears to spring to her eyes. Wanda is mad now, but she’s not an evil person. Her compassion is her weakness, and Agatha knows how to play into it perfectly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t want to do this. He made me,” she says, throwing in a few voice cracks for good measure.

“Who made you?”

Agatha opens her glassy eyes and gently shakes her head, like it would hurt her too much to tell Wanda the truth.

“Who made you?” Wanda asks again, firmer this time.

“Tony Stark,” Agatha breathes out.

Wanda’s stomach drops at the name. In the world she created, Tony Stark didn’t exist. Steve Rogers was a household name, the heroic Captain America who saves the day and is the image of goodness. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, or Uncle Clint and Aunt Nat as her kids called them, lived far away on a nice, quaint little farm with Clint’s wife and his family. All of the Avengers existed in her world somehow, except Tony Stark.

“He blamed you for breaking up the team,” Agatha explains. “It was his last wish to make sure you end up in prison, away from your family just like you took away his.”

The anger fades from Wanda’s face, but nothing replaces it. She stares blankly at the floor as she processes what she’s heard. Tony Stark, the man who’s weapons killed her parents, the man who destroyed her home, and the man who tore apart her found family, blamed her?

“I’m so sorry, Wanda. I didn’t have another choice... he had a team of people come after my family.”

Wanda’s mind raced, thinking of reasons as to why Tony would do this. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe, but she was convinced this was wrong.

“You’re lying,” Wanda says, finally looking up from the floor.

“I wish I was, I really do,” Agatha sobs.

“He wouldn’t have done this.”

“I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“Stop lying to me!” Wanda screams, the sound echoing throughout the room, making the furniture rattle. “You’ve done nothing but lie!”

Wanda’s hands ball into tight fists at her side and red energy swirls around her. Her eyes begin to glow and for the first time, Agatha feels genuine fear at what Wanda may do. Wanda grabs Agatha’s thigh and sends a hot wave of energy through her body.

It burns her everywhere, making her feel like she’s boiling from the inside. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out; only a red light emanating from her throat.

Agatha thrashes about against the chains, but it’s no use. She can’t escape the pain and Wanda is too furious to show her mercy now.

When Wanda finally lets go, the burning sensation stops and Agatha goes limp, hanging from her wrists as she tries to catch her breath.

“You’re a witch,” Wanda says, making Agatha look at her again. “Tony Stark didn’t send you, you came after my power.”

“Don’t be-”

“Don’t try to lie again, I know the truth. I looked inside your head, I saw the destruction you wish to bring.”

Wanda steps forward and places her hand on Agatha’s thigh again and she flinches, expecting it to burn. When it doesn’t she opens her eyes to find Wanda smirking.

“I’ll make you a deal. You can tell me what I want to know, or I’ll find out myself. One of those will be far less comfortable for you than the other.”

Wanda’s voice is low, almost seductive in a way. Agatha shakes slightly as Wanda looks at her intensely, her gaze unwavering even slightly.

“I’ll tell you,” Agatha says weakly, making Wanda smile.

“Wonderful,” Wanda chirps.

Just as Agatha was about to speak, Wanda trials her hand up her stomach, stopping just between her breasts. Agatha chokes, surprised at the other woman’s actions.

“Don’t mind me,” Wanda says nonchalantly as she lifts the hem of Agatha’s shirt and pushes her hand up, feeling her soft stomach.

Wanda grabs ahold of Agatha’s bra and rips it clean off like it was nothing. She gasps when Wanda pinches at her nipple with cold fingers, instinctively pushing her chest out for more. Wanda raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she pulls her hand out of Agatha’s shirt and snaps her fingers, and in a flash, all of her clothes disappear.

She yelps when the cool air of the room hits her body all at once, and she squirms to try to cover herself, but there is so use. Wanda grabs Agatha by the hair to keep her in place, shooting her a glare that says stay still.

“Start talking before I do something you won’t enjoy,” Wanda threatens.

“What do you want to know?” Agatha breathes out.

“Tell me everything. Who you are, what you want from me.”

Agatha nods quickly and begins to explain. She tells Wanda she is a witch and has been for four-hundred years. She tells of how she’s been searching for a more powerful being to teach her, to make her stronger, and that Wanda is the most powerful beacon of energy in the entire multiverse.

Wanda listens intently and begins to notice the story does not entirely add up. She decides to give Agatha a little more encouragement to keep telling the truth.

She kneads Agatha’s breast roughly in on hand, and with the other, she slides it between her legs to cup her pussy. Agatha squeezes her legs shut in surprise, which only adds to the minimal friction Wanda is providing. She moans quietly, an involuntary little noise that escapes her throat and makes her chest flush in embarrassment.

“Do you like that?” Wanda asks rhetorically as she slips her fingers between Agatha’s lips to press directly against her clit.

Agatha struggles with her answer. It feels good and she desperately wants more, but she’s also being held captive and interrogated. Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods quickly. Wanda smirks and rubs her fingers over Agatha’s clit. She laughs to herself when Agatha starts to roll her hips, matching her pace.

“If you wanted to learn, why did you come here to destroy me?” Wanda asks as she dips her fingertip inside of the other woman.

“I wanted it for myself,” Agatha confesses, “I knew I couldn’t make this myself, but I could get rid of you and take it for myself.”

Wanda is surprised at the other witch’s honesty. She already knew her intentions, but she wasn’t expecting Agatha to confess so bluntly.

“Was that so hard?” Wanda coos as she curls her fingers inside Agatha, rubbing her wall.

“No, no it wasn’t, I’m so sorry,” she babbles.

Wanda reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of Agatha’s face, a gentle contrast to the rest of this encounter.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Agatha?”

“Yes,” she whines.

“You’d make such a good pet, darling. So obedient and pretty.”

Wanda’s fingers fuck into Agatha’s pussy faster, hitting her sweet spot with each stroke. Agatha’s face is twisted is pleasure and her chest heaves with exertion.

“I think I’ll keep you,” Wanda says darkly. “It will be your punishment for trying to take this from me.”

Agatha can’t hear Wanda anymore, too focused on her own pleasure to notice. She throws her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her orgasm washes over her. It feels like it lasts forever; heat bubbles inside of her and her body jerks with each new wave. Her eyes roll back in her head and she sees a faint image of Wanda standing over her with glowing red eyes, but for some reason, she doesn’t feel afraid.

“This is where you belong,” Wanda says in a booming voice that echoes throughout the vast space in Agatha’s mind. “Helpless and bound at my mercy.”

Agatha doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to fight. She just nods, accepting her role as Wanda’s toy. Maybe one day she’ll be able to overthrow her, but for now, she is too weak to even dream of it.

#wanda maximoff x agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #agatha harkness #wandagatha #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fanfiction #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness image #agatha harkness fanfiction #wandagtha smut #wanda x agatha #wanda x agnes

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kingmaker-a · 2 years

Text

You Can't Dance | Sua

Warnings: Reader smokes a 'cigarette'.

Cast: Sua, Yoohyeon and Dami

Genre: Misunderstood Troublemaker Gn!Reader x Dancer Sua

Word Count: 3455

Average Read Time: 13 Minutes

Plot:

Sua is paired with the resident troublemaker y/n, better known as Vandal. Faced with the possibility that she'll lose her perfect grade for Dance class, she tries her best to make things work. Even if y/n is less than visibly receptive.

She frowned as her eyes met the whiteboard. A slow sinking feeling settled into her heart. A sigh formed on the edge of her lips; she would not be acing dance class as she thought. A year's hard work gone up in flames; she could settle with the fact it wasn't her fault.

She heard the frustration evident in your voice, no doubt staving off expletives and curses. A similar sensation crawled through her being.

Why did you even attend dance class? Your mood was always a dour one whenever you presented yourself in her favoured domain. You always seemed to lack energy, yet you'd always get away with not performing.

It grated on her nerves.

"It's time to settle down class," Taeyang called out, a sigh escaped his lips as he noticed her frown. "I know some of you don't like your partners," his eyes pointed at her. "But you gotta work with what you have."

She settled into her spot, waiting for your arrival. Her eyes glossed over who she could've had as a partner. Dami would've been a great time; her personality would've prevented any clashes, her skill level would've raised her grade.

"You know you're not the only one who would've preferred Dami?" You call out from behind her, your back firmly pressed against the wall. She watched as you fiddled with your bag.

"Why not Handong? Since you want to be carried through class so bad?" She remarked, unable to hold back.

You cock an eyebrow in response. You had to respect her honesty at least. Better than half of the student body who didn't even dare look your way.

"Queen Sua has bite huh?" A smirk crossed your face. All she could think of was how she wanted to get rid of it. "But for your information, I just wanted to work with a friend. Isn't that normal?"

You did raise a good point, even if she did hate it. She did question how you and Dami were friends. While Dami did definitely seem like the type to have a hard edge, she was soft was you got to know her.

"I know it's surprising," your face softening slightly. You knew your reputation after all. "I don't blame you for coming to that conclusion."

"I don't expect much from you guys today," Taeyang called out over the students. "But due to scheduling issues, you only have until the end of the week instead of two to three weeks like originally planned."

You curse from behind her. She hated to admit but she wanted to as well.

Frustration ground against your voice. "So, what's the plan?" Irritation itching your ear.

"Honestly? I have no clue."

She sighed for the millionth time today, her muscles straining under the continuous practice. No doubt a reflection of her irritation. Things could be a million times better especially if her partner turned up.

You were probably doing god knows what. You were sure as hell weren't helping with the assignment.

Pausing the music, an argument began to ring through the walls.

"What the hell is this shit Youngbae?" The furious sting of fire burns through your voice.

"You know there's only so much I can do?" Taeyang responded as calm as an empty lake. "Please call me Taeyang while we're on campus, please."

She was quick to rush to the wall separating her, yet even with her speed, she couldn't catch what else was said. She could only hear Taeyang's voice.

"You're gonna have to perform this time. It's your final assignment," Taeyang pointed out, she could hear the hint of regret through the wall. You two must be really close.

She heard a sigh as the doorknob to the studio started to rattle.

You successfully fought off the urge to abandon Sua, though that was probably due to Taeyang watching your every movement from down the hall.

As you opened the door, you were surprised by the chipper tune with which Sua greeted you.

"Nice of you to finally arrive," she said with a smile. You could only raise an eyebrow in response. Every alarm in your brain was ringing at her actions.

Did you fall into a mirror dimension by opening the door? You quickly looked the door over.

"Yeah... I'm twenty minutes late by the way," you said hiding the anxiety on your mind. You'd yet to meet someone who'd want to face Sua's wrath.

"Well, at least you turned up right?" That did nothing to silence the alarms going off in your head. If anything you swear you could hear more.

"You realise you're screwed right?" You quickly point out, truly testing if Sua had been replaced some facsimile. You throw some extra words just in case. "You know I hate dancing right?"

She frowned and you could hear all the alarms silence. You nearly breathe a sigh of relief until you realise your current company.

You probably went a bit too far. You couldn't quite tell if the sadness was better than anger at his point.

"Then why do you take it if you hate it so much?" She said calmly, yet, you knew better. Underneath the calm, you could feel the hurt. She did a good job of hiding it but you saw through it with ease.

You didn't want to get into why.

You honestly would've preferred if she just attacked back by saying rapping sucked. It's not like she'd seen you rap ever, so you couldn't take personal offence.

"I don't wanna be friends with you Sua," you quickly point out. "I'd prefer you didn't try to lionize me. Despite all the fire you have, I know what type of person you are. You're so stupidly nice, energetic and funny. I don't wanna deal with that."

You were firm with your words. Something that was unsurprising to you. After all, you really didn't want to be friends with her.

Your words did surprise her though, her head tilting in surprise. Maybe if she'd known you longer she'd learn what you were trying to hide. Just as she was about to press you for more, you spoke up again.

"Do we wanna get this trainwreck started or not?" You point out, impatience lining your voice.

Her brain refocused on the task, "Are there any dances you're good at y/n?" She wanted to slam her head against the wall as soon as the words left her mouth.

Pure idiocracy hung in the air as you stared at her disbelief. Her eyes avoid your gaze.

"I'm gonna pretend like you didn't ask me a question like that," surprise evident in your voice as she turned away from you. "What do you expect me to say? ell uh, I learnt the cha cha when I was six years old. With each style of dance, I learnt it become easier and easier to learn another style like some of Avatar, master of six billion or so dancing styles." You ranted as she avoided looking in your direction, voice cracking as you spoke.

She laughed.

However, when she turned to face you again, you were dangerously close to her. Your hand slammed against the wall behind her. "Also don't call me y/n. People will get the wrong idea, especially if I start calling you Kim Bora. Call me Vandal."

You hadn't shown up to any practices after that encounter. Every time she caught a glimpse of you, you'd disappear like a ghost or mirage. Something that frustrated her to no end.

It did give her motivation, energy to put into her craft as her muscles moved with poise and grace. She'd show you the strength of dance and make you regret speaking ill.

Yet, she couldn't help but frown, her mind traced how physically close you were. Perhaps that was the reason why she made it a couples dance?

A way to make you squirm should you ever turn up.

Yoohyeon noticed her friend's different behaviour. At first, she figured it was due to the possibility of her losing her treasured grade in her favourite class. Yet it didn't quite explain everything.

"They don't even respond to my texts or calls," Sua said frustration grasping at her voice. That was certainly new, it sounded like she was complaining about a lover.

"How did you get y/n's phone number?" Yoohyeon asked curiously, her chair inching closer.

"I asked Taeyang," she put bluntly, though Yoohyeon had a feeling that was her putting it nicely. After all, he tended to respect everyone's right to privacy.

"Have you tried asking Dami?" Yoohyeon quickly pointed out. After all, you did share rap classes. No doubt that's how you two ended up becoming friends.

"Why does everyone else know that Dami and y/n are friends except me?" She asked in astonishment.

Yoohyeon hummed for a second. "I think it's because y/n doesn't want their reputation to rub off on Dami."

It seems you did have a soft spot. It certainly made sense.

Dami didn't even look up from her book as Sua approached. "What's up?" Her eyes still focused on her book.

"I'm looking for y/n," she replied bluntly, scanning her horizon just in case you managed to show up.

"y/n? I'm surprised you guys are that close," Dami points out, eyes still focused on her. "I didn't think things would progress that quickly."

"What do you mean by that?" Sua asked cocking an eyebrow.

Dami quickly put her book down, she was glad Sua didn't pick up on her mistake. "Nothing, nothing. Y/n is probably talking to Taeyang."

Probably trying to get out of the assignment. "Does y/n always try to get out of assignments?"

Dami, muses for a moment, "Surprisingly no, they're pretty diligent when it comes to music." Her eyebrows knit together slightly. "...The only differing factor is you, Sua."

She shouldn't have said that. Especially as she saw the fire grow in Sua's eyes. She did notice the underlying sadness as she frowned slightly. "You know what screw them."

Not exactly the point Dami was trying to drive home but she couldn't help but shrug as the older female stomped off.

The days went by without incident, she'd stopped any effort in regards to you. All her focus on performing to her greatest.

Sweat and frustration drove her movements with practised finesse and poise.

Can we, we keep, keep each other company?

Maybe we can be, be each other's company

Oh, company

Each movement hits the beat perfectly, power evident in her expression. Taeyang however, struggled as her stand-in partner. His movements were awkward and distanced. After all, he didn't enjoy the idea of being physically close to students.

But he had to learn the routine to teach Dami.

Let's set each other's lonely nights

Be each other's paradise

Need a picture for my frame

Part of her was glad you hadn't been turning up. After all, while the routine was made out of spite, it was certainly intimate. It would be awkward even if she was doing it with Dami. At least initially.

Someone to share my reign

Tell me what you wanna drink

I tell you what I got in mind

Oh, I don't know your name

But I feel like that's gonna change

Taeyang stared down at her, maintaining as much distance as he could. Despite his lack of comfort, he was proud. Her choreography skills had certainly improved over the year. However, it demands a decent amount of chemistry to perfect.

He could definitely tell she made it out of spite. He wondered if he could bump her grade up for that?

"Alright, I'm pretty sure I have the routine down. Dami's staying late today so we should be able to get it down pat," he said with his supportive smile. He didn't have to take time out of his busy life to salvage her grade. "So go get some rest for tomorrow."

Dami frowned at you, sweat dripping down your face. Normally she'd find your appearance alluring. But, she could be relaxing instead of helping you.

"Why am I here y/n?" she said, annoyance thinly veiled her voice. She could've been asleep instead of on-campus at the crack of dawn. She still had her own assignment.

"Because I need your help?" A sweet smile tracing your face. She knew better than to fall for it.

"You wouldn't have this problem if you turned up to practice," she said rubbing her temples.

"Please, I just need to practice with a partner," your hands clasping together as you begged. "There's only so much I can do on my own."

So you had been practising on your own? At least you weren't a lost cause.

"You know you're gonna have to get over that quirk of yours," she said with a sigh.

"Quirk?" you said quirking an eyebrow.

"Your hesitation of performing in Taeyang's class," she points out.

"It'll be fine my dear Dami," you said with a cocky smile. You knew she'd help you to the ends of the earth.

You both quickly got to work.

Dami lamented helping you, due in part to the fact you didn't need the help.

The biggest problem was being close to you.

Sua was surprised to see you outside of the dance hall. Fire danced in her eyes as her heart sunk. A frown crossed her face as you inhaled cigarette smoke.

"Heavy is the crown huh Sua?" You pointed out, a smirk teasing the edge of your lips.

Why had you come? To taunt her, to mock her love of dance? "Why're you here Y/n? I looked all over for you," you expected fire but all you could see was an approaching abyss.

You're taken aback by a more sensitive Sua, your fingers fumble with your cigarette as it collides with the hard concrete below. A sigh escapes your lips at the mounting anxiety in your soul. "I was just... gonna wish you good luck," you say hesitantly.

Your words from earlier ringing in her mind. "Only friends wish each other luck Vandal."

There was no venom only sorrow as she entered the dance hall.

"I don't wanna be friends with you Bora," you lamented outside of her earshot. It was bad enough worrying about dragging Dami's rep down.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

"I'm sorry Sua," Taeyang apologised. "Dami's not responding to my calls. So you'll have to perform by yourself. I promise I'll pull what strings I can with your score."

"You can freestyle if that helps?"

It did not, the suddenness of everything was pushing Sua to the edge. Setback after setback had lined her week. She'd adapted to everything that came her way.

But there's only so much she can take.

However, as she feels the edges of her mind crack slowly like glass. She feels an unfamiliar hand on her shoulder.

A sigh escaped your lips. you really wished you finished that smoke at least.

"You better give her a good score teach," your voice lined with courage and wit. Yet she felt the anxiety mirroring her own echoing through your hand.

Yet there was underlying courage.

Probably due to the melting pot of emotion that was her brain she followed you. You quickly assumed the starting position as the beat started to play.

Can we, we keep, keep each other company?

Maybe we can be, be each other's company

Oh, company

Her body moved naturally as her dancer instincts took control, as you stalked ever so closer to her moving form. Your face was mere millimetres from hers. Her eyes connected with yours in a beautiful moment and she couldn't help but smile as she turned away from you. You moved in sync as the bass kicked in.

Let's set each other's lonely nights

Be each other's paradise

Your movements were in sync with every beat as you danced alongside her. You were proving yourself in front of your class and most importantly in front of her. Maybe she would've been impressed if you weren't behind her right now as your arm framed her figure. All she could see was you hitting the moves on time before she spun around.

Need a picture for my frame

Someone to share my reign

It wasn't long before you were dancing side by side again. You moved in perfect sync with her, hours of practise paying off. She could see the passion in your movements, it was evident you loved everything to do with music.

Tell me what you wanna drink

I tell you what I got in mind

You crouched with practised finesse, her body rolled with the swell of the bass. She was only able to pick up on your movements for a brief second as her arm flew over your head.

You were killing it. No doubt, leaning into your reputation as a troublemaker certainly helped. Your aura oozing swag and confidence.

She was surprised at the sudden skin to skin contact as you grasped her hand, her body slowly turning to the rhythm

Oh, I don't know your name

But I feel like that's gonna change

Your hand quickly grazed her knee as the snap of the beat. You slowly stood to full height as your free hand trailed her waist. Her hand slowly snaked around your neck, your face motioned ever so close to hers. A smirk etching onto your face.

Something Dami told you to do.

She was more than a little flustered, yet she was able to hide it effectively. She was thankful for the turn separating the two of you.

Her eyes trailed your form, a smile forming on her face.

Despite missing your close proximity.

You ain't gotta be my lover for you to call me "baby"

Never been around, no pressure. Ain't that serious?

You moved with stunning form in sync. She couldn't but smile brighter as she moved closer to you. Endorphins flowed through her as she moved.

Can we, we keep, keep each other company?

She sincerely hoped that you did alright on this section, she didn't have the luxury of studying your movements. But judging from the cheers you were doing excellent.

She felt the familiar presence of your hand on her shoulders as you moved in tandem. Your hand quickly trailed her back as she leant down. Her body slowly rose as she began to feel your breath on her cheek. The smell of vanilla pervaded her nostrils, betraying the cigarette from earlier.

You had plenty of secrets.

She enjoyed the warmth of you being so close to her, yet there was work to do as you flipped her to the ground. A surprising show of strength, that took a lot more practice than you'd like to admit.

She felt safe in your arms.

Maybe we can be, be each other's company

Cheers emanated from around the dance hall as she maintained her graceful pose.

Oh, company

You quickly got up, walking to her seated position, your steps in flow with the rhythm.

A quick twirl as you met her on the floor. Your fingers caress her chin as you slowly rose together. Your eyes peered deeply into her, a cocky smile as a plus one.

She honestly didn't wanna see anything else. It felt like everything was slowing down around her. Her eyes focused on you as she gripped your shoulders.

Her hips flexed to the rhythm as cheers erupted.

It ain't about the complications

The music winded down as you separated, having no choice but to rest against the wall behind her. A smile crossed her face as she tried to catch her breath

Thankfully it was over.

She was glad to see you dance so well.

I'm all about the elevation.

Yet, the music continued as you approached her, Dami's suggestion ringing in your mind.

A knowing smirk was offered to the crowd. You quickly rushed to the queen's side, hiding her from the purview of the crowd. She quickly snapped into position to sell a 'kiss'.

Yet as she stared into your eyes, your lips mere inches away from hers. She gave into the fire.

Impulsively, she grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into the intense whirlpool that is her.

Surprise echoes through your being as spikes of elation course through your veins.

You quickly respond with equal force and passion. The kiss easily is the most intense of your life. A smile crawls across her face as you gasp desperately for air.

Looks like she finally figured out what you meant by not wanting to be friends.

Author Notes: I figured I'd release a non-angst piece to help aid recovery from Panda's latest Take Me Away chapter. If you haven't already go check it out!

#sua x reader #sua imagines #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher x reader #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #girl group #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #dreamcatcher imagine

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heyitsmerose · 3 years

Text

Letting Go

Pairing: Broken!Reader x Stranger!Yunho

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Word Count: 12.1k

Summary: You've never felt more down. Despite having a loving family and studying at a good school you still aren't happy. You may have many objective luxuries, but you don't have anyone to talk to. The stress from all around you is getting to you and you finally break. You can't take this anymore. Deciding to finally take matters into your own hands and end this for good, you go to your favourite bridge one last time to say your goodbyes to the world. Until someone stops you that is...

Warnings/Disclaimer: In no way do I mean to romanticise mental illness. Through this oneshot, I want to show depression and other mental heath issues for what they are. I will not sugar coat anything and will show them for how exhausting and painful they are. Again, I am not writing this to romanticise mental illness, rather provide comfort and create a safe space to talk about mental health. Remember, it's never too late to get help, and I'm always here for you. It can be as small as personally messaging me how you're feeling today, I'm here to listen :) This oneshot will obviously be talking about suicide, depression, obsession and mental health in general. If these topics trigger you, this oneshot may not be for you.

Suicide

Depression

Swearing

Mentions of Sexual Abuse

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Youtube Playlist

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*I've spent a few weeks on this, I'm sorry if there are spelling errors, I've read the entire thing maybe 5-6 times.

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Facing the window in front of you, you sighed. You felt numb. It was raining and was around 6 pm. It was cloudy outside and the rain made the sky a few shades darker than normal. One of your windows was opened and you could smell the rain. The earth smell that made you feel all giddy inside. Excitement used to bubble inside you whenever you recognized the familiar scent of the wet earth, it indicated that it was going to rain. You loved the rain. It felt so comforting and the sound of the raindrops calmed you. At least that's how it used to feel. Now, you feel numb. Unaware of your surroundings and unfazed by a natural phenomenon that once caused you joy.

You sighed looking outside. It was frustrating. The rain that once comforted you was now frustrating. The constant pitter-patter noises bothered you and you were unable to get anything done. You slammed the window shut with all the force you could muster and plopped yourself back on your chair, redirecting your attention to what was on the desk. Ahh right, you had homework to finish. The bright screen of your laptop burned your eyes and caused them to feel sore but you couldn't care less.

You had 2 essays due tomorrow and although that didn't sound like a lot it was just the tip of the iceberg. Not only did you have 2 essays to start (and finish on the same day), you also had an oral presentation you had to give tomorrow for your music class. You didn't have your presentation ready and you were presenting to over 50 other people.

You had everything you could have possibly wanted. Your parents were not too rich but you were quite well off with a duplex in a multi-story apartment. Your dad had a stable career and was the country manager of a company giving him a good amount of power. Your mother was a social butterfly and had many connections. They sent you to a private school and let you study what you wanted. Although you didn't have any close friends in school, you had a few people you sat with.

See? You had everything you could have possibly wanted but you were still miserable. You knew this wasn't normal. For the past few months, you felt numb. There wasn't a better word to describe it. You felt apathetic and unfazed by everything. You were slowly starting to lose interest in the things you once found thrilling and fun and felt disconnected from reality. Your own parents felt like strangers and you felt like you couldn't talk to them. In actuality, your parents were loving and provided you with everything you could have possibly wanted. They took really good care of you and regularly showed affection. They were also quite understanding and were easy-going and fun. The fact that your parents are so caring makes you feel all the more guilty about telling them. You can't tell anyone.

You huffed, running your hands through your hair roughly. You gripped the roots of your hair and began to feel it again. The feeling of darkness creeping into your mind.

"what's the point of this?"

"I want this to stop"

"When will it get better?"

"Does it ever get better?"

In all honesty, you felt hopeless. You had to begin and finish 2 whole essays and prepare your presentation. Listening to music, eating anything, or even taking a break were useless, they would just distract you. You chewed the end of your pencil enough to make the end of it dent. Your teeth hurt but you continued doing so. At least the physical pain would distract you from this crazy workload. Or so you thought... You began to type on your laptop. You were writing your mid-term paper and were given the freedom to pick whatever topic you wanted as long as you felt like it expressed your emotions.

You typed the first thing that came to mind.

"I want to escape. I keep wanting for this to stop, I keep expecting everything to get better. It never does. It's an endless cycle of work and just more work. I feel like a robot and in all honesty, the lack of emotion is the only thing I'm feeling"

Your face had a stoic expression as your fingers fluttered across the keyboard. The gentle noise of keys clicking was the only thing heard for another hour or so. You didn't take any breaks and just wanted to get it done. At this point, you didn't care if it was good or even decent, you just wanted to get it done. That was very unlike you though. You were no topper, but you considered yourself quite hardworking and diligent. You were slowly falling behind though, but you couldn't care less. You just wanted to get it over with.

In the essay you wrote, you didn't get too personal, you simply wrote about your feelings and personified them. You spoke about your feelings as if they were an obstacle in your way. Despite being quite specific, you made it seem as though you were not talking about yourself. You fixed up the grammar and printed out your paper, stapling it, ready to submit it tomorrow. You looked outside and by now it was way darker. It was around 8:30 and it was time for dinner.

You went downstairs to get your plate of dinner and greeted your mom.

"Y/n, you're finally here, I almost forgot you were even living in this house" She chuckled and your dad joined in. You didn't laugh though.

"Hey, cheer up, your mom was just kidding, is everything alright?" Your dad chimed in.

In all honesty, you knew your mom didn't mean it, she was just kidding, but mocking you for the amount of workload you had didn't seem right. The question by your dad, however, completely caught you off guard. In your heart, you knew you weren't. You noticed how you started drifting off and spacing out while someone was talking to you. You noticed how you stopped feeling joy and noticed how you never had time for anything but school. Your face was glued to the ground and you nodded. You didn't want to lie, but you couldn't help it. You'd feel guilty for possibly making them feel like it was their fault.

Your parents both just sighed and your mom held your hand. She brought you to sit at the dining table and looked at you with nothing but love in her eyes.

"Y/n... We know something is bothering you. You know you can tell us anything right?" Your mom asked as she cupped your cheek. You looked back up at her and saw both of your parents looking at you worriedly.

You could feel the back of your eyelids stinging. Your throat got dry and you felt a burning in your nose. This was it. This was your chance to finally tell them how you felt. You wanted to tell them everything. From how you felt incompetent, to the constant stress and pressure. You wanted to finally break down your walls and tell them that you lacked the feelings you felt before. But you couldn't. The lump in your throat grew and you felt the corners of your eyes getting wetter. You couldn't get any words out. You badly wanted to just let it all out, but the words were stuck in your throat.

You also couldn't just break down all of a sudden or they would get really worried. You couldn't let them watch you break down. You would never forgive yourself if they ever thought the way you were feeling was because of them.

You simply sucked in a deep breath of air and looked away before they noticed anything was wrong.

"I just have a lot of work. I have more to do though, so if you could excuse me." You said, your voice wavering as you walked away from them.

"What about your dinner?" Your mom asked pointing at the counter. You just sighed and picked up a plate of food. Your hands trembled and your lip quivered from the overwhelming situation and you rushed to your room as fast as you could. As soon as you left, your mom just sighed and looked at your dad and her face showed immense concern. He brought her into his warm embrace reassured her. You would come to them when the time was right. You would eventually tell them what was bothering you. right? Although you didn't want them to feel guilty, they already did.

The second you reached your room upstairs you locked the door behind you. You tossed the food into the dustbin near your desk and put the plate aside. You felt guilty. Every day your mom would make you a full course meal only for you to throw it away without even having a bite. You couldn't help it though. You had a lot of work to do and eating was not your first priority. Besides, you already had lunch. This was not a rare occurrence. You would usually skip breakfast and dinner, directly eating lunch. Your stomach growled but you couldn't care less.

You rushed into the bathroom in your room and closed the door behind you. Your back slid down the door and your hands flew to your face. You almost blew your cover. It was quite an overwhelming situation. Your hands covered your mouth as the first sob wracked through your body. You were lucky that you were in the bathroom, in your room, on the second floor, it was practically impossible for anyone to hear you.

Your hands moved up to your hair as you gripped it tightly in between your fingers. Slowly, more cries came out. The bathroom echoed with your sobs and heavy breathing. You tried muffling your cries to no avail. You sobbed loudly while you shoved your palm against your mouth trying to stop yourself from crying but nothing worked. You tried digging your fingernails into your palm to distract yourself from all the emotional pain with physical pain but it still didn't work.

You tried breathing steadily only to break out into sobs a few seconds later. You let out gut-wrenching sobs that had been bottled up for too long now. Your throat was raw and your nose was red.

"Make it stop" You whispered to yourself. Were you being dramatic? Were you overreacting? You didn't know and you didn't care. Your sobs slowly died down but your hands were still clamped over your mouth trying to get them to stop completely.

After a few minutes, you went to wash your face. You noticed your eyes were red and your hair was not in a bun anymore but was now all over the place. You sighed and washed your face with cold water trying to remove any traces of that sudden breakdown. Besides, you just wasted around 20 minutes of your time, crying when you could have been working and finishing off your other essay.

You didn't care to change your clothes and sat back on your desk. You sighed and looked out the window again. The rain had died down and there was now just a cool breeze. A layer of mist had collected after the rain coating the trees and plants outside. Despite living in the city, your window faced a big green space. In the mornings there were usually only around 3 people at max, making it quite empty. At night it was even more serene and lonely.

You drew shapes on your windows while trying to think of a topic to write your essay about. Your second essay was supposed to be an analysis report about any experiment of your choice.

You chose to write about the expectancy-value theory.

The Expectancy Value Theory suggests that motivation for a given behavior or action is determined by two factors: (i) expectancy, ie, how probable it is that a wanted (instrumental) outcome is achieved through the behavior or action; (ii) value, ie, how much the individual values the desired outcome.

You scoffed as you read it. Lies. All you've been taught to do is the work you've been given in school. You didn't want to do it. You didn't find it interesting and you couldn't care less about failing if it was up to you. The only reason you were working was because school wanted you to. If you had the option, you would gladly stop. So no, the expectancy-value theory, in your mind was not correct, since for some people, ie. you, motivation didn't come from yourself, rather it came in the form of forced requirements from others. Others have high expectations and expect good quality work from you, but if you were given the choice, you would take care of yourself instead of focussing so much on your studies. The expectancy theory, in your mind, as false as the only thing influencing you to work was other people forcing you.

You decided that was the perfect thesis for your essay and began to write. Although the point of the essay was to discuss the findings of the experiment, you went in a different direction. You wrote your entire essay about disproving that stupid experiment. You didn't discuss the data results but instead countered them with your own data. After another hour or so of aggressive typing and writing shit about Martin Fishbein, you decided you were finally done and decided to finish off your essay. You were happy with the way it turned out, although it was certainly not what was asked of you.

You wrapped up your essay by simply restating your points and you printed that too. By this point, it was already 11 pm and although you weren't sleepy, you just wanted to get this over with and rest. Your final task for tomorrow was your music presentation. All you had to do was pick your favorite classical piece and write a bit about it.

Music was one of the only hobbies you liked. You took pride in composing and making music, however, your school had ruined it for you. The only things they made you do were to analyze pieces of music and discuss the elements of music and their implication. You never got to actually compose or make your own music so you started to dread it as a subject too.

You picked up the first piece that came to mind. Dvorak's 'Humoresque'. Wow, how original, you thought. You began to listen to the piece and understand it better. As a kid, this used to be your favorite piece. Now? It just feels bland. It doesn't feel the way it used to. You began scribbling a few quick points about the song before beginning your presentation.

After taking notes, you finally began working on your presentation. In total, it took around 4 hours to finish and it was exactly 4 am. You sighed and uploaded your presentation to a pen drive before packing up your bag for school.

You had to be up for school by 7 anyway, so you'd get 2-3 hours of sleep at max. You hopped into bed as soon as you were done, not caring about putting anything back or even changing your clothes.

Unfortunately, unlike you hoped, you weren't able to fall asleep as soon as your head crashed onto the pillow. Instead, your mind preoccupied with other things was way too clouded with stressful thoughts to let you relax enough to fall asleep.

You tossed and turned in bed as your stomach growled. You huffed and tried blocking out the feeling. You didn't regret skipping dinner, it was necessary to finish off your work. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. You lied for at least 10 minutes simply doing nothing. You tossed and turned trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but nothing worked. Your mind was simply too preoccupied to let you rest. you closed your eyes trying to calm yourself, only for your thoughts to go back to yesterday evening. You remembered the short conversation with your parents and how they seemed genuinely concerned. Did they know what was happening to you? They were your parents, after all, they probably figured something was wrong.

Thinking about your relationship with them, you felt guilty. You realized how your conversations were never longer than 5-10 minutes and you were always the one to cut them short. You didn't spend as much time with them as you used to, instead of dedicating all your time to studying.

All of a sudden, you remembered how they used to take care of you when you were a child. You remembered the first time they taught you how to ride a bike, your first day of school, and your middle school graduation. You can't remember the last time you all were together as a family and enjoyed yourselves. You were usually too busy and you regretted it.

Unconsciously, you sniffled, your eyes getting watery again. You huffed, roughly wiping and rubbing your eyes, embarrassed that all it took for you to get emotional was a few memories. You sighed shakily, trying to get your thoughts away from that, or else you knew you'd have another breakdown. Still not being able to fall asleep for another 45 minutes, you gave up.

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You got up and checked your phone, only to see that the time was 6:30 am. How perfect. You didn't bother combing your hair and tied a messy bun, too tired and too unbothered to even attempt to look decent. You hopped into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and grabbing a towel. You looked back into the mirror as you did yesterday during your mini breakdown. You had dark circles under your eyes, your eyes were red and your nose was tinted pink. You couldn't care less though.

You hopped into the shower and turned the temperature to max coldness, trying to wake yourself up to make yourself look less tired and well... less dead. You shivered at the temperature but bared it for the sake of looking slightly presentable and more awake.

You grabbed your soap and began to lather some on your hands. A few seconds later though, you felt a mild stinging sensation on both of your palms. You quickly washed away the soap as it was starting to burn and inspected your hands. Your palms. They were bruised and cut slightly. You stared at your palms and the crescent-shaped cuts on both of your palms. There were exactly 4 crescent-shaped cuts on each palm with a bunch of bruising around it. You realized it was from digging your fingernails into your palms yesterday. You did so in an attempt to stop crying but it didn't work. Oh well, now you have this to worry about as well, could your life get any worse? You made sure to carefully lather on the soap being wary of the cuts on your palms.

After you took a bath and got ready, you made sure to double-check that you had packed both your essays and the presentation pen drive. After confirming, you grabbed your backpack and hurried downstairs. Although you felt guilty for randomly rushing out during dinner, you didn't want to confront your parents. The nerves from your upcoming presentation were creeping up onto you and you were beyond terrified. You didn't feel hungry and didn't want any confrontation.

You quickly hurried down the stairs and avoided your parents' eyes. At this point, it had become regular for you to leave the house without a word. Your mom wouldn't bother too much since she knew you'd usually buy yourself something to eat at school itself. Or so she thought. It was a lie you told her a long time ago. Despite this, due to your unfinished conversation yesterday you feared they would come after you or confront you so you avoided them at all costs and rushed outside. Lucky for you, your parents didn't mind too much and carried on with what they were doing.

Outside, you noticed how the mist from yesterday had settled and was now fogging up the roads slightly. The mist collected on the grass on the side of the sidewalks in the form of dewdrops and you could smell the same earthy smell. You checked your phone once to get a glimpse of the time and realized you were quite early. Despite this, you still couldn't calm your nerves.

You gripped both straps of your backpack, not lifting your head. You stared at the ground kicking small pebbles along your way. The entire walk to school was quite uneventful and not too interesting. You mainly stayed on the same side of the sidewalk and luckily nothing came in your way. It was a 5-7 minute walk to school since you lived quite close to school and didn't see the point in wasting gas.

Once you reached your school, you tried ignoring everyone in your way, just trying to submit your essays. You were quite nervous and just wanted to remove some burden from your shoulders so submitting your essays early in the morning would be the best option. You rushed into the school building immediately setting your target on your science class that was a few floors up.

Fortunately, the hallways and stairways were mostly empty with just a few teachers and staff and maybe 5-7 students. That was one of the perks of being this early, you could get things done freely without being rushed by the students. You decided to stop at the principles office first, and then drop off your science essay.

You had to drop off your mid-term essay outside the principles office where a few teachers were collecting them. You made your way to the outside of your principal's office to drop off your paper. While walking there, the pace of your heart quickened, although you were simply dropping off your essay, something about being this close to the principles office didn't sit right with you. As you got closer you could feel the tingly feeling in your stomach, caused by the nerves. You carefully walked right in front of the drop-off desk and greeted the teacher. You were asked to fill in your name and the date dropped off, so you were handed a pen.

You were mindful not to let the pen put pressure against the cuts in your palm, but couldn't help but wince softly as the pen brushed against them as you picked it up. The teacher simply looked at you and you forced a smile. As soon as you dropped off your essay, you rushed away from there as soon as possible to a less scary area.

You made your way to your science class and dropped off your essay about expectancy value and took your seat in class. You were quite proud of the essay you wrote since you felt like you portrayed your opinion quite well. You also had science first period anyways, so you took your usual seat near the window in the front of the class and started to unpack.

You waited for at least 10 to 15 minutes before your science teacher came into class. He wasn't surprised that you were early since you usually came quite early. When you noticed he entered class, you immediately averted eye contact and looked somewhere else. In all honesty, your science teacher scared you.

All the other girls gushed over how he was just 5 or 6 years older than you and was handsome. You didn't see what they saw in him as you knew he had ulterior motives. You noticed the blatant sexism in class and how he always paid more attention to the girls, explaining it to them in detail while just brushing off the guys. You noticed how whenever everyone left class, he would stare at the exposed legs of the female students caused by the knee-length skirt that was a part of the school uniform. You noticed how he would favor the girls in general, letting them have their way, even letting them use their phones in class from time to time.

Although he hadn't made any advances, he was still really sleazy in general, and the very thought of him creeped you out. You didn't have too many personal encounters with him, just a few weird looks here and there, so you tried to avoid him as much as you could. When he noticed that you were not paying attention to him he sighed and collected his things. Usually, he would simply leave you alone, knowing school would start soon, but since the both of you were quite early he tried making conversation.

"Hey Y/n, Good morning!" He said all of a sudden. You whipped your head up, surprised that he was talking to you since he had never done so before.

"Hi" You hesitantly replied making sure to not seem too nervous, but also look a little busy so he would leave you alone.

"How's everything going? Are you feeling okay?" Although you knew he asked you that question simply wanting to ask you how you were feeling, you couldn't help but think to last night when you had a similar conversation with your parents.

"U-um, I'm fine, yeah, I'm good" You stuttered, diverting your attention elsewhere indicating you were done with the conversation.

He simply sighed and sat back down on top of his desk. He noticed that you had submitted your science essay/report and decided to read a bit of it before class started hopefully to give you someone on one feedback.

He picked up the paper and the rustling of the pages alerted you. You looked back at him only to notice that he was reading your essay. You felt nauseous and giddy all of a sudden. He wasn't supposed to be reading your essay now, especially in front of you. Your mouth got dry and you tried to calm yourself. You looked away so he wouldn't notice your stare as he continued reading for the next 2 or 3 minutes.

You looked back at him from time to time and noticed how his eyebrows were scrunched. You saw his somewhat disappointed expression and your stomach dropped. Was your essay not okay? Was he going to fail you? Your breaths got shallower and you looked around trying to calm yourself. All of a sudden, your science teacher spoke.

"Y/n, this was not what was asked of you" He stated matter-of-factly. You felt frustrated and embarrassed and your heart was in your throat. You tried clearing your throat to be able to speak. You looked back up at him, finally making eye contact, and gulped.

"I don't- I don't understand, I did what was-" You finally got out, only to be interrupted by him again.

"No, you didn't. It seems like you're disproving the experiment instead of proving it true. Meet me after class, we can discuss how to fix it." He stated, looking at you with a distressed smile. You forced back a smile and quickly looked away.

Eventually, students began to fill up the class and around 10 minutes after that dreadful conversation, the class had finally started. Unfortunately for you, you kept spacing out and couldn't pay attention to what was being taught due to your mind lingering on your stupid science essay. You began to think it was your fault. Maybe you hadn't studied hard enough? Maybe you just weren't smart enough? You put your head down and proceeded to bear the next 85 minutes or so, absentmindedly.

Luckily for you, your teacher hadn't called on you even once. He simply kept teaching and asking other students questions. You noticed how he tried to make jokes from time to time while all the girls giggled, and although your head was down, you knew he most likely had a smug smile on his face. You scoffed and kept getting lost in your thoughts. After what felt like an eternity, you finally through the class.

Now, it was time to finally confront your science teacher after class and you were not looking forward to it. You acted as if you were packing your bag so the other students wouldn't suspect anything. The last thing you wanted was for them to think you were spending time outside class with your science doing god knows what.

After everyone left, you sat back at your desk and waited for him to call on you, or notice you hoping, to get this over with as soon as possible. He grabbed your paper again and went through it again. You sighed and looked down. He slowly shifted his gaze towards you and ushered for you to grab a chair and sit next to his desk.

You huffed and picked up your chair dragging it to his desk. You plopped it down and took a seat on it. He sighed and brought his chair next to yours sitting on it as well. He began to explain that the experiment that he expected was a 'scientific' one with tangible results instead of a "social experiment" to quote directly. You huffed getting annoyed, how could he say that psychological studies weren't as valid? They were equally important. You sighed and looked away getting frustrated.

He wanted to explain it better, and went to get his pen that was next to you. Instead of asking you to give it to him, like a normal person, he rested his hand on your knee, reaching over to get it. On the outside, you kept your cool but inside you were freaking out. You glared daggers at his hand which was on your knee and didn't lift your gaze, as if staring at his hand was going to make him take it off.

Even after he reached over and got his pen, his hand was still on your thigh. He began to talk about some random experiment but you weren't paying attention. Why wasn't he taking his hand off you? You tried adjusting and moving your leg, crossing them over, to get him to let go, but his grip was firm.

"Hey, Y/n are you listening?" He clarified all of a sudden. You slowly pulled your gaze away from your knee and looked him dead in the eye. You glared at him, indicating you didn't want this. Despite this, he just didn't know when to stop, did he?

"Hey, calm down, what's wrong?" He asked sincerely. If only his actions reflected the same care, you knew he knew what he was doing. In an attempt to calm you down, his hand moved further up, grasping your thigh. You gasped and looked up at him with your mouth agape.

"Let go." You said sternly, you knew he was your teacher but he had to know his limits.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that, it's alright," He said, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter. No, this was most definitely not okay. Due to the thin fabric of your school uniform skirt, you could feel his hand completely. You scrunched your eyebrows in disgust as you tried scooting backward. He got up though, towering over your shorter figure. You tried pulling away only for him to grip tighter.

"I didn't do anything" He stated firmly, grasping your wrist. He held your wrist tightly, not letting go. You cowered under him, still trying to pull yourself away.

"You don't want this?" He asked shamelessly. You shook your head rapidly, tears stinging in your eyes. He scoffed, roughly releasing your arm. You sighed, instantly getting as far away from him as possible, grabbing your backpack. You quickly shoved your remaining stationery in the first zip you found and threw your backpack over your shoulder, rushing out.

As you were about to leave though you heard him speak up again.

"Do not speak of this to anyone. I'm afraid I will have to fail you for this paper" He said trying to make you feel guilty. You couldn't care less though, without looking back, you nodded your head and left the class.

You cleared your throat as it had closed up. You realized you were crying in the middle of the hallway, so you quickly rushed to the toilet. Luckily, no one saw you, but you still wanted to get away, to freshen yourself up. You splashed water on your face trying to forget what happened in class a few minutes ago.

After that terrifying incident with your science teacher, the rest of the day was quite uneventful. You eventually got through your other subjects including music, and your presentation was a disaster. You weren't able to pay attention to what you were saying since your mind was still in different places. You stuttered your words and kept repeating the same thing.

Your peers realized you were distracted and your teacher knew you were bothered since your presentations were usually quite clear and informative. Thus, this time, they decided to let you off the hook. You were thankful that no one commented on that crappy presentation and simply went back to your seat.

Since you had music for the last period itself you were able to call it a day right after. You decided to skip your after-school commitment since you simply had too much on your mind.

After that shitty day, you decided to try to get your mind off of it by taking a walk in the green space near your apartment. You knew that it would mostly be empty right now as it was a weekday and because it was almost 4 pm, meaning it would most likely rain again.

You were still 5 minutes away from home, so you decided to walk home to the green space nearby. The entire walk there was quite silent. You took this time to try to process and understand the emotions you were feeling. It was getting fairly chilly due to the cold breeze, wind, and mist blowing. You folded both of your arms, rubbing them up and down, trying to get rid of the coldness.

The walk was quite short and you reached there in no time. Since the green area was right in front of your apartment, you could see your window from it. As soon as you reached, you saw your car leaving the apartment. Peeking around the corner, you realized it was your car. Your dad must have just left to go see your grandparents. You tried to hide a little, just in case. If your mom saw you here she would be disappointed that you lied to your dad about meeting your teacher after school.

You found a bench that faced away from your window just in case, so no one from your apartment could see your face. By the time, you found a good spot and settled and sat down, it was around 4:30 pm. You didn't really have a reason for coming to the park. You simply wanted to get your mind off of school, the workload, the stress, and what happened in the morning, so now that you were here, you didn't know what to do. Fortunately, tomorrow was slightly lighter. You didn't have any assessments due tomorrow, but you wanted to check in with your peers to ask them what you missed in the after-school session today and revise that before tomorrow.

Other than that though, you didn't know what to do. Due to this, you ended up spacing out. You simply sat on the bench rubbing your knees from the freezing wind from time to time just staring into the abyss. Quite honestly, it didn't feel forced, awkward or uncomfortable, it felt... calming. You felt a lot of comfort in the fact that you could just take time to process everything. Your way of doing that? Sitting out in the cold breeze, staring at nothing, mind blank. It didn't feel like a waste of time and you definitely didn't regret spending your time gazing at the nature.

Ever since you were young, you had a habit of counting the birds in trees or on the ground. Today was no different. Now that you were out in the nature, it made it easier to count them. You didn't do it for any particular reason, it was just a way of coping and de-stressing. You sat for a good 2 hours just observing everything around you and not doing anything. This included counting birds, staring into nothingness, daydreaming, and spacing out. You were suddenly interrupted by a honking car nearby.

You checked the time and realized it was 6 already. You freaked out and instantly got up, picking your bag. You didn't even realize it had started to drizzle and your sweater/school uniform started collecting water in the form of small droplets. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your back, walking home, which was just a minute away, right opposite the park. You looked around making sure nobody saw you. Although you quite liked sitting out and simply doing nothing, you could understand how other people might have thought you were absolutely crazy for sitting out and doing nothing for 2 and a half hours.

You sighed looking around. You didn't want to go home just yet and didn't have anywhere else to go. The rain started getting a little heavier and you just gave up, looking up at the sky. Your clothes instantly clung to your figure and you shivered at the coldness.

You decided to take a walk around the nearby neighborhood since you didn't have anywhere else to go. This was actually quite rare. You usually never had the time to come outside and think about your life or reflect on anything as you were always cooped up in your bedroom doing work.

You huffed, rubbing your hands together. By now, your hair and clothes were drenched and your face was covered in water drops. You decided to visit the Mapo bridge to view the Han river from above. Ever since childhood, it was one of your favorite places as you were able to see the Han river below you, the Yeongdeungpo district to your left, and the Mapo district to your right. It had always been a calming sight.

It would take around 10-15 minutes to get there by car from your house but since you didn't really have access to a car right now, you had to walk. You knew it would take at least 45 minutes to get there but you still didn't care.

Unlike the two hours you spent at the park doing literally nothing, this felt different. You thought about the events happening in your life over the past few days, weeks, and months deciding to reflect on them during your journey.

You thought about your parents. How they always welcomed you with open arms while you often gave them the cold shoulder. You felt guilty that was for sure.

You thought about your friends. You had no close friends and the ones you had were slowly starting to drift away. You hadn't sat with them or even talked to them in over 2 weeks.

You thought about your studies. How you always stayed up late doing homework and taking notes while it never paid out. Instead, your crappy work just got you in more trouble.

You thought about the incident with your teacher today. How he touched you inappropriately and gripped your thigh. You shivered, pulling your skirt down slightly.

Unconsciously, tears had started to fall from your eyes. Luckily it was raining so nobody noticed anything too out of place. Despite this, you definitely got some weird stares. At first, the tears were silent. Your face was stoic while tears poured out of your eyes. Eventually though, recalling the painful memories and feelings was too much and your eyebrows furrowed. Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to contain your cries. It started off as light whimpers and occasional gasps.

You rubbed at your eyes and felt yourself losing control. Your cries got louder and you had to clasp a hand over your mouth. At this point, you didn't really care about anything else in the world and were overwhelmed by pain.

You threw your backpack onto some random chair god knows where, and continued walking. No without your backpack you felt freer, and both your hands flew to your face, as you walked in the cold rain.

Meanwhile, you had reached Mapo bridge and began to walk across the pedestrian section. Since it was raining, almost no one was on the bridge and you could finally let your emotions out freely. Your gasps got louder and you let out a strangled sob. Your hands flew to your face trying to cover it up, only for it to be followed by more cries.

As you walked to the middle of the bridge, stumbling across your steps not paying attention to what you were doing. You read the signs on the bridge.

"많이 힘들었구나" (It must be very hard)

"잘 지내지" (How are you)

"파란 하늘을 봐 봐" (Look at the blue sky)

They were mocking you. It was hard, you were not okay and nothing could make this pain better. Your eyes unconsciously closed your eyes and you let out a string of sobs. You choked on your tears, covering your face with your hands sobbing into them.

You rubbed at your eyes but nothing would stop this pain. You looked up at the Han river and thought for a moment. You looked down over the railing of the bridge and noticed the drop.

This was your chance. This was your chance to let go of all your pain and finally be free.

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Yunho was out with his friends. It was a rainy day and he had just gotten back from practice. On rainy days such as this one, he would often simply go on a drive with Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung. They were the three that enjoyed the rain and loved going on long drives. Their building was in Mapo but they decided to take a drive over to Yeongdeungpo since they had the rest of the day off.

The Mapo bridge was actually quite empty today. There weren't any cars or any people on the bridge. Since this was quite a rare occurrence, they decided to savor the moment and drive slowly enjoying their playlist while listening to the rain.

Wooyoung was driving while Seonghwa and Yunho were in the back, eating snacks and Hongjoong was picking a playlist. After popping a gummy bear in his mouth, Yunho decided to look outside and observe the Han river. All of a sudden though, around a hundred meters in front of their car near the left railing, a moving figure caught his eye. He was surprised that anyone would be out in the rain at this time. As they got slightly closer he realized they didn't have an umbrella either. As the car got even closer he realized that the figure was a girl. Your hair was drenched and so were your clothes. He stared at you weirdly wondering what on earth you were doing. You simply slid down the railing sitting on the floor, sobbing your eyes out and Yunho's eyes widened. He realized you were crying as your entire body was shaking with sobs and your hands were over your face.

He suddenly felt the urge to help and spoke up.

'Woo, slow the car for one second" He whispered softly and Wooyoung simply looked back and Yunho shrugging. He obliged and slowed down the speed of the car. Yunho continued to observe you. He didn't want to get out of the car since it was raining and he didn't have an umbrella but continued to watch you.

He watched the way your hands came up from your face and you gripped the roots of your hair. He watched how you tried to cover up your cries by cupping your hand over your mouth from time to time only for your to cry harder as your eyes squinted shut.

While they were driving past slowly, everyone was minding their own business while Yunho was still staring at you. Hongjoong had realized how Yunho was giggly before and then became silent all of a sudden and decided to check up on him. Hongjoong looked up at Yunho from the rear mirror, only to find his gaze locked on something outside. Hongjoong followed his gaze and found you as well. He saw that you were crying and stayed silent not knowing what to do.

Yunho was still looking at you and didn't notice how his leader was now also intrigued. He noticed how you roughly rubbed at your eyes getting up. He thought that you were done crying and that this was just a mini breakdown. Besides, everyone had bad days and maybe your way of letting it out was crying in the rain. Hongjoong averted his eyes as he saw you get up, giving you some privacy while Yunho kept his gaze locked on you.

He noticed how you were now facing the railing and looking out at the river. All of a sudden though, he saw you take off your shoes and a sudden wave of urgency washed over him.

"Stop the car!" He yelled at Wooyoung, while everyone in the car visibly flinched at his sudden voice, looking at him with concern. Wooyoung abruptly stopped the car, causing everyone to jerk slightly. The door immediately flew open and Yunho ran out of the car not caring whether his clothes got wet. Seonghwa had gasped and scooted to Yunho's side, peeking through, looking at what was going on.

Meanwhile, Yunho's intuition was correct. He knew something was wrong and the second you took off your shoes, he knew what you were trying to do. After you took off your shoes, you firmly grasped the railing of the bridge, hoisting yourself up, to sit on it. You looked around you, making sure no one was watching, although you didn't care at this point. Your mind was made up.

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You slowly scooted to the end of the railing, your hand tightly gripping the railing. You looked down, all that was below you was a 60-foot drop and lots of water. You sighed out shakily and looked back one last time. Your hands slowly let go and you breathed in a deep breath of air. You looked up at the sky and let out a wave of sobs before pushing yourself off the railing.

You expected to immediately feel the cold breeze hitting you as you fell over the bridge but you didn't. Instead, you felt a strong force pulling you backward.

The back of your head roughly collided with the concrete ground of the bridge and you let out a yelp. You looked around you processing your surroundings. You expected to be in the water by now, taking your final breaths. Instead, you were still back on the bridge and you fell back instead of forward.

You looked around suddenly, gripping the back of your head wanting to know who or what the fuck stopped you from doing so. Although you were mad you couldn't help but cry.

You sat up on the ground, knees close to your chest as you covered your hands and sobbed. You let out such painful cries, guttural noises, filled with pain. You cried, each cry letting out more sorrow than the last.

Little did you know, someone was scanning all your actions on the side, not knowing how to process the situation that just happened. He just witnessed someone who almost committed suicide.

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The second, he realized you took off your shoes, he knew that you were going to jump. It was a common occurrence, especially on this bridge. His intuition was proven correct when he saw you hoist yourself onto the railing. You were going to jump.

His body was moving on its own at that point and kicked the door open, rushing out as fast as possible. He didn't care about his clothes or his very expensive shoes, keeping only one goal in mind. As you scooted closer to the edge of the railing his heart stopped. He sprinted to the railing as fast as he could, almost slipping along the way. He roughly wrapped his big arms around your waist and he yanked you backward. He fell back onto the bridge and let go of your waist, catching his won fall, while you simply fell backward with force.

As you broke down in front of him, he felt a stinging in his heart. By now, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had also stepped out of the car with an umbrella, a little more cautious as they stood near the car itself, giving you a little space.

Yunho decided to slowly make a move to check up on you. He called out softly, but you didn't hear him.

"Excuse me?" He asked carefully, bottom lip caught in between his teeth from nervousness. You couldn't hear him over the rain and your sobs and frankly didn't care about anything else but the overwhelming pain in your heart.

He looked around nervously, before lifting a hand. He hesitantly brought it closer to you, doubting whether to touch you. He was wondering if you'd be comfortable, but he really wanted to help. He resorted to gently tapping your shoulder with his hands to alert you of his presence.

The second you felt his touch you immediately flinched, not noticing another person's presence. You looked up at him, before clasping your hand over your mouth. Although you knew that it was futile at this point, you still tried your best to cover up your sobs. You let out a string of sobs before squeezing your eyes shut and muttering apologies nonstop.

You kept stopping yourself with your cries but continued to whisper apologies. Yunho's eyes widened as he rapidly shook his head. Why on earth were you apologizing to him? As you looked up at him he noticed how strands of your wet hair clung to your face, your swollen and red eyes as well as your pink-tinted nose. He knew you must have been crying for a long time as your eyes reflected nothing but pain as they were completely bloodshot.

"Hey, hey, hey, I've got you" He whispered as he started patting your back. You nodded as you scooted closer. At this point, you didn't care how you were acting, simply trying to process what was happening. You pulled yourself together trying to get words out.

"May, I lean on you?" You softly whispered, voice breaking in the middle. Yunho hesitantly agreed, opening his arms up for you. You broke down again. You knew that you had been crying a lot that day, and maybe you were overreacting a bit, but in the heat of the moment, you simply couldn't stop.

You leaned into his warm chest taking in his musky scent that was slowly being washed away by the rain as he slowly crept a hand up to your back, rubbing it up and down.

"I'm here, I've got you, You're alright" He whispered into your hair. He knew you weren't in the right mind, but let you have your way just for now. You scrunched his now wet hoodie in your smaller fists as you tried to regain your composure.

You pulled away from a little embarrassed and looked away, knowing very well that he had already seen you, so there was no point. Yunho scooted further a little embarrassed too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked softly and you shook your head, looking back up at him. You were surprised to see that his nose was slightly pink and his eyelashes were glistening in tears too. You felt guilty and apologized, a little embarrassed.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," You said all of a sudden, and he shook his head rapidly.

"No, please don't apologize. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you must be in to want to take your own life." He whispered the last part, still not wanting to agitate you. You nodded and backed away. Yunho suddenly then realized the situation he was in, it was raining and the coldness was starting to get to him, he couldn't even imagine how much pain you must have been in to completely feel numb to it.

"It's raining and it's cold outside, do you want to sit inside our car, we have a heater" He interjected all of a sudden. You got nervous all of a sudden not knowing how to respond.

"I- I- can't-, I'm not sure" You stuttered your words and he noticed your discomfort, trying to divert the topic.

"Do you have anywhere else to go?" He asked looking at you sincerely and you shook your head. You couldn't go home like this. You averted your gaze while he tried to come up with a solution that you were comfortable with. All of a sudden though, you spoke up.

"Where are you going?" You asked and he tried to come up with a comforting answer real quick, one that would convince you to go with them.

"We are just heading to Yeongdeungpo, would you be interested in tagging along?" He asked sincerely. Your grandparents lived there, and you knew they would welcome you without asking questions, so you could go stay at theirs if you wanted to, so you nodded your head.

"Are you sure?" He confirmed with you and you nodded.

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It was safe to say the car ride there was anything but comfortable. You were in a car full of strangers wherein 2 of you were soaking wet.

"What on earth were you thinking?" One of them asked you all of a sudden, and you noticed the male who was with you earlier glared daggers back at them.

"I- um, I didn't- I'm not-" You kept fumbling over your words.

"She's not obligated to answer that." The man from earlier said sternly. You mumbled a thank you and continued to look outside. A few more minutes of silence passed as he tried to break the awkward silence.

"I never got your name by the way," He said all of a sudden, and without looking back you answered.

"Y/n," You said, cutting the conversation short. You weren't in the mood to talk. The other male nodded and introduced himself and the others.

"Well, I'm Yunho, this is Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung" He pointed at them but you didn't look at them, simply nodding, facing the other direction. Through the side mirror of the car, you noticed the boy in the front, the one that had slightly longer hair in the back, and was significantly shorter, glaring at Yunho. You assumed they were not comfortable introducing their identities just yet and you were okay with that.

Most of the car ride was quiet. You let out occasional sighs and whimpers due to the cold but there were no other comments or conversations.

Halfway through the ride though, the boy from earlier, the one who asked you what you were doing on the bridge, Seonghwa, spoke up again.

"Are you okay though?" He trailed off at the end. The other three boys looked at him with wide eyes, presumably glaring, telling him off, when you suddenly cut those thoughts off.

"I don't know" You answered sincerely. In all honestly, nobody had expected you to speak up, so when you did, they were all ears. You sighed before continuing.

"Everything is just so hard on me" You sighed out, as your voice broke at the end of the sentence. You decided that was enough or else you knew you wouldn't be able to stop if you said more. Although your answer was somewhat ambiguous, they didn't want to pressure you.

They all just nodded trying not to make it seem like a big issue. You noticed how Yunho sighed silently next to you before scooting closer to you. This didn't go unnoticed by you. His knees made contact with your fingers which were on either side of you, on the seat, and you looked back up at him questioningly.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? I'm all ears, you don't have to worry about feeling vulnerable. In all honesty, it's best to let your feelings out. You seem like the type to bottle everything up, but you clearly have a lot on your mind, you can tell me if you're comfortable." He whispered sincerely, only of you to hear. You were still looking into his eyes, and unconsciously tears started welling up in your eyes again at the sincerity and care in his voice. You had never told anyone about your problems and this was your chance. A tear slipped down your cheek and you roughly wiped at it, scoffing softly.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me today" You let out a soft breathy laugh, but the both of you knew it was not funny. He looked at you sternly, faux anger on his face as he felt frustrated that you were treating yourself this way, frustrated that you were reducing yourself to an emotionless robot.

"Don't say that. Emotions are what make you human, you don't need to feel embarrassed." He said and you nodded, slowly scooting closer to him. He didn't mind. Although the proximity was making him a little nervous, he was trying his best to comfort you.

He decided to test the waters by putting his arm around you. He slowly and slyly snaked his arm behind your back, since you were leaning forwards and slowly made contact with the small of your back. When he noticed that you were comfortable with it, he tried putting a little pressure to pull you closer and you went with the flow. You leaned into him, with your head on his shoulder, as one of his arms was around you. You both needed the warmth anyways as you were freezing. It was silent for a bit before you decided to speak up.

"My science teacher molested me." You said breathily. His eyes widened as he tried pulling away from you. With this new bit of information, he realized that the close proximity of you two could be making you nervous. He wasn't able to pull away though since your back was flush against the back of the seat, and you didn't seem too uncomfortable so he decided to keep it there. He rubbed your back up and down urging you to continue.

"I don't- I'm not sure what I did wrong. I disproved the experiment instead of verifying it and he got mad." You paused and took in a shaky breath of air. At this point, your voice sounded pathetically weak and vulnerable but you knew only Yunho could hear you since you were whispering to him, so you had nothing to worry about. He just let out a hum into your hair as you continued.

"He called me to stay after class the discuss the paper and I stayed. I fucking stayed. I stayed despite knowing his sleazy ass would try to pull something on me. After all the students left he called me over to his desk..." You stopped yourself off as you felt your voice wavering. At this point, Yunho could feel his stomach doing flips just thinking about the situation you were in. The fact that it seemed like you were blaming yourself made him feel even worse. Nonetheless, you continued.

"He grabbed my knee and then my thigh and when I told him to let go, he didn't. He even had the audacity to ask me whether I wanted to go further. When I said no, he- he said I would fail. This is all my fault, what the fuck is wrong with me." You let out breathily into Yunho's wet hoodie. His heart broke when he heard you blaming yourself, you couldn't be further from the truth.

"Hey, please don't blame yourself. You have no reason to blame yourself, Y/n. You put your heart into that essay and he didn't like it because his narrow-minded brain couldn't accept new ideas. Furthermore, I'm sure he only used it as an excuse to hurt you. I'm sure your essay was great, and please don't blame yourself for him touching you. What he did was wrong and is all his fault." He paused finally, a little breathless from rambling. You nodded thinking he was done, only for him to continue speaking.

"I'm going to give you my number... Feel free to call me after today, I want to help you. I want to help you speak your side and arrest your science teacher for he did to you" You mumbled a soft okay as you leaned deeper into his embrace.

"I shouldn't feel like this" You suddenly said. Yunho had assumed the conversation was over when you told him about your science teacher but regardless he was ready to listen, no matter what it was.

"Why?" He asked sincerely, ready to scold you again for putting yourself down for having emotions.

"I have loving parents. I study at a good school. I usually get decent grades. I have 2-3 friends who I talk to sometimes. My family can afford the resources I need to feel content. Then why the fuck do I feel like this?" You asked more to yourself than Yunho and he knew this, but he had an answer.

"So?" He countered, waiting for a reaction from you but you had none.

"Even the most privileged people are not happy hun. Satisfaction and content come from within. You may have everything you need but still not feel satisfied with yourself. Is there anything about yourself that is bothering you?" He asked and you furrowed your eyebrows. What he was saying made a lot of sense...

"You- I-, I guess... I feel stressed all the time, and I'm not happy with the work I produce since I'm stressed and overwhelmed, but how did you know-"

"How do I know?" He interrupted you while you looked at him with wide eyes.

"Because I've felt the exact same way a few years ago." Now it was your turn to be shocked.

"I'm training to be an idol and I spent countless nights practicing my dancing and singing, but I never felt happy with my skills. I always thought I could get better, and that led to a sort of addiction. I stayed up late at our studio practicing and my sleep schedule was fucked up." You chuckled breathily at his word choice and how he let a curse word slip in. He noticed and smiled back down at you.

"When I finally understood and accepted the problem I got better. My mental health took a turn for the better and I was more proud of my accomplishments. Besides, I consider myself a decent singer now" He laughed at the end as you joined him.

"I'm proud of you for reaching your goal and bettering yourself," You said honestly as you patted his chest.

"I just hope I can fix myself one day too." You said honestly.

"I'm sure you will be able to. It takes time and perseverance, so please never give up. You're a beautiful, talented, and valuable person, never doubt yourself." He said and you nodded in his embrace.

That's where the conversation ended for now. The silence was not awkward at all. Instead, it was quite comforting as you had a lot to think about and process. Yunho's words definitely shifted the way you looked at life.

Yunho got a little more confident and trailed his arm upwards of your back and into your wet hair. He ran his hands through your wet hair as you scooted closer to him. He gently rubbed his hands across your scalp relaxing you. Despite him being a stranger, from the way he listened to you, saved your life, and comforted you, you knew he was someone you could trust.

Meanwhile, the boy in the front, Hongjoong looked through the rear mirror, looking at the position you and Yunho were in. He and Yunho suddenly made eye contact through the mirror, and Yunho got nervous, his eyes widening as he realized his leader had seen the position he was in, but that went away as he realized Hongjoong was smiling back at him with a soft smile across his face.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Unknowingly, you had fallen asleep in Yunho's arms. When Hongjoong realized you fell asleep he patted Seonghwa's shoulder pointing to the two of you. You had fallen asleep on Yunho's shoulder, resting your head against it, while his head was on top of yours, also asleep. Seonghwa almost squealed when he saw the position you were in. They exchanged a few knowing looks before you finally arrived at your stop.

Yunho woke up before you and you were awoken by a messy-haired, still sleepy but smiley Yunho, ushering you to go outside. You got up, rubbing at your eyes as you looked around. You realized you were still in the car with all of the boys looking at you. You got embarrassed and quickly fixed yourself before shooting a confused look at Yunho. Suddenly, the man driving, Wooyoung, spoke up.

"I dare you and Yunho to go to 7/11 to get us snackssss" He playfully said and you smiled.

"Don't forget to get yourself a new pair of clothes too, you're soaking wet and probably cold. Although, I don't think that was much of a problem considering you were practically on top of eachoth- OOF" Seonghwa was cut off but Yunho roughly shoving his side. For the first time in the past week, you let out a genuine laugh and all the boys turned to look at you, as you bent over in laughter. Their eyes widened and Yunho swore it was the most melodious sound he had ever heard.

Feeling empowered and having a new perspective on life, you decided to go with the flow. Besides, you were given a second chance at life, you weren't going to waste it, moping around. You decided to make a change, and that change started today.

"Well big boy, are you coming with me or not?"

114 notes · View notes

knivesareout · 3 years

Text

Day and Night For You

Pairing: Steve Murphy x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut! (18+ ONLY!) Fingering, Oral (fem receiving), spanking, ass play, squirting, breathplay, cock warming, unprotected sex.

A/N: Aaaand another one. Started this on Tuesday and now we’re here. Am I a writer now? Who can say at this point- it’s only two fics and a couple drabbles. You can also read it on AO3 here.

Summary: Settling in to watch a movie with Steve takes a turn when you can’t stop your mind from wandering and he confronts you about it.

Your husband coming home with enough time to eat dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed at the same time as you had become a rare occurrence lately. Having Steve sitting next to you on the couch was something you wanted to soak in, your body pressed tightly against his side as you two watch a movie.

You were vaguely aware enough of the plot playing out on screen that if Steve were to ask you questions later on, you could answer, but your real focus was on him. The steady breathing of his chest, the roughness of his fingertips tracing along your bare thigh. The atmosphere had lulled you into a comfortable feeling- at least until you heard someone yelling on screen, your head perking up at the loud voice.

Watching as the male character pushes his wife against the wall with his hand around her throat, you swallow slowly. The scene was something you were no stranger to in your personal life; not with how dominant Steve was in the bedroom. But lately you’d barely managed a quickie most nights before he was out like a light, exhausted from work and snoring lightly in your ear. The fault was hardly his own; trying to catch Escobar was proving no easy task and you were willing to do whatever little you could to help Steve in supporting him.

Your thighs rub together as the scene escalates, the couple moving to the bedroom and you sigh, biting at your lip. The movement of Steve’s hand on your thigh stops and you peer up at him, a question in your eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“Could ask you the same thing, honey. You’re over there making all kinds of noises and I’m just tryin’ to watch this. Everything alright?”

You simper with a nod, looking pointedly at the screen. “I’m okay, promise. Let’s just finish the movie.” Patting his thigh, you turn your focus back to the screen where you’ve managed to completely miss the passionate scene between the couple and you make sure not to make a disappointed noise, less Steve question you again.

—–

The film ends an hour later and you’re no less horny than you were before. Nothing but images of Steve’s hand around your throat fill your mind and you can feel the stickiness between your thighs as you stand up and stretch, the oversized t-shirt from your alma mater lifting up around your hips before dropping down again. Steve’s yawning into his fist and looks exhausted, his body heavily pressed into the couch and if he could sink into it, you’re sure he would.

“Come on then big guy, let’s get you to bed before you fuck up your back by passing out on the couch,” you tease, offering him a hand that he takes gratefully.

Steve grunts, reaching out to pinch your hip. “That was one time, damnit. Will you ever let me live it down?”

You bat his hands away with a grin, moving around to turn off the lights in the living room before heading towards your bedroom. “Nope,” you tell him easily, turning around as you stand in the doorway and wait for him to stand in front of you. “You alright though?” Steve’s looking at you with an expression you’re not familiar with, his eyes bright and posture stiff, almost like he’s vibrating with the need to move.

“You know I can smell you right?”

Your posture falters and you almost choke on your tongue, glancing up at Steve with a question in your eyes. The blunt query has your mind in a scramble as you try to find the words to answer him and he doesn’t seem to like that as he steps closer and you’re toe to toe.

Steve inhales deeply before speaking, his hand coming up to take your chin between his fingers and lock your gaze with his. “Can’t even enjoy a movie without you being a needy little thing,” he tuts, dragging a thumb across your bottom lip and you have to stop yourself from pulling the digit into your mouth. “Have I been neglecting you?”

The question is a genuine one, no teasing tone to be found, and you’re almost hesitant to answer, hoping that maybe your explanation will shed some light on how you’ve feeling. “No, not really. I just miss you. Miss when we used to take our time with each other is all.” You shrug, hoping you give off the appearance of being aloof rather than touch starved like you actually were.

It’s clear Steve appreciates the honesty as he nods in understanding, gripping your chin a bit tighter. “M’sorry about that sweetheart. How about I make it up to you, yeah? Let me take my time with you tonight.”

Your head nods so quickly it’s almost comical, your body shaking with a need so overwhelmingly intense you could cry. The promise of relief, no matter how long it’ll take to get there, is something you’re willing to do anything for and Steve can see it written across your face as you watch his every move.

Steve walks you back into your room, your steps careful as you maneuver towards your shared bed, feeling the back of your calves hit the foot of the bed frame and you fall onto the mattress, hands reaching behind you to catch your fall.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, honey. Shorts so short I can’t even see them under your shirt, your nipples hard all night. And then I realized half way through the movie I could smell you. What part turned you on so much that I’d bet you’re soaked between those pretty little thighs of yours, hm?”

The low timbre of Steve’s voice makes your whole body warm as he looms over you, waiting for an answer. His large hands are sat on his hips, gaze trained on you and the way your body shifts to seek any sort of friction. His eyes follow your every move and it makes you nervous, teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

Normally you would play coy with him, shrug and say you didn’t know, but with how worked up you were it seemed silly to do anything but be completely blunt. “His hand around her throat,” you explain, placing your hands on your thighs and moving them up until you reach the top of your shorts and tug them down along with your underwear. “It made me miss your fingers pushing into my neck, Steve. Squeezing so hard I’d soak the sheets when you make me cum.” Kicking the material to the side, you spread your legs wide for him, head pushed into the plush pillows behind you.

You watch his eyes as your hands trail along the soft skin of the inside of your thighs, anticipating his next move. It’s hard for you to tell what he’s thinking, his facial expression neutral and the lack of light in the room has you at a disadvantage.

“Steve, please.”

In a flash, Steve grabs hold of your ankle and yanks you down the bed as you yelp in surprise, your legs hanging off the side as his hand comes around your throat. “Still want to be a tease?” He growls, thumb pressing into the skin so hard you’ll be surprised if there isn’t a bruise there in the morning.

The pressure is electrifying. Your whole body is lit up, every nerve at attention as he holds his hand there. You crave this feeling from time to time, the clear show of authority that Steve has over your body the biggest turn on. Managing to shake your head, he loosens his grip around you and you try to catch your breath before he’s on you, turning your body around and pressing your face into the mattress.

“You know all you have to do is ask for what you want, honey. I know I haven’t been the most attentive husband lately but I’ll always make time for you,” Steve promises, words sweet and contrasting with the way he’s man-handled you on the mattress; your ass up high and cheek squished into the comforter below you.

You don’t dare move as you hear the rustling of fabric, assuming Steve’s undressing behind you. It’s torture as you wait for him to do something, anything, your hands curling into the blanket beneath you so they don’t stray.

Steve’s hands are rough against your ass as he palms the flesh, pulling apart your cheeks only to slide one of his hands away to slap it, jolting you forward at the contact. You whimper as he touches you, both of his hands back on your bottom and fingers inching closer towards where you need him most. The inside of your thighs are sticky with arousal and you push your ass out for more, a silent plea for Steve to do something.

“So god damn needy, aren’t you?” Steve runs a dry finger across your exposed asshole and you let out a shaky breath, the feeling unexpected but pleasant. It’d been too long since you both had time for something like that but you don’t hold out too much hope as the finger then drops lower to slide between the lips of your soaked pussy. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart. It’s all down your thighs. Pussy actin’ like I haven’t touched it in days.” You whine as he pulls his finger away but it quickly turns into a moan as his hand hits your ass again, the flesh stinging from where his palm hit you.

“Steve, please. Please, please, please,” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy as your hips sway in a taunt for him to give you more.

His hands grip your hips tightly as he turns you over and presses you higher up on the bed, your body trying to orient itself as he crawls up the mattress towards you. It’s like a hunter stalking its prey, the way his eyes follow your every movement and you whimper, holding your body still as you wait for his next step.

Steve parts your thighs wide for him as he settles between your legs, the warmth of his mouth instantaneous on your skin when he drops his lips to kiss along the sensitive inner part of your thighs. The hairs of his mustache scratch along your body and you sigh into the feeling, your hand reaching out to card through his blonde hair.

“Tell me what you want,” Steve murmurs quietly against your thigh, his mouth close to your throbbing cunt and you can feel the heat radiating from his breath as he speaks.

“Want your mouth on my pussy, want you to make me cum so hard I cry.” Your words are quick and almost sound like they’re meshed together, your tongue heavy in your mouth.

You can feel the vibrations as Steve hums against your thigh, sounding like he’s considering your request. His fingers part the lips of your pussy, exposing your heat to the cool air of your bedroom. Your fists clench into the comforter beneath you, trying to ground yourself as you anticipate his next move and once his tongue laps at your clit in broad strokes, you cry out in relief.

The feeling is like a match to gasoline, your body arching into his mouth in search of more. It’s hot and wet, the sounds of him lapping at your sex filling the room and you wail once a finger slips into you. Steve is relentless in the way his long, thick finger fucks into you and he easily slips in another two, stuffing you full. The pressure is too much, his hands working you like an instrument he’s played his whole life, plucking at your body like strings. “You gonna soak me baby? I can feel the way you’re tightening around my fingers.” Steve moves to sit up and you gasp as his fingers find the angle that you’d been desperate for him to touch.

There’s a pressure building in your lower stomach, the feeling familiar. It swells, threatening to crash over you. You will your body to let go, to welcome the tidal wave begging to consume you.

It’s too much and not enough all at once as his pace picks up, your body all but forcing his fingers out as you gush over his hand, on the sheets, and across his chest. Your body shakes as you come down and you blink quickly, trying to clear your vision. There’s a dull throbbing between your thighs that are now coated in a light wetness and you sigh in satisfaction.

If you had the energy to reach up and smack Steve, you would’ve. The smug smirk on his face was infuriating but your orgasm had left you boneless and it was clear he knew that.

“You’re not tapping out already, are ya?” He teases, fingers lightly trailing across the inside of your still trembling thighs. “Cause I was thinkin’ of how much I wanna slide inside your pussy and fuck you until I fill you up and just stay there, plugging you up with my cum until it takes hold. Do you want that, pretty girl?”

His words render you still. It wasn’t something you both had talked about recently- going bareback. You weren’t on birth control, something with your insurance getting mixed up on the move down to Colombia. And if condoms weren’t used, or Steve didn’t pull out, there was a high probability of you falling pregnant. The last time it’d been discussed was right before your move and how you two wanted to wait until you were back in the States before you started trying to start a family, not wanting to add a child into what was an already high stress environment.

Tilting your head in question at Steve, you wonder what he’s thinking. He seems so nonchalant about what he’s said, his hand stroking along the hard length of his cock while he waits for your answer- almost like he’s thought about it before now. God, do you want it. There’s nothing better than the feeling of Steve’s cum dripping down your thighs, him stuffing you full of his seed and marking you as his.

You nod slowly in answer, a breathy sigh passing your lips at the thought of him filling you up after months of shitty condoms. “I want that. I want you to fill me up, Steve. Please.”

The sound of him stroking his slick cock fills the room and you watch as he shuffles on his knees until he’s close enough to rub the wet head against your clit, your body instinctively scooting down in search of more. You’re still sensitive, chest shuddering as he continues to torture you.

“Fuck, you’re soaked baby. Could just slide right in,” Steve teases, the head of his cock catching on your entrance only to slide back up to your clit.

“I want it. I want your cock. Fuck,” you groan, fisting the sheets in your hands. “Want your cum so bad, Steve. Come on.”

The hand that was resting on your hip comes up to press against your throat again, your head tilting back to give him more room. Your body arches into his touch and Steve slowly puts more pressure against your neck as he finally slides his cock into the soaked walls of your pussy, the feeling nothing but euphoric.

Steve’s cock fits inside of you like a glove. Long and thick, stretching you in the most delicious way. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of him buried deep inside of you and you relish in the feeling until he starts to move.

His thrusts are slow at first, the long drag of his dick making you shudder beneath him. The palm of his hand is still pressed to your throat and you push down on the back of his hand a little, silently asking for more.

A dark chuckle escapes Steve’s lips and he hunches forward, pressing down against your neck. “My dirty little baby, aren’t you? Just wanted a dick inside of ya and my hand pressed to your throat, that’s all.”

It’s difficult to nod but you manage, sucking in a breath as he lets off a bit and starts thrusting in earnest. Steve’s movements are languid, meticulous. He’s hitting every spot that makes your body feel electric, like a live wire ready to explode at the right touch.

“Steve, touch me. Fuck,” you draw out, his hips pulling out just enough to leave the tip of his cock inside of you before thrusting back in to start a more brutal, rough pace.

“You like that honey?” He asks, the hand not around your throat coming down between your thighs to rub at your clit in slow strokes. “You wanna cum? Want me to fill you up and put a baby in ya? Stuff you so full of me you’ll be dripping all night?”

Nodding, you cry out in need. It’s too much, the push and pull of his cock coupled with his hand around your throat and the rough pad of his thumb on your clit. Your body locks up and you start pulsing around him, your orgasm crashing around you like a wave, drowning you. There’s a ringing in your ears and you’re vaguely aware of Steve’s rough grunting as he plows into you in search of his own release.

“Fuck, gonna fuck you so full of my cum that you’re leaking. You feel so good, baby. Pussy so tight,” Steve rasps out, his hips stuttering as he falls apart above you. Mouth open, eyes clenched shut, your husband is a sight as he cums deep and hot inside of you, shuddering through his release.

Your hands run up and down his back in a soothing motion as he comes down, his own hands falling to the sides to catch himself above you, head dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck that was good,” he laughs, lips kissing along your collarbone and up to your cheek where he rests the tip of his nose.

Turning your head slightly, you brush your nose against his. “So. A baby huh?” The question is teasing, light, but deep down you really want to know what was going through his head to bring that up in the middle of some long overdue sex.

“Just been on my mind a lot,” he sighs, sliding a hand underneath your back to pull your body with his as he rolls over, his cock still nestled inside of you. “With everything goin’ on it just makes me realize that shit isn’t guaranteed and I want that with you. Always have. A family; little ones with your hair and my nose.”

You listen, running a hand across his face- up the slope of his nose, smoothing out the furrow between his brow and then up into his hair where you scratch gingerly at his scalp.

“I should’ve said something before instead of springing that up in the middle of sex but it was like something snapped in me. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, baby. Was just a bit of a shock is all,” you promise, hand sliding behind his neck and rubbing under the base of his skull to further relax him. “You know I’ve always wanted that with you too.”

Steve nods, pushing his head into your touch. “I know.”

Shifting your hips, you grimace at the sticky feeling between your legs but make no effort to move beyond trying to get more comfortable as you sprawl across your husband’s broad chest and glance up at him, a fond look written across his face as he looks back at you.

“You know, if we sleep now I might wake up in time for another round before I have to go in for work,” Steve grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

You don’t even reply, just lay your head against his chest where his heart lies beneath your ear and start to snore over exaggeratedly, giggling to yourself.

“I love you, baby,” he reminds you quietly, arms wrapping tightly to your middle.

Yawning, you close your eyes. “I love you too.”

#steve murphy #boyd holbrook #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy x you #narcos #narcos fanfic #guess i'm writing now #my writing

213 notes · View notes

lenfaz · 2 years

Text

Bridgerton S2, E04 & E05

Well, it was bound to happen

What in the fucking name of god were they thinking?!?!?

Don't get me wrong, I have loved every minute of the angst and the pent up passion, and them getting so close to each other and wanting one another while trying to resist. I've been waiting for that kiss that hasn't come yet and basically enjoying Jonathan and Simone bringing their A-game in each scene they are in. It's absolutely fantastic

But we could have had ALL of that *without* him being engaged to Edwina. Without him getting on one knee and proposing to Edwina while Kate was standing *right there*. Without Edwina saying she loves him!

We didn't need to add any of that unnecessary pointless drama into a plot that was already solid enough and strong enough without it. We definitely didn't need it. The show didn't need it... the characters definitely didn't need it.

This goes against everything because yes, ofc Kate is going to back out. It's her *sister*. She's never going to hurt Edwina and I cannot see how they are going to get out of this stupid plot without butchering the main characters while at it.

And I'm pissed on Edwina's behalf. I mean, she was not a major character in the book, and didn't have a lot of page-time, but she had a personality, and ideas and a mind of her own. This is not that Edwina. Edwina never really cared about Anthony. She was going with the flow because she knew she had to marry well and they all thought she had the best chance. But she never loved Anthony. At all. It's a disservice of a beloved character that they are showing that

It's a disservice of the beauty of the Sheffield/Sharma family connection, where Kate, Edwina and Mary had nothing but love, respect and honesty between each other. ugh, I can't even

But here are my random thoughts on episodes 4 & 5

The library scene was beautiful. I loved they kept a lot of things from the original and the chemistry with them... unf. Also, him telling her about the bee sting and how much she understands after that. They need to be together like... yesterday

The fact that they cannot stay away from each other, but they cannot help to tell each other the deepest secrets and fears of their heart...

Seriously, more Anthony and Kate pining for each other and less Eloise and Benedict whining

Lady Danbury would have never done any of this shit. She would have stopped Edwina from accepting.

Once again, Edwina wasn't this clueless on the book. She knew there was something going on there.

OMG them dancing... OMG §OMG OMG - he so desperately wanted her to tell him to reconsider. He was desperate for just a tiny sign from her. And you can see his heart breaking when he realizes that she will leave

Their scenes are so hot I can't even

I'm not going to complain about all the unnecessary scenes of a shirtless Anthony.

Anthony, you're proposing to the wrong sister. You know it, I know it, Daphne knows it, EVERYONE KNOWS IT

Edwina trying to tame those Bridgertons would have been fantastic to see...

Anthony if you chose to propose to the wrong sister, you don't get to be jealous on the other one

Violet is such a rockstar. She's really trying to get him to choose with his heart. Kudos to Daphne for figuring it out as well. Her faces while talking to Edwina are priceless...

The whole ring scene was painful and beautiful and I can't even. Poor Kate, she deserved better and blame Danbury on this one.

We didn't get Anthony standing up for Penelope but I loved how fiercely he defended Kate, Edwina and Mary. That is the Bridgerton family at its core, the strong warriors against all bullies

Ok, the whole "you're the object of all my desires" it's so fucking good.

Don't get me started on Eloise. Who is that girl and where is our Eloise? Because that is not her.

Where is our Penelope as well? I'm not sure I'm liking this "holier than thou, duty comes first" Penelope they have going on. Stop making Penelope what she is not. She was sweet, and wonderful and loved and cherished by the Bridgertons. I can't even

How in the fuck are we going to go into book 5 with this scenario of Marina and Sir Phillip?

If Marina was going to brush Colin so much, why in the ever fuck did we have that stupid plotline in S1. It contributed nothing and it just basically hurt Penelope's character. So not cool

Also, Penelope never seek Colin that much... she was so aware of her lack of chances (to a painful point, tbh). I'm not sure I like what they are doing here. She seems needy, and jeaulous and all the things Penelope wasn't

JUSTICE FOR FELICITY

Benedict did you go to art school to master your skill or to get laid? I swear, he's a 19th century fratboy

Portia Featherington is everything the books didn't give us and one of the best things this show did. Whatever happens, in Portia we trust

And once again, the Featheringtons' wardrobe is stunning. I love all of it

#bridgerton spoilers #slightly pissed off #and tired #so tired of the character assasination of penelope anne featherington #i'm also going to do like i did in s1 #and reject the stupid plot points

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

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domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.

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luminescencefics · 3 years

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***

The Catalyst

December 2009

During her fourth and final year at Townbridge, Nora is hardened. She spent her summer reviewing her college applications in between shifts at the beach, picking through each individual essay and making sure her grades were the highest they could be.

Nora was sick of small towns. Newport would always be home, but with growing up comes the all-encompassing need to find a new home somewhere else—which was why Nora was applying for schools in New York City. A place where she can start over without the stinging burn of high school rumors following her every step.

Luckily, Nora still had Lydia and Margot and a few other girls on the swim team, and that was all she really needed at the start of her final year. She didn’t even look at Harry and his friends in the hallways, and whenever they would snicker behind her back or approach her if they were feeling bold, Nora would just spin on her heel and completely ignore them, similar to the way they treated her at the beginning of her first year. And when she would share a classroom with Harry for their AP classes, she would make sure to sit in the back corner of the room where she couldn’t feel his lingering gaze on her frame.

On her eighteenth birthday, Lydia and a few girls took Nora out to dinner at Margot’s family’s restaurant on the water in East Lyme. They paid for her meal and took pictures out on the docks by the ocean and it was the happiest Nora had felt all year at Townbridge.

Nora was riding that high all the way up until Christmas break where she was actually excited to go home and spend the Holidays with her mother. But just like most things in her life, Nora’s high came crashing down when her mother informed her that she couldn’t come home for break, leaving her to spend her ten-day vacation away from school completely alone in the empty halls of Townbridge.

“I’m so sorry, Nora. Mrs. Clemonte is really sick and Warren is already on his way to Aspen with Willy. I can’t just leave her alone! Especially during Christmastime. Please don’t hate me,” her mother grievously said through the speaker of Nora’s brand new LG Rumor cell phone.

“I could never hate you, mom,” Nora replied honestly, curled up in her comforter on her twin bed on the eve before her mother was meant to pick her up from school.

“You’ll be okay though, right? Other students will be staying on campus with you?” Nora could sense her mother’s worry from over one hundred miles away, and before Shannon could hear her daughter sniffling through the phone, Nora took a deep breath and convinced her that she’ll be fine—even if she wasn’t completely sure of it herself.

In all honesty, Nora wasn’t even certain if any students stayed on campus during break, considering her classmates usually booked trips to Aspen or Vail or the fucking Swiss Alps for all she knows. So after confirming with her guidance counselor that the facilities will be open and she’ll be safe to walk around the practically barren campus, Nora’s shocked that the first person she runs into is none other than Harry Styles.

Nora had to blink a few times in the entryway of the dining hall to make sure that the figure hunched over the wooden table sipping a porcelain cup of tea and shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth was actually him. But when she squints and takes into account his discernible curly locks, his signature black trench coat, and his cotton grey soccer sweatshirt with his last name embroidered on the front layered underneath—there’s no denying that it’s him.

She looks around and notices that there are a few other students scattered about, eating their breakfast wearing thick sweatshirts and conversing amongst themselves. Before she can be detected, Nora buries her chin in her thick knitted scarf and walks around the edges of the room towards the kitchen to grab her own helping of eggs and pancakes.

Nora’s gotten quite good at keeping a low profile, so when she finds an empty seat in the corner of the room, completely far away from Harry’s slumped figure, she lets herself breathe for the first time. She unwraps her maroon scarf and unbuttons her navy parka before digging into her breakfast, flipping through her battered copy of The Princess Bride. Every year, Nora rereads her favorite books that were turned into films, and she figured now was as good a time as any to pick up where she left off.

Halfway through her breakfast, Nora realizes a moment too late that she picked the seat that’s closest to the tea and coffee station when she hears her name gruffly fall past Harry’s lips as he stands over her, a completely shocked look on his face.

“Nora?” Harry repeats after a minute has passed with the two of them just staring at each other, wondering what in the hell the other is doing spending their winter break at school all alone.

“Hi,” Nora says awkwardly, avoiding Harry’s gaze and choosing instead to look at the rolled-up paperback sticking out of his jacket pocket. She can’t quite make out the title of the book from her position, but the light blue coloring of the title page is familiar to her for some odd reason.

“What are you…” His words fall from his mouth without any clear purpose. She realizes then and there that the last words she spoke to him were a broken “fuck you” one year ago in Dr. Forrester’s AP Chem lab, and that thought is enough to cause her to stand up abruptly from the wooden bench, grabbing her tray in one hand and her parka in the other, trying her hardest to get out from under Harry’s intense gaze.

“Wait, Nora!” Harry calls after her as she scrambles towards the trash bin to clear her half-eaten plate. She ignores him, the need to get away from him much stronger than her urge to stick around and hear what he has to say to her. And before she knows it, she’s running through the snowy campus with her parka barely buttoned, recognizing a moment too late that she left her maroon scarf on the table in the dining hall in her mad sprint to the exit.

For two days, Nora skips out on breakfast—too terrified to run into Harry again. She eats the rest of her meals by the old fireplace in Millikan Library at odd times in the day, growing far too comfortable with the eerie solitude floating through the towering ceilings.

Most of her afternoons spent in Millikan are quite peaceful, considering the foot traffic is practically nonexistent save for the two librarians working the research desk and the small handful of students searching through the fiction aisle for a new book to read to keep them preoccupied during the break. Her spot near the fireplace is hidden in plain sight, somehow giving her the perfect view of the lower floor of the library while staying comfortably concealed from wandering eyes.

Luck isn’t on her side, though, and while she’s finishing up the last quarter of The Princess Bride, her focus is broken when a familiar maroon scarf drops in the middle of her lap, obstructing Nora’s spot on the page.

When she looks up she sees Harry, dressed in familiar black jeans and a simple white t-shirt underneath his trench coat. Snowflakes dust the tips of his curly hair, and when Nora squints she can make out the purple bags underneath his dull green eyes.

“You left that in the dining hall,” he says slowly, sitting down in the chair across from the matching one Nora is currently curled up in.

“Uh, thanks,” she mutters, scrunching the thick material up and shoving it into her backpack resting on the floor below her. A crinkled Pop-Tart wrapper comes fluttering out of her bag as she attempts to zip it up, and Harry notices it instantly.

“Have you been living off of those instead of eating real food?” he asks. Nora can’t tell if he’s actually concerned or if he’s teasing her, because his eyes are still dull and his face is still blank and she can’t read Harry Styles for the life of her.

When she doesn’t answer, he states simply, “You’re avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?” Nora responds quickly, looking at him with a layer of sadness hidden underneath her cerulean eyes.

“No, suppose I can’t.” He’s quiet for a few minutes, shifting his gaze towards the carpeted flooring below them. He looks as if he’s thinking very hard, and Nora wonders if he’s trying to figure out how to apologize to her. And when he’s still sitting there, a massive indent in the middle of his eyebrows while his lips pout downward in a frustrated frown, Nora thinks that a person like Harry has probably never had to apologize for anything in his entire life.

That realization is enough to keep her from running away from him again.

Harry lifts his eyes from the floor then, moving his gaze from Nora’s face to the book in her lap. She looks comfortable, wearing thick leggings and a woolen turtleneck, her blonde hair twisted into a low bun behind her neck, allowing her fringe to fall wildly against her forehead. He notices that her snow boots are on the floor, and her socked-clad feet are tucked underneath her thighs on the big chair she’s nestled in. For the first time in a long time—probably ever, if Harry really sits and thinks about it—he feels as if he’s looking at Nora Priestley for the first time, observing every freckle on her pale skin and every line and curve of her face. He’s not quite sure what that means entirely, but he’s sure that it has to mean something, in the grand scheme of things.

If she’s grown uncomfortable under his stare, she doesn’t show it, and Harry’s a bit grateful for that. Without really thinking about it, Harry reaches inside his jacket pocket, revealing his curled up copy of The Call of the Wild.

“D’ya mind if I sit here and read with you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Nora says, her voice pitch wavering, “Not at all.”

What normally would take Nora less than an hour to read, ends up being much longer, because she had suddenly grown extremely distracted with Harry’s presence across from her. It first started when he took off his black trench coat, revealing a threadbare white t-shirt that didn’t seem appropriate with the falling snow outside and the frigid temperature in the air. But it wasn’t the thin material that captured Nora’s attention. Instead, it was the various etchings of black ink swirling up and down his left arm. She tries not to stare, but she honestly can’t help it, because the images of shaded roses and thick anchors and anatomically correct organs is causing her head to spin. Nora never thought that picture-perfect Harry Styles, with all his splendor and daddy’s money, would brand his skin with outrageous tattoos. But it somehow fits, and Nora finds that she suddenly wants to know what every picture means, and its significance to the boy adorning them.

She tries to bring her attention back to her book, but it’s practically no use, considering her eyes keep falling towards his, watching the way he reads the old book in his large hands. From this position with the big bay windows behind her and the light flooding through, Harry’s green eyes almost seem blue. She’s not sure if he’s aware that he’s doing it, but his fingers keep constantly picking at the dry skin on his lower lip, and if there’s nothing left to pick, his fingers just push and pull at the skin as he flips to the next page. Whenever he seems to read a particularly interesting passage, Harry’s brows furrow as he concentrates on the words bleeding off the page. And just when Nora thinks she’s gotten used to his presence, he would absentmindedly fidget in the seat, changing which leg would be crossed over the other, bringing his foot up to rest on the seat so that his elbow can lean on something new, or even moving his body completely, so that his legs fall over the arm of the chair and his head rests against the other.

And when Nora’s no longer distracted by Harry’s existence, she finds that her thoughts linger on the hundreds of questions floating through her brain. She wonders what he’s doing here, all alone during Christmas break when he spends his summers in the south of France or the Hamptons or some other luxurious location. She wonders why, of all places to read an old copy of The Call of the Wild, he chooses to sit near her, a girl he’s supposed to hate. And she especially wonders why she doesn’t mind his proximity to her body, considering he’s done nothing but hurt her since they first met.

Nora finds this entire afternoon to be distracting, and without even finishing the book (even though she acts like she has, because let’s be honest, Nora’s read The Princess Bride enough times to recite the last page), she closes it and throws it in her backpack, exchanging the paperback for her maroon scarf and beginning to lace-up her snow boots. Harry looks up from his book and notices her getting ready to leave, and without saying anything, Nora watches as he dog-ears his page and begins to pull his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

“I’m gonna head to the dining hall,” Nora explains, even though she’s not entirely sure she wants Harry to follow her. But when he stands up from the chair and slips his book into his pocket, Nora finds that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter, other than to follow him down the stairs and out the front door into the snow.

Townbridge covered in a thick blanket of snow is quite a sight to behold, and momentarily, Nora can forget that Harry Styles is standing near her. Because the snow is falling lightly from the sky, dusting the tips of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and she thinks it’s probably the calmest she’s felt in a very long time.

But then Harry’s elbow knocks against hers as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and suddenly all of the distracting thoughts and the endless questions from before come rushing from her brain to the tip of her tongue, and Nora finds that she can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why are you talking to me, Harry? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” Nora’s words aren’t spiteful in the slightest. In fact, there’s barely any emotion behind them—just a statement that’s been at the forefront of her mind ever since he first approached her in the dining hall two days ago.

“I don’t hate you, Nora,” Harry chooses to say, looking down at her briefly as they continue the short walk to their destination.

“You certainly don’t like me,” Nora replies back, keeping her head down to avoid more snowflakes accumulating on her eyelashes.

“If this is about last year, I really am sorry. You were right to say those things to me in Dr. Forrester’s lab, I deserved it. All of it.” Nora waits a minute to speak, because she’s curious if Harry Styles will grovel in front of her, if he’ll beg for her forgiveness the way she’s dreamt about him doing for the past twelve months. He stays quiet, kicking his boot through a particularly thick segment of snow, and when Nora chances a look towards his face, she can see through his eyes that this conversation is torturing him. The dullness is tenfold, and his lips are in a very straight line and she’s never seen a jaw so clenched in her entire life. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, Nora accepts his apology, because although words have failed him (as they usually have in the past), his eyes give everything away.

The word pushover comes to mind, but Nora doesn’t think it’s a negative aspect of her personality. She was always taught to find the best in people, and if Harry’s apology consists of a handful of words and green eyes twisted in utter agony, she’ll take what she can get.

He holds the door open for her as they approach the dining hall and she gives him a quiet “thank you,” and Harry’s not sure if it’s for his chivalrous act or his bare-bones apology, but he takes it in stride. They grab chicken noodle soup and turkey sandwiches and steaming cups of tea and sit at the table near the large row of windows and for the first time, Nora doesn’t mind sitting across from him.

“So, why The Princess Bride?” Harry asks after a mouthful of soup, watching the way her mouth quirks at the mention of her favorite book.

“It’s one of my favorite movie adaptations. Movies are kind of my thing, I guess,” she explains, holding her warm cup of tea against her hands and she looks so damn cozy.

Harry nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“What about you?” Nora counters, watching the way his head tilts in confusion.

“What about me?” He echoes.

“Why The Call of the Wild?”

Harry grins, taking a long sip of his tea before replying, “I like classic literature. Guess it’s kind of my thing.”

Before Nora can say anything else, or tease him about copying her phrase, Miss Flaherty approaches their table with a bright grin. She’s one of the guidance counselors at Townbridge, an older woman who reminds everybody of their Nana. So when she places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes, Nora’s curiosity is piqued to the fullest.

“Harry! There you are, lovie. Will you be joining us tomorrow for the Toy Drive again? I’m sure everybody will be happy to see you.”

Sheepish has never been a word that Nora would think to associate with Harry Styles, but when his cheeks begin to flush and his eyes look anywhere but at Nora’s, she can tell that he’s nervous. And when she thinks back to Miss Flaherty’s question, more importantly, the word again, Nora’s wondering who on earth the boy sitting across from her truly is.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he tells her, smiling awkwardly.

“Amazing! How about you, Nora? Will you be joining us as well?” Nora’s suddenly aware of two sets of eyes on her, and when she glances at Harry and sees that his face is void of irritation, she nods her head and looks back towards Miss Flaherty.

“Of course! Count me in.”

Miss Flaherty smiles brightly and looks between the two of them happily. “Lovely! I’m sure Harry here will tell you all about it. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

After she walks away it’s quiet again, just the two of them slurping from their bowls of soups, trying to figure out how to address what just happened. Surprisingly, it’s Harry who speaks first.

“Uh, you don’t have to come if you don’t, er, want to.” He’s anxious and Nora wishes he would stop looking at the wooden table and would look at her, instead. Because she’s never given him a reason to be nervous around her, and the fact that he’s suddenly grown so small in front of her is all too confusing for her to understand.

“I don’t mind, really. Sounds cool, actually,” Nora admits, meaning every word.

Harry looks up at her then, observing her to see if there’s any teasing on her face. But when she looks back at him with nothing but a warm expression, Harry can tell that Nora actually means it, and he gives her a gentle smile in return.

Once they finish their lunch, they begin to walk back to their dorms. Nora lives on a different floor of Granary Hall and Harry lives in Quinby House, which is just across the small quarry outside of her building. It’s a comfortable silence, and Nora really wasn’t expecting him to walk her to the front door of her building. She’s not at all mad that he does, though, and when she turns towards him to say goodbye, he looks as if he’s trying to say something to her.

“I can drive you tomorrow to the Youth Center if you want. Easier than taking the bus,” Harry says, pushing his hands against the bottom of his pockets as he shuffles on the pavement in front of her, avoiding eye contact.

Nora nods, smiling softly before saying, “Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Harry.”

Before she can even mutter a goodbye, Harry’s already spinning on his boots towards Quinby House, and Nora’s left watching his figure disappear through the snow, thinking that out of the four years she’s known him, this is the most words they’ve ever spoken to one another.

Nora’s not even sure if she’s aware of it, but when she wakes up the next morning and chooses her nicest pair of jeans and applies a generous amount of mascara to her eyelashes, the idea of impressing Harry is barely even a thought in her mind. But there’s a reason for everything—and the fact that she brushed through her knotted hair and stuck her cherry-flavored lip balm into her pocket before rushing out the door, means that subconsciously she’s thinking about him.

They meet in the parking lot near his black Range Rover, and when he offers her a small smile and opens the door for her, she’s not quite sure what to think. He’s wearing his trench coat again with a grey thermal top underneath, and his curls are stuffed under a bright blue knitted beanie and he looks unbelievably warm. They don’t really talk much but they do listen to Big Star, and when “Thirteen” comes on and Nora starts to sing the words to herself, Harry snaps his head over in her direction with a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

“You listen to Big Star?” he asks, flitting his gaze between the road and Nora’s face.

She smiles, content that she’s shocked Harry, before adding, “Yeah, they’re one of my mom’s favorites.”

He nods, an impressed look on his face. “She’s got great taste.”

The rest of the ride is filled with more of Harry’s musical repertoire to which Nora sings along to the songs she knows. And if she listens close enough, she can hear the low tone of Harry’s singing voice, and she almost finds herself leaning closer towards him so that she can listen more clearly.

When they reach the Youth Center, Harry pops open his trunk and reveals two boxes filled with toys. Nora helps him and grabs the other, peeking inside and seeing wrapped presents of various sizes. They enter the room and greet Miss Flaherty, who immediately delegates Harry and his strong arms to deliver all of the presents underneath the tree, and Nora is sent to pass out homemade cookies and milk and read to the younger children.

It’s a blur of activity, and in between reading A Christmas Carol and making sure the younger children don’t choke on their cookies, Nora almost forgets to watch Harry. She mainly notices him in passing—a quick glimpse of a grey long-sleeved arm passing out presents, an electric blue beanie bouncing up and down in her periphery, a peek of brown suede boots running around behind her. It’s only once Nora’s begun reading the fourth stave, in which the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come visits Scrooge, when she notices denim-clad long legs sitting cross-legged in front of her, with a five-year-old blonde girl perched on his lap.

Harry sits there and listens to Nora finish reading the book, watching the way she acts out each character so that the kids in front of her are completely entranced. Her hair looks shinier today than when they were nestled in the library, and her blue eyes glisten whenever she hears a small child “ooh” and “aah” at the sentence she just read. And whenever her gaze falls on Harry’s, he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face.

When it ends, the little girl in his lap whispers into his ear, “Can we give Nora a cookie? She did a good job reading,” and Harry begins nodding excitedly.

“I think that’s a great idea, love. Up you go, let’s go pick out the prettiest sugar cookie on the table, yeah?” When she latches her small hand into his, Nora can’t help but watch in adoration as he lifts her up and brings her to eye level with the cookie tray, pointing at certain ones and waiting for her little nod of approval.

And when the pair approach her, the little girl holding up a paper plate with a snowman sugar cookie on it, Nora’s smile couldn’t be wider. “Is this for me?” Nora asks, bending at her knees so that she’s eye-to-eye with the small girl.

She nods, bashfully. “To say thank you. Harry said you should get the prettiest cookie.”

When Nora grabs the cookie, she looks up at Harry to find that he’s already looking down at her, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. But to Nora, it was practically everything, and she spends the rest of the afternoon in a blissful state, a smile permanently gracing her features.

When they get back to campus with both their stomachs filled with cookies and eggnog and Christmas breads, the sun is just starting to set past the horizon. Harry pulls into his parking spot but waits a moment to shut off the ignition, noticing how Nora’s gaze is focused on the sky as it turns from a cornflower blue to a prepossessing tangerine hue. The snow reflects the sunset perfectly, and even though it’s one of the prettiest winter sunsets Harry’s seen in a long time, he can’t stop looking at the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

She finally turns to him just as the sky changes from violet to indigo, “I had fun today.”

Harry nods, agreeing instantly. “Yeah, it was a good day.”

“Do you do that often? Is that why you stay here during Christmas break?” Nora’s not quite sure if she’s overstepping, but when Harry’s jaw doesn’t clench and his eyes stay rooted on her own, she can tell that he’s not as nervous to tell her things anymore.

“I’ve been doing it the past two years. My dad’s been going on work trips during the Holidays, so I just stay here.” It’s a version of the truth that he feels most comfortable sharing, and he’s grateful that Nora doesn’t push him.

“I’m assuming your friends don’t know,” Nora offers quietly, watching as Harry chuckles to himself, the sound being anything but funny.

“Yeah, they think I’m in the Alps.” He looks sad all of a sudden, and Nora wishes she hadn’t said anything. Because the fact that Harry’s father chooses to work during Christmas, thus leaving him no choice but to stay at Townbridge by himself, is a shitty thing to do. But instead of moping, he chooses to donate presents to children so they can have some sort of a normal Christmas, even though he doesn’t get the same in return. That’s quite admirable.

If it were Nora, she would be bragging to her friends about the Toy Drive, begging them to join her and spread more awareness. But Harry—Harry can’t do that. Because his friends would never understand, and that realization strikes Nora hard in her chest.

Giving him one last glance, she asks him, “Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?”

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up in confusion. The sudden change in conversation is a bit jolting, and when he tries to figure out her intention, she giggles uncomfortably before rambling. “I nicked the DVD player from our common room and set it up in my dorm. Nobody really noticed, so I’ve been watching movies on it all semester.” He’s still looking at her, but instead of confusion written across his face, his lips begin to form a smirk and Nora begins to squirm in her seat, much like the first time they met three years ago in the Great Hall. “So, uh, have you seen it?”

He shakes his head once, twice, the smirk growing into a smile.

“Would you like to?” Nora’s not quite sure why she’s nervous, or more importantly, why she’s even inviting him up to her room in the first place. Maybe she pities him in the slightest, or maybe, just maybe, she’s found that she actually enjoys his presence for once in her life.

“Sure,” he replies easily. Nora watches as he turns the key in his ignition to shut the car off, before hopping out and waiting for her by the trunk. They walk inside Granary Hall together, ride the elevator up to the eighth floor in silence, before entering the fourth door on the right.

The room is moderate, practically identical to the one he had last year with Will, but for some reason, it just screams Nora Priestley. He can already tell which side of the room is hers due to the mix-matched comforter set, the thick homemade quilt, the generous stack of books leaning precariously against the wooden desk, and the collection of polaroids stuck to the wall above her bed nestled in the corner. While she takes off her parka and snow boots, Harry leans towards the photographs, smiling to himself when he sees the happiness radiating off of each one.

His eyes seem glued to the images of Nora and who he assumes to be her mother, with their arms wrapped around each other and their long hair tangling in the ocean breeze. They seem to have done everything together—various images of the two of them on beaches and hiking trails and in the front seat of an old car. Harry’s never seen pure happiness before, and he wishes he could burn these images underneath his eyelids so that he never forgets what that feeling looks like.

“That’s my mom,” Nora says from behind him, almost startling him. He turns around with flushed cheeks, an apology at the tip of his tongue for so obviously intruding. But when he sees her face and notices that she’s not angry at all, he feels his shoulders relax.

“You guys seem to do everything together,” he says softly, choosing his words carefully as to not overstep. The topic of family has always been a difficult one for him in the past.

But for Nora Priestley, she seems to have no qualms about the topic, with the way she’s nodding easily with a nostalgic grin on her face. “Yeah, it’s always been that way. Just the two of us.”

Harry doesn’t say much else, but the look on his face says it all. Some mixture of sadness and jealousy, because even though Nora only has one parent, it’s more than the two he’s known his entire life.

Nora fills her arms with the pillows from her mattress and creates a makeshift pallet on the floor against the end of her bed. Harry takes the seat closest to the door and watches amusedly as she begins to microwave popcorn, opening the door with ten seconds to spare so that she can mix in a package of M&M’s.

When she joins him moments later, she flicks the light off and hits play on the remote. Just as the opening credits begin, she plops down next to him and holds the bowl out in his direction.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, completely serious. He’s looking at the bowl with fascination, wondering what sort of salty-sugary concoction Nora just created.

“It’s the ultimate cinema snack,” Nora explains, grabbing a handful of chocolatey kernels and dropping them into her mouth, munching quietly as Harry looks at her with a glimmer in his eye.

When he pauses for a second time, looking between the movie and the bowl in Nora’s outstretched hands, a sudden realization falls over her.

“Have you never done this before? Gone to the cinema and eaten enough sugary sweets to give yourself a guaranteed stomachache?” The opening scene has already begun but Nora’s too focused on the boy next to her who shakes his head solemnly and looks into the bowl, avoiding Nora’s gaze. She wonders what else the boy she thought had everything in the world has seemingly missed out on.

She turns back around to face the screen, unknowingly scooting closer towards Harry so that their sides are nearly centimeters apart. He can feel the heat of her body against his own, and just when he’s about to say something, Nora announces, “Well, Harry Styles, there’s a first time for everything. Eat up.”

And he does just that.

The next morning at breakfast at their usual table, Harry finds that he’s nervous. And not in the way that makes him angry and quiet and want to run away, but the kind that usually is caused by a girl. His stomach feels fluttery and his palms are sweating and he’s consistently overthinking, and he’s not even sure why—because he’s Harry Styles, for fuck’s sake. And the girl in question is none other than Nora Priestley.

But she’s wearing a beanie with a bobble on top and her cheeks are pink from the cold and there’s still snow clinging to the ends of her hair and he can’t help but feel out of his element. And he shouldn’t, truly, because he’s been with enough girls to know that these feelings don’t exist and that he’s probably fallen ill or something, most likely caused by the cookies they ate all afternoon and the popcorn-M&M monstrosity he inhaled during their movie.

They haven’t really said much, and Harry finds that he doesn’t mind, because he’s not really used to comfortable silences. Alyssa talks enough for the both of them and Grace and Erin are practically human echoes. Carter always has something new to say and Will answers him because he knows Harry won’t, so the fact that he can sit in the dining hall with somebody and read from each other’s books and talk about things that actually matter—it’s refreshing.

“These buildings are quite eerie when they’re completely empty, don’t you think?” Nora asks after they’ve disposed of their dirty plates.

“I think it’s kind of cool. Have you not been anywhere else besides here and the library?” Harry asks, grabbing his scarf and knotting it around his neck.

When Nora shakes her head, Harry’s hand reaches out to grab her own and he’s dragging her through the exit before she can even button up her parka.

“Harry!” Nora squeals, nearly tripping over her own two feet when she tries to keep up with his obnoxiously long strides. His hand still has hers in a vice-like grip and he doesn’t seem to be letting go any time soon, and it’s only once they’ve appeared in front of the English building when Nora digs her heels into the ground, causing Harry to turn around abruptly.

“What?” he asks, noticing the way her head shakes aggressively and her eyes are blown out as if she were completely and utterly afraid.

“No way. We’re not going in there, are you crazy?! It’s the most haunted building on campus, and it’s empty. No fucking way, Harry,” Nora says, standing her ground.

But with one roll of his eyes and some gentle prodding falling from his lips, Nora finds that she’s somehow ended up inside the stairwell of the empty building, laying next to Harry on the marble staircase. It’s silent, save for the sounds of their hearts beating in their chests and their even breaths falling from their parted lips. The window over the second-floor landing paints a pretty light through the surface, and Nora finds that she’s oddly comfortable in this haunted building she’s so terrified of.

She wonders if it’s because of the boy lying next to her.

“Where are you off to next year?” Harry asks suddenly, his head tipped towards the ceiling four stories up.

“Columbia, hopefully,” Nora says, focusing on the rays of light creating illusions along the stone walls.

“New York City?” Harry asks, sounding quite impressed.

“Yeah. How about you?” she asks, twisting her fingers absentmindedly in her lap.

Harry’s quiet for a moment and when Nora looks over, noticing the way his eyes close slowly and his jaw clenches harshly, she wonders if he’s okay. “Oxford,” he finally spits out, his eyes blinking towards the ceiling once more. “As expected.”

Nora thinks of how to respond, but before she can string together a cohesive thought, Harry suddenly turns his neck so that he’s facing her. “I hate expectations. I wish they didn’t fucking exist, if I’m being honest. How are you supposed to grow if you’re forced to do certain things that are already mapped out for you?”

Nora looks back at him, unexpectedly understanding a good chunk of who Harry is. How even though he’s Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the perfect boy who seemingly can get whatever he wants, he’s missing one thing. Happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“What do you want to do when you get to Columbia? Like if you had the choice, and nobody was making it for you, and you didn’t have to worry about anything else—what would make you happy?” Harry asks, a shocking hint of vulnerability laced in between his words.

When Nora stops and thinks about it, the answer is literally right in front of her face. It’s what she’s always wanted to do, what she wishes she could do—but knows deep down that she can’t do. Because it’s not stable and it’s not why Nora went to Townbridge in the first place.

“Scriptwriting. I’d want to write screenplays and work on sets and help construct films that people like me can watch over and over again and never get tired of,” Nora whispers, thinking that if she says it quietly in the stairwell with just Harry around, she can still keep it locked up buried deep inside, away from people who would ridicule her over it.

“What would you do?” Nora asks before Harry can comment on her dream. She’s still not sure she’s ready for that.

His answer comes easier than hers. “I’d want to teach. English lit, preferably.”

Vulnerability is a scary thing. It’s even scarier when it’s shared between two people who, up until five days ago, were practically strangers. As they watch each other, heartbreakingly realizing that these dreams of theirs are just something they’re supposed to chase—a sudden sadness washes over them on the stairwell.

“I can’t do that, though,” Harry says, turning towards the ceiling just as his voice breaks. “Because it’s not in the plan.”

“What is the plan?” Nora asks curiously, eyes still locked on Harry’s side profile, watching the way his jaw moves as he speaks.

“Business Administration at Oxford. An internship at my dad’s company during my second year, and then a full-time job there once I graduate. Board of directors by twenty-five, until I fully take over by thirty. That’s it. That’s my life.” Harry’s voice has never sounded so broken before, and Nora feels her heart splinter a little for the boy lying beside her. Because right now, he’s eighteen, and he’s not supposed to be feeling this inordinate amount of pressure. But he is, and that thought makes Nora incredibly sad.

“And you?” Harry asks suddenly, looking towards her again.

“What about me?” Nora asks cautiously.

“What’s stopping you from becoming a scriptwriter?”

It’s a simple question if Nora really thinks about it. But things aren’t always that easy, and explaining to Harry how his anguish is not too far off from her own is quite a terrifying thought. Because they come from two separate worlds, and finding common ground in the fact that the things they truly yearn for are just not tangible is a sobering experience.

“My mom has higher expectations for me. I mean, I’m The Scholarship Girl. I’m not even supposed to be here. But my mom pushed for me and Mrs. Clemonte supported my application and before I even had a say in it, Townbridge was my plan,” Nora starts, feeling Harry’s eyes on her as she looks anywhere else but in the green of his. “My mom had me young, so she never got to go to college. She’s always telling me to do the things she couldn’t do, make better decisions than she made, be the best version of me I can be. And I do try, constantly. Because she works endlessly and she does everything she can to make sure I don’t end up like her, and that’s a lot of pressure for one person to take, because how can I repay her by studying performance arts and joining an industry that’s already extremely difficult to get into?” Nora’s eyes fall from the ceiling towards Harry, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t do that to her. It would break her heart.”

Harry nods like he understands, and for a brief moment, Nora thinks that he truly does. Because even though their situations are different and they come from two completely separate walks of life, they both have fallen victim to an excruciating amount of pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounding more sincere than he ever has in his entire life.

Nora just shrugs, turning her face back towards the ceiling. “Not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, I guess,” Harry whispers, and Nora almost misses it over the sound of her own breathing. But when she feels his eyes warm her left cheek, she looks back at him and sees that he’s suddenly overridden with guilt.

“It’s okay, Harry—”

“—No, no. It’s really not.” He’s staring at her intently, and Nora’s suddenly found that she can’t look anywhere else. “What Carter did was wrong, and I didn’t do anything about it. And you lost all of your friends and he just went on the same as he always did, and the whole thing is just so fucked up.”

“I didn’t lose everybody,” Nora adds sheepishly, wishing this conversation would end. She doesn’t want to relive last year, she wants to forget its existence entirely.

“Still, it was wrong,” he frustratedly repeats. “You shouldn’t have just one friend at school.”

“It’s okay, though,” she says one last time, her voice urging him to understand her so that they can ultimately end this dreaded conversation. “I’d rather have one true friend than a bunch of fairweather ones.”

Harry nods and turns back towards the ceiling, and she knows that he isn’t going to say anything. Because this conversation is over, and what Nora said is unquestionably true. But he doesn’t want to face the harsh reality of his empty friendships, so instead, he stares at the ceiling, wondering how his life would have turned out if he fell into a different group instead of the one he has now.

Once Nora’s back starts to ache against the stone stairwell, she sits up and peers through the window on the second-story landing. The snow is falling down a bit harder now, coating the campus below in a thick, billowing white blanket. She thinks it’s beautiful. She thinks it’s far too inviting. So without thinking (something she’s been doing a lot of this week), she reaches for Harry’s hand and heaves him up, dragging him out of the English building and into the empty quad.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, confusion and amusement weaving together beautifully in his voice. Without answering, Nora reaches down and makes a snowball through her fingerless gloves, before hurling it straight towards Harry’s chest.

He looks at her with his jaw practically on the floor, faking his anger even though Nora can see right through it. She’s giggling loudly, almost hunched over at the shocked expression on his face. And before she can even comprehend it, Harry makes a snowball faster than her own and hits her right in the shoulder.

“Hey!” she calls back, wiping the leftover snow off her parka. Harry’s mischievous grin is clear as day through the thick snowfall, and when she mirrors it back, they’ve suddenly found themselves in a snow war.

Their laughter echoes through the quad and bounces off the stone buildings, and once Nora’s beanie is submerged in the snow and their jeans are soaked through and the only sound they can hear is their teeth chattering together, Harry calls a truce and drags her towards the direction of Quinby House. It’s closer than Granary Hall by at least five minutes, and when he holds the front door open for her, Nora enters without really thinking of the repercussions.

“Our floor’s empty and we have a private bathroom, so, er, if you want to shower first you’re more than welcome to. I’ve got warm clothes you can change into,” Harry offers quietly, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. Nora can’t tell if the blush coating his cheeks is from the snow clinging to his body or something else entirely, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she nods, following him to the last door on the left of the third floor, removing her snow boots in the hallway outside and beginning to walk towards the adjoining bathroom.

Nora closes the door without turning the lock, and immediately turns the shower on to its highest setting as she removes each soggy layer of clothing. She steps in just as the steam is clouding the small room, and when she notices the citrus body wash in the corner, she grabs that one instead of the Irish Spring bottle, knowing that it’s Harry’s.

Just as Harry’s pulled out a tight pair of joggers and his freshly washed soccer sweatshirt, he hears the distinct sound of the door creaking open. When he looks over his shoulder and finds that Nora isn’t peeking her head out from behind, he immediately gulps, knowing that the old door and the hot room caused the hinges to loosen.

As he approaches the door to close it securely, he can’t help but look up and notice Nora’s bare back through the mirror. Luckily he doesn’t see anything else, but still, he finds himself not being able to look away. Her milky skin is slightly red from the hot streams of the shower hitting her back and her blonde hair is sudsy and a part of him hopes that she picked his shampoo instead of Will’s. And when she moves her hair from the nape of her neck, Harry notices four black letters tattooed into her skin, and suddenly he closes the door before he can make out the blackletter script.

He sits on his bed across the room, his elbows resting on his thighs with his head in his hands as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing. It’s a fucking back for Christ’s sake! Harry’s seen far more amongst other girls, and the fact that her hidden tattoo is causing his heart to beat erratically is giving him a migraine. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley behind that door, and he’s Harry fucking Styles. And he needs to remember that before he embarrasses himself any further.

But when the door finally opens fully and she’s standing there in a tiny towel barely covering her legs and her wet hair framing her blushing face, Harry knows he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley. And she’s standing there naked underneath terry-cloth and he doesn’t try to ignore the fact that his thumping heart and his staggered breathing are all because of her.

“So those, uh, clothes you were talking about…” Nora says awkwardly, staring at the carpeted flooring of his room instead of his face. Because she’s very clearly naked and very clearly uncomfortable, and when Harry points towards Will’s bed where the articles in question are resting, she barely mutters a thank you before the wooden door is shut again and she can finally breathe properly.

When they exchange places, Nora’s grateful that Harry has the decency to bring his change of clothing into the bathroom with him, because if she had to stare at his wet torso, she’s not quite sure she could bear it.

She snoops through his dorm room once she hears the water running, and finds that his side is practically barren. There are no pictures of his family, no personalized anecdotes to distinguish Harry’s side of the room from Willy’s, nothing except a collection of books in the open section underneath his nightstand. She reads through the titles, realizing that Harry does, in fact, have a thing for classic literature.

Just as she’s moved on to Willy’s desk, observing the stoic photograph of him and his parents that must have been taken recently, Harry emerges from the bathroom in comfy sweats and wet curly hair, and Nora looks away before she’s caught admiring his figure.

“What are you looking at?” Harry asks, dropping his wet clothes into his hamper before turning towards Nora’s position against Will’s desk.

When she holds up the frame, Harry looks between the picture and Nora’s face. As Harry studies her expression, noting the way her eyes are clouded with familiarity and a hint of sadness that lingers underneath, he can tell that she knows this family quite well.

So he asks, “You know Will, don’t you?”

“Knew would be the appropriate term,” Nora says quietly, placing the frame back where she found it before leaning her backside on his desk so that she can face Harry properly. “My mom was his nanny.”

Before Harry can comment, Nora quickly adds, “But please don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to think I’ve ruined his reputation or anything.”

“Why?” Harry asks, stepping towards her slowly. When she looks up at him with confusion, he continues, “Why would you let him lie to everybody?”

Nora just shrugs. “He obviously didn’t want anybody to know. But I know the truth, and Willy knows the truth, and he’s the one who has to live with that, not me.”

Harry looks at her from the middle of his room, thinking it’s quite remarkable that her brain works like that. Because Will had embarrassed her clear as day in front of all of his friends, and not only that, he lied, too. Harry thinks that if he hadn’t said those words, and if Alyssa and her friends hadn’t reacted that way, and if he just had a moment to talk to Nora before they had interrupted—maybe things would be completely different.

But Harry doesn’t like to think about what if’s. So instead, he grabs his laptop from his desk and powers it on, laying down on his twin bed in the spot closest to the wall, pulling up his movie library and patting the empty spot on his mattress.

When Nora lays down next to him, her back propped up on his headboard as her left side is flushed with Harry’s right, she asks, “Are we watching your favorite this time?”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “No, I’d rather watch another one of yours.”

Blushing, Nora grabs the computer from his lap and types in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, a classic that she’s sure Harry will enjoy. And when she hands his computer back to him, she tries to ignore the fact that Harry was watching her face instead of the screen.

“Have you seen this?” Nora asks, trying to break Harry out of whatever weird trance he fell into.

“Nope,” Harry admits, balancing his computer in the middle of their thighs so that they can both view the screen properly. Nora tries to ignore the fact that she had to move closer towards him to fill in the gap, but the redness flushing up and down her neck practically gives her away. “Why is it one of your favorites?”

His question is simple in hindsight, but it makes her heart bubble when she realizes that he’s actually interested in the little things about her that seem meaningless. “Well, it’s a classic, and I know that’s sort of your thing,” she says, smiling when she pulls a chuckle from his mouth. “And it’s one of my favorite examples of breaking the fourth wall in a screenplay.”

“What on earth is that?” Harry asks, clicking play once the movie has finished loading.

“It’s sort of like metafiction in literature. Basically, it’s a plot device that scriptwriter’s use when the main character speaks to the audience. Ferris does it, like, all the time.” When Nora realizes that she sounds extremely nerdy divulging scriptwriting plot devices and intricacies about film that nobody really cares about, she shuts her mouth, turning crimson.

Harry doesn’t say anything though, and she’s grateful for it. Because even if he thinks it’s weird and nerdy (which he doesn’t, of course, but he’d never tell her that), he turns his head towards the screen and tries to hide the smile on his face.

And when the opening monologue begins and Ferris is in the shower talking to the camera, Harry whispers into Nora’s ear and asks, “Is that it?” She tries to cover the shiver running through her skin at the feeling of Harry’s lips brushing against her earlobe, but Harry notices it, like he notices everything about her lately. So for good measure, when Ferris breaks the fourth wall again at Cameron’s house, Harry leans over and mumbles, “And this, yeah? This is it, too?”

Nora knows he’s teasing, so when she turns her face in his direction so that Harry can see her rolling her eyes in good humor, he tries to ignore the warmth on his shoulder from where her chin rests.

Around halfway through the movie, Nora finds that she’s suddenly grown tired. She sneaks a peek at Harry and notices that he’s captivated by the movie on the small screen, and she really doesn’t want to interrupt him. After her third stifled yawn, Nora can feel her eyes drooping, and without really thinking, her head falls against the fleshy part of Harry’s bicep. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does flinch for the shortest of seconds, before looking at her and realizing that she looks far too content dozing off on his arm. So he keeps quiet, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

The next morning, Nora wakes up and finds that she’s not in her room. She also finds that her left cheek is smushed against comfy cotton material that keeps rising and falling steadily. And when she finally comes to, she finds that the comfy cotton material belongs to Harry, and the rising and falling belongs to his chest, and when she notices her right arm wrapped securely around his lower stomach just above the waistband of his joggers where a sliver of warm, tattooed skin lies, she freezes. Before Harry can wake up and go through the same motions she just did, Nora springs up, a stupid decision that results in Harry stirring abruptly.

He seems to have realized the compromising position they were just in, and before Nora can run out of the room in a panic, he mutters, “I’m sorry,” in his incredibly scratchy morning voice and Nora finds that it really doesn’t help matters.

Because Harry Styles in the morning is something special. He looks good in every lighting, if Nora is being brutally honest, but there’s something about his puffy face and swollen lips and crackling voice that makes her appreciate him a little bit more than she probably should in the early hours of the day.

“It’s, uh, my fault. I was the one who fell asleep,” Nora offers lamely, raking her fingers through her matted hair to try and alleviate the awkwardness in the room.

And when Harry mutters, “I didn’t mind” at the same time Nora says, “I should probably go,” they both freeze and look at each other timidly. Harry’s wondering why he doesn’t want her to leave and Nora’s wondering why she wants to wrap her body around his again, and it’s all too much for nine in the morning.

But he’s still looking at her, and she’s still looking at him, and somehow they’ve both landed on solid ground for the first time. Harry’s finding out that he quite likes the look of her burrowed in his soccer sweatshirt and Nora’s discovering that she’s never slept better than when she was lying next to him, and when he asks her if she wants him to save their usual table at the dining hall for breakfast, Nora nods, thinking it’s the greatest idea in the world.

An hour later, after Nora’s gone back to her room to change (begrudgingly) into her own clothes and freshen up, it’s almost second nature when she falls into the seat across from Harry with a steaming plate of waffles and fruit. He has her coffee ready for her just the way she likes it, a splash of cream with one sugar cube, and she can’t help but match the grin covering the lower half of his face.

Even though Nora had the best sleep of her life, and waking up next to Harry was something she wishes she could do over and over and over again—she feels guilty. Because Harry is with Alyssa and Alyssa isn’t here and the whole thing makes her head throb painfully.

So, regretfully, Nora apologizes for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

“Nora, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Please stop apologizing, it’s driving me mad,” Harry jokes, stealing the syrup from her hands and pouring a generous amount over his stack of waffles.

“It’s just—Alyssa’s your girlfriend. And I know she doesn’t necessarily like me, but that still doesn’t make it right to share a bed with you,” Nora explains even though she knows it’s driving Harry crazy.

Harry nods, dropping his silverware against his plate so that his attention is focused solely on the girl across from him. “I know, but as I said earlier, I didn’t mind. If I didn’t want you to stay, I would have said something,” and before he resumes eating, he adds quietly, “It’s not like Alyssa’s really my girlfriend.”

“What do you mean?” Nora asks, noticing the way Harry exhales out of his mouth slowly.

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could call her that. But it’s really only surface level, because if our parents didn’t summer together every year and force us to be together, it probably never would have happened in the first place. But it did, and we put on this show and everybody thinks we’re this happy little couple. And maybe we were, for a short while. But I haven’t really been the nicest boyfriend to her and she’s strayed on more than one occasion, and it’s all sort of scrambled,” Harry admits, staring at his tray to avoid Nora’s eyes. If he did look up, though, he would have noticed the sadness floating through her eyes and the frown swooping over her lips.

The rumors about Harry flirting with other girls and the occasional sneaky kiss in back corner’s of parties have been brought to Nora’s attention on multiple occasions. And even the ones last spring about Alyssa sneaking out of Carter’s dorm room trickled down to Nora’s group of friends, but she did her best to ignore them. Because she knows better than anyone how the rumor mill works, and even though Alyssa, Carter, and Harry did nothing to help Nora, she still couldn’t bring herself to stoop down to their level.

“Sounds like an incestuous mess to me,” Nora decides to say, trying to bring an air of lightness to the sudden uncomfortable topic of discussion.

It works, and Harry finds himself chuckling loudly across the table. “Yeah, it’s all about labels. Kind of a shitty thing to admit, but I’ve never really loved Alyssa. Can’t say I see that happening in the future, either.” He’s willingly giving Nora information that he hasn’t even told anybody before, and she’s not quite sure what to do with that revelation.

“That’s quite sad,” Nora says softly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, curious.

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re just wasting your time, I guess,” Nora pauses and Harry can tell she’s trying to figure out how to phrase her next thought. “Maybe I’ve watched one too many movies, so ignore me if I’m wrong, but being with somebody isn’t supposed to feel like a chore. It should be fun. Exhilarating, even. What you have with Alyssa just sounds—exhausting.”

When Harry’s quiet for a few moments, Nora suddenly realizes that what she had just said was probably completely out of order. “Sorry if I’m overstepping, that was probably rude of me.”

Noticing Nora’s distress, Harry gives her a small smile and just shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not overstepping. You’re probably right, if I’m being honest. But at this point, there’s no use in switching things up.” There’s a brief pause in which Nora breathes out a sigh of relief, reaching towards her coffee and taking a generous sip. Before Harry realizes what he’s saying, he asks her quickly, “Have you ever had that feeling?”

“What feeling?” Nora asks.

Harry grins shyly. “Being with someone and having it be fun and exhilarating.”

Nora nods slowly, thinking about Connor. “I think so. For a little while, at least.”

“What happened?” Harry’s not sure if he’s the one who’s overstepping now. But when he notices Nora’s cheeks blush ever so subtly and her lips quirk up into sentimental half-smile, he suddenly feels an uncomfortable knot form in his stomach. It’s twisting and turning and he’s never had this feeling before—not when he found out Alyssa was sleeping with Carter, not when his parents decided to go to St. Tropez without him, not ever. But with Nora sitting across from him looking wistfully in the distance, Harry’s found that he’s practically consumed with jealousy, and he fucking hates it.

“He moved away, and I had to come back here for school,” Nora explains, breaking out of her daydream and looking back towards Harry. When she notices the unreadable expression on his face, she decides to change the subject. “So, what do you want to do today?”

Harry tries his hardest to forget about Nora’s mystery man for the rest of the day, but he can’t help it. The jealousy is like a seed planted in the depths of his stomach, and he feels it growing and growing inside of him until he’s practically turned green with envy. And he has no fucking idea why it’s bothering him so much.

Hours later, they’re back in Nora’s room for another movie night after a day filled with exchanging their favorite novels and talking about things Harry’s never even discussed with his own friends. Nora chooses Notting Hill, thinking that out of all of the movies in her favorites list, this one has got to be one that Harry’s seen before.

But when he shakes his head when she holds up the plastic DVD cover in his direction, Nora’s mouth is already on the floor and Harry can’t help but laugh at her shocked expression.

“How have you never seen this?! You’re British! You should be ashamed! I’m calling Gordon Brown and asking him to revoke your citizenship,” Nora exclaims, setting up the DVD player and inserting the disc inside the tray. She’s changed into leggings and chose Harry’s soccer sweatshirt over the worn-in Townbridge one she’s owned since freshman year, and Harry feels giddy with pride at the thought of it all.

“I already apologized for it! Give me a break, Priestley!” Harry calls back, amusement lacing his words.

Nora finds herself giggling in response, and once the title screen is displayed on the television, she peeks over her shoulder and finds that Harry is getting himself comfortable on her bed. He’s wearing track bottoms and a cream-colored henley, and when he claims the spot near the wall and burrows underneath the quilt her mother cross-stitched for her last Christmas, Nora can’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“This movie makes me want to visit London,” Nora admits, pressing play on the remote and walking towards her bed. When Harry opens up the blanket for Nora to slide into, she does so easily, feeling the most comfortable she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, dropping the blanket underneath Nora’s chin and throwing an arm around her shoulder.

Nora surprisingly doesn’t flinch. Instead, she curls closer to his body, resting her chin on the planes of his chest and her hand just below. “Yeah.”

“I think you’d like it,” Harry whispers against the crown of her head just as the opening scene begins.

The first few scenes of the movie pass by in comfortable silence. But just after Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts in his bookstore, Nora can practically feel Harry’s brain whizzing because he’s thinking too hard. And just when it starts to become distracting, Nora asks, “What’re you thinking about? I can hear your brain churning from here.”

He exhales out a laugh and admits truthfully, “I keep thinking about your exhilarating crush.”

Nora feels stunned all of a sudden, her body freezing against his own. “Why?” she somehow chokes out through her dry throat.

Nora can hear the gulp Harry takes from above. “I dunno. Suppose I’m very interested to know what kind of guy swept Nora Priestley off her feet.”

She sits up with her back to the television, completely ignoring the movie playing behind her. The quilt falls from her shoulders and pools around her waist, and she’s suddenly grateful for the cooler air of her dorm room whipping against her neck, because she’s grown increasingly warm. Harry slides his body up on the bed until his torso is flushed against the headboard, staring at Nora with those green eyes that for the first time, aren’t dull. Instead, they’re almost twinkling in the dim lighting of her room.

His gaze is focused solely on Nora—on the messy fringe falling against her forehead, the gentle slope of her nose, the plushness of her pink lips, the angular curve of her jawline. The way she looks buried in his sweatshirt with the sleeves falling past her fingertips causes his heart to beat loudly inside his chest, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her has never been more prominent before in his life.

“I think I’ve always thought about it,” Harry admits quietly, his eyes never falling from her own. Because if they did move, he would have missed the way her mouth parted slightly, a small inhale slipping down her throat. He would have missed the way her eyes widened almost comically, the blueness reminding him of the sky on a pleasing, clear day. And when he takes all of that into consideration, he comes to the conclusion that Nora Priestley is undoubtedly beautiful, and probably always has been. He’s always just been too stupid to realize it.

“You never said anything,” Nora whispers back, staring at Harry with the same ferocity. “You never say anything.”

Harry nods, “I know.” And when he inches his body closer to hers and notices that she doesn’t back away from him, he adds, “I’m saying it now. Am I too late?”

Nora watches the way Harry leans towards her, his body being held up by his hands that are anchored to the mattress in front of her knees. Even though the movie is still playing from the television behind her, she can’t hear anything except for the accelerated beating of her heart racking against her ribs and pounding against her chest.

He’s so close to her now, the tip of his nose brushing against her own so tactfully that Nora’s not even sure if it’s actually happening. At this proximity, Nora can see inside his eyes and she finds that they’re not as green as she once thought. Instead, they’re almost a turquoise color, with golden hues circling his pupil and when she looks closely, she can see her own face in the reflection. And suddenly, that’s the only answer she needs before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips against his own.

Even though Harry Styles is Nora’s third first kiss, it’s the best one she’s had yet. It’s slow at first, just the gentle pressure of two sets of lips pressing against the other’s. It’s hesitant, timid, nervous, until Harry wraps his arm around Nora’s back, pulling her closer towards him so that their fronts are completely flushed. After that, it’s intense, passionate, frenzied.

His teeth nip at her lower lip until she opens her mouth ever so slightly, allowing his tongue to slip through. Once Nora gets the message, she opens her mouth wider, angling her head to the side so that she can slip her own inside of his mouth, the two fleshy organs tangling together causing a reverberating hum to break from the back of Harry’s throat.

The sounds cause Nora to still, and when she breaks away and notices the dark hue in Harry’s eyes, the exasperated breaths causing his chest to rise and fall sporadically, the bright pinkness of his lips—it’s all Nora needs to push Harry back into his seated position against her headboard, crawling over on her knees until her legs are straddling his hips. She slinks both hands through his wild hair until they connect at the back of his head, and their lips connect for a second time.

This time, Nora’s not shy to let her teeth clink against Harry’s in a mad rush to gain dominance over their kiss. This time, Harry’s not reticent to let his hands roam the expanse of her back, slipping them underneath the bottom of his baggy sweatshirt so that his fingers can dance against her flushed skin without a barrier in between.

Nora’s hands fall from Harry’s hair to his neck, to the chain that rests against the middle of his chest that’s exposed through the unbuttoned part of his henley, all the way down his stomach until her fingers play with the hem of his shirt. When her nails lightly scratch against Harry’s lower stomach where Nora knows the tips of two tattooed ferns lie, he gets the hint and unlocks their lips, reaching his hands over her own and pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Nora sits back on Harry’s thighs, watching how Harry throws his crumpled shirt somewhere on the floor of her dorm room without care. His hair is mussed from a combination of Nora’s fingers and the quick way he removed his henley, and when Nora’s eyes ogle at the two identical swallows underneath his collarbones, the small definition of his chest, the butterfly permanently drawn in the middle of his stomach, to the small trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his track pants—she’s hot all over.

Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and find that he’s suddenly nervous. He’s blinking up at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, and when the hands that rest against her hips start to fall ever so softly, Nora grips the bottom of Harry’s sweatshirt and lifts it over her head, throwing it against the floor.

She’s sitting there, against his hips wearing a simple nude bra, and Harry feels his breath constricting in his throat at the sight of her. Her lips are swollen and her fringe is frizzy and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her cheeks begin to flush, Harry’s hands reach behind her neck to bring her down to his face. And just before their lips meet for the third time, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” against her mouth, sealing it with his own so that she never forgets it.

Nora’s never done this before, but when Harry’s mouth falls to her neck and she accidentally grinds her hips into his own below in surprise, the groan that emits from his throat is practically feral. So, she does it again, her throat hitching when his teeth sink into the fleshy juncture of her shoulder and neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, and the other is resting on her hip. But when she grinds into him for the third time, he brings that hand up to the clasp of her bra, removing his lips from her neck and breathing against her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice sounding more strained than ever before. Nora finds that it’s unquestionably the hottest thing she’s ever heard, and when she brings her hands to rest on his searing chest, her nails scraping against his skin, the whine that falls from his lips might just be hotter.

“Yes,” Nora whispers back, holding her breath when his fingers easily undo the clasp, the straps sliding down her shoulders as the cups covering her breasts begin to fall. When she lowers her arms so that her elbows are no longer bent, the garment falls easily from her body and onto the mattress below.

Cautiously, she looks at Harry and finds that he’s looking into her eyes to make sure that she feels safe with him. The thought alone makes her nerves completely subside, and when she nods ever so slightly, Harry finally lets his eyes fall towards her chest. She watches him as he sits up, bringing his lips to the base of her throat as he places gentle kisses along the expanse of her neck, down to her sternum, until his lips are centimeters away from her breasts. When her fingers tangle into his curly hair, Harry peeks up at her briefly before placing his mouth around her right nipple, his hand softly massaging her left.

Nora’s head falls back and a moan tears through her throat, and it’s the first time that’s ever happened in her life. Harry stills, his lips moving slightly so that he can watch her, and it’s enough to make the bulge in his pants grow until it’s practically unbearable. His tongue continues to move down her body, kissing along the lines on her stomach until his hand moves to rub the fleshy part of Nora’s hips, hesitantly moving towards the front of her body. And when his right hand cups her legging-clad core, Nora’s hands halt in Harry’s hair, and he removes his lips from her body and looks at her.

“I don’t think I’m—” Nora pauses, her confident streak breaking. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Harry says softly, bringing his hand up to take a piece of her blonde hair that’s fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We can do something else if you’d like. But the second you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” He’s never been this patient with somebody before in his life, and somehow Nora can sense that. She’s incredibly grateful for Harry then, and once her breathing has regulated and she’s no longer anxious, she nods, pecking him softly on the lips.

Harry pecks her back once, twice, thrice until cupping his hand back against her front. He rubs her slowly then, and when Nora feels the stickiness from inside her underwear permeate through the thin material, she shudders against his body. His fingers curl into the waistband of her leggings, and after asking her for permission, she lifts her hips and her knees so that he can pull the black material halfway down her legs, leaving Nora in just her simple baby blue underwear.

Harry resumes his ministrations, causing Nora to wrap her arms around his neck, her elbows resting against his shoulders as her body quivers again. And when his fingertips sneak underneath the material, a long finger gently stroking her slit, Nora’s hands use Harry’s hair as an anchor as her forehead rests against his own as she emits a blissful sigh. Just before his finger slides in, he brings his lips against hers so that he can feel her moans hit the back of his throat.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward at first, and when her breath hitches in her throat and her lips break away from Harry’s, he pauses, looking at her with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

Nora looks at him, her hand ruffling his hair tenderly as she shakes her head. Grinning, Harry brings his lips back to hers, resuming pumping his finger inside of her.

After a few strokes, Nora starts to feel her rigid body unraveling, and suddenly she’s matching Harry’s rhythm as she grinds down onto his finger. When his wet thumb starts to circle her swollen mound, another moan rips from her throat, causing their kisses to halt.

“I love that,” Harry whispers against her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own and beginning to move his hand faster.

The stickiness is accruing inside her underwear and Nora can feel sweat brimming at the nape of her neck. She feels hot to the touch, and when Harry changes his thumb strokes from clockwise to counter-clockwise, a fluttering like no other vibrates through her lower stomach as she whines into his mouth.

“I think you’re close,” Harry says, bringing his hand that isn’t inside of her around her lower back to keep her steady. And when his finger curls and presses against a spongy spot inside of her, Nora feels the fluttering turn into a full-blown explosion, and suddenly her eyes close shut at the ferocity of it all.

Nora stills on top of him, feeling the stickiness begin to coat her inner thighs as a loud moan rips from her throat. Her hands move from Harry’s hair to his shoulder blades, and when she opens her eyes and realizes that her fingernails have carved crescent moons into the flesh, she immediately removes them.

The warmth has gone, and in its place, a numbing sort of calmness. Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear and when he looks up at her and sees her irises blown out and her cheeks pinkened and her lower lip indented by her front teeth, he grins smugly and kisses her softly.

“Alright?” he asks once her eyes have opened fully and she no longer is panting against his cheek.

Nora nods, a bit shy considering she just had her first orgasm and she’s not quite sure what to do next. She looks down and notices the bulge in Harry’s pants, and smiles at him unsurely. “If you tell me what to do, I can, er, help you out?”

Harry smirks, running a gentle hand through her hair and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Just, uh, give me a mo’. I’ll be right back,” he says softly, placing two hands on her hips and lifting her slowly so that she’s no longer straddling his waist.

When she pulls her leggings back on, the stickiness is far too uncomfortable between her thighs. Harry notices her wiggle on the mattress and chuckles to himself, finding it all too adorable. When he gets up from her bed, shifting his pants so that his erection is less painful, he turns towards Nora before crossing the hall into the communal bathrooms.

“Where do you keep your linens?” Harry asks from his position by her door. Confusedly, Nora points towards the wardrobe near her desk and he opens it slowly, grabbing a folded hand towel and passing it to her. She smiles softly, thanking him before watching him retreat into the hallway.

After Nora’s changed her underwear and put on a pair of sleep shorts, sliding Harry’s sweatshirt back over her body once her skin has cooled down, she gets back under the covers and turns her attention towards Notting Hill. Harry comes in a few minutes later, the front of his pants lacking a distinct bulge. He looks over and notices her lying comfortably in her bed, and when she moves her eyes from the screen to his figure standing in the doorway, a cute grin covers the lower half of her face.

“You coming to bed?” Nora asks, patting the spot on the mattress beside her. With a quick smile, Harry walks towards her, lifting his body over her own so that he can resume his position by the wall. And just as his arms are on either side of her body, his shirt still somewhere on her floor and his pants low on his hips, he sneaks a kiss from her lips before plopping down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders tightly.

“Think we can start this movie over?” Harry asks, playing with the ends of Nora’s hair that falls inside the hood of his sweatshirt.

Nora hits rewind, wondering if it’ll hurt falling asleep with a grin permanently stuck on her face.

The next morning, Nora wakes up feeling far too warm. Her backside is flushed completely with Harry’s front, and he’s spooning her tightly. His arms are wrapped securely around Nora’s stomach and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck in hot spurts, his nose brushing the spot underneath her ear. His curly hair is tickling the sides of her face and his legs are slotted between her own and Nora’s never been so tangled up with somebody else before.

And while it’s comforting, there’s no denying that Harry’s body heat is pervading through her skin, and when she wiggles to try and figure out a way to lower the duvet from underneath her chin, it causes Harry to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he subconsciously brings Nora’s body closer to his own, and when he finally does open his eyes fully, he notices how close they’ve gotten in the middle of the night. Harry’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow being wrapped up with Nora Priestley has caused him to have the best night’s sleep of his entire life.

“Morning,” she whispers, her chin resting on her left shoulder as she peeks at him behind her. Her blue eyes are foggy in the morning and her lips are beautifully swollen, and even though her hair is knotted and her cheeks have red jagged lines from her pillowcase all over them, he can’t help but grin back at her, finding her perfect.

“Hi,” he says back, his voice cracking from lack of use. They both roll over so that their backs are flat on the mattress. And just when Harry’s about to swing his arm over Nora’s shoulder to bring her closer to his body so that they can fall back asleep, his Blackberry rings loudly from the nightstand.

Before he can let it go to voicemail, he reaches around Nora’s body to grab it, gulping when he sees Alyssa’s name across the screen. Apprehensively, he brings the phone to his ear, ignoring the heat of Nora’s gaze against his cheek.

“Hello?” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“Baby! Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ll all be back on campus in, like, two hours. Our flight just landed. When will you get in?” Nails scraping down a chalkboard would be a better sound than the one he just heard through the speaker of his mobile. Because suddenly, his Nora Priestley bubble has popped. Their ten-day vacation has come to an abrupt end, and Harry can feel the panic begin to spread throughout his body.

“Harry? You there?” Alyssa asks, and it’s only then when Harry realizes he’s been deadly silent.

He coughs into his fist uncomfortably, before saying, “Hey, sorry. Uh, sounds good. My flight got in a few hours ago. I’m actually, er, pulling into campus now,” Harry lies. The familiar feeling of shame washes over him, and when he feels Nora slide out of bed beside him, a puzzled look falling across her face, he’s never felt worse in his life.

“Perfect! Can’t wait to see you, baby!” Alyssa squeals, and before Harry can respond, he hangs up the phone, tossing it purposelessly against the end of her bed.

It’s silent between the two, and not the sort of comfortable silence that they’ve grown accustomed to with each other. Instead, it’s heavy, weighing them both down until they feel fatigued under the burden of it all.

Nora knows deep down that this is it. The Harry she’s grown to adore the past ten days is no longer there. In its place is the cold, disheartening, lifeless Harry that she’s hated ever since he casted her out during the First Year Mixer almost four years ago. Just like with Connor, her romance with Harry is fleeting. It has an expiration date. And sadly, they’ve reached their end.

He doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t expect him to. He’s clearly tormented by all of this, getting out of her bed ploddingly as he scans the floor for his clothing from the night before. He’s distracted as he puts on his wrinkled Henley, slides on his boots without tying them, slips his arms inside his trench coat, and places everything else he can try to remember inside the pockets. And just before he leaves her room, he stops and turns, looking at her with those dull, green eyes from before.

This is it, Nora thinks, watching the way his eyes fall from her face towards his big sweatshirt on her body to her long legs hidden underneath her tiny sleep shorts. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to come back to bed. He’s going to—

“Can I have my jumper back?” Nora feels as if she’s just been kicked in the chest, air ripping from her lungs and falling into the space between her and Harry. She’s never felt so small in her life. And when his eyes are still dull and his foot begins to tap impatiently and he looks as if he’s about to burst, Nora knows this is truly it. The Harry she knows is officially gone.

Or maybe this is who Harry really is. And the version she got was just a figment of her imagination, an imposter Harry, a Harry that only existed within the ten days of Holiday break inside an empty Townbridge Academy.

With shaking hands, Nora rips the sweatshirt off her body, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a sports bra below. She flings the material at Harry’s chest, and she hopes that it diverts his attention from her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.

He sees everything, though. And without another word, he pivots on his foot, his back towards Nora as he enters the hallway and closes her door tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the sound of her crying through the heavy oak.

Nora should have expected it, in hindsight. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

This time around, it’s not like Carter Donnelly. Instead of spreading rumors to their classmates, Harry says nothing—not even a lie to his friends, not even a subtle brag about how he was the first person to ever see Nora Priestley come undone—nothing. He keeps quiet, barely looks at her, and goes about his life the way he always has—as Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the prodigal son, who always gets whatever he wants.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Harry has enough pressure in his life—pressure from his father, pressure from his friends, pressure from fucking everybody who looks his way. It’s enough to break somebody in half, so succumbing to both is easier than fighting them.

So when his friends come back to campus and resume their lives the way they always have, Harry can’t help but follow suit. Because telling them that he spent the past ten days with Nora Priestley is simply not an option, even if they were the best ten days he’s ever had. And it’s a heartbreaking realization, because even though Harry doesn’t really care for his friends that much, he still doesn’t want to disappoint them.

Whenever he passes by Nora in the hallway, he doesn’t bother looking in her direction. When he can feel her gaze on his back in AP English, he doesn’t turn around. And when he sees her sitting at the table in the dining hall that they deemed their own for ten days, he doesn’t say anything. He just feels his heart freezing over until it’s an icy block inside of his chest.

And when he’s taking pictures with Alyssa at prom and notices Nora’s pretty blue dress that makes her eyes shine, he almost feels the ice crack. But then she looks at him, for only the briefest of moments, and in that minuscule period of time, he can see the disappointment and anger in her eyes, and it’s enough to make the ice harden.

Harry tries to convince himself that when he’s standing on stage with Alyssa with a plastic crown on his head, he doesn’t notice a flurry of blue exit through the front door. Because when he looks out in the crowd and sees an empty spot near Lydia and Margot that Nora once filled, he knows for sure that the flurry of blue was her. And halfway through his dance with Alyssa, when he’s looking at her strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes and makeup-filled face and expensive purple dress, Harry feels empty inside. Because he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to be around her or his shitty friends anymore.

So he leaves.

But it’s too late—of course it’s too late. Because second chances don’t come to people like Harry, and it’s in Nora’s best interest for him to leave her alone. He’s caused enough hurt in her life, he’s done enough irreparable damage to last a lifetime.

During graduation, Harry tries his best to not look two rows ahead of him and stare at Nora in her red cap and gown. And when her name is called, he tries to ignore the singular cheer from the back of the Great Hall, the cacophonous finger whistle echoing off the walls following shortly after. He wonders if he’s the only person who can see the glimmer of pride in Nora’s eyes when she locates her mother in the back of the room. And when Alyssa scoffs under her breath from the row behind him, muttering a, “How fucking embarrassing,” to her friends, Harry turns around and tells her to fuck off.

As he’s stoically taking pictures with his mother and father in the quad after the ceremony, he sees Nora and her mother in his periphery. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than when she’s smiling with her mom, clinging to her so that they can share this moment together. And when he notices her mother’s matching blue eyes filled with pride, he looks at his own set of parents and wonders if they’ve ever looked at him like that before.

It’s almost enough to make the ice melt. But then his father is taking a business call and his mother is whisked away to talk about society functions with Alyssa’s mom, and Harry’s left standing there completely and utterly alone.

“That boy’s looking at you, Nora,” her mother says, eyes falling on somebody over Nora’s shoulder. “Do you know him?”

When Nora turns around and sees Harry standing there, green eyes full of hope and yearning and wonder, she doesn’t spare him a second look. Her head whips around just as quickly, looking at her mother with a small shake of her head.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Nora says, meaning every word.

And when she drives away from Townbridge for the final time, she’s suddenly brimming with happiness at the fact that she’ll never have to see those people again. And more importantly, she’ll never have to see Harry Styles for as long as she lives.

*** A/N: When I started writing Fade, it sort of ended up playing out in three acts. So with that, this is officially the end of Act One (and officially my favorite chapter of the entire high school years.) Let me know your thoughts and predictions, my inbox is always open for those who want to scream at me. It’s probably going to happen a lot with this story.

To make room for editing and ensuring I have enough written ahead of time for Act Two to keep with the weekly update schedule, (and because I sort of like the idea of separating things into acts because I’m annoying like that) I’ll be taking a week to sort everything out. Therefore, the next chapter and start of Act Two will be posted on Friday, March 12th. Until then, stay safe and be kind! x

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shinaus · 4 years

Note

Hello! I know it's a bit angsty, but could you please write headcanons about Shinso, Tokoyami and Todoroki (maybe also Tamaki?) and how they would resolve conflicts if they arose between the two of you? Considering that reader is quite soft and won't be angry or the person who likes to argue. Thank you!

A/N: oooohhhh this is some angsty shit but i’m honestly here for that, i’m happy to do all for but only the first three... emo gang rise up

resolving conflicts - shinso, tokoyami, todoroki and tamaki

shinso

i think he would be pretty direct when it comes to if you guys ever fight

he cares about you far too much to be able to hold any kind of grudge

will be completely understanding if you need any kind of space

won’t talk to you unless you want him to

even if you start the fight, he’ll do everything on your terms

he wants you to know that you have every right to be mad or upset with him if he does something wrong, since that’s the only real way the two of you will grow together in your relationship

but if he was the one to start it or snap at you i think he’d apologise immediately

although again, would give you space if you need to be away from him

depending on what it was about, he might even get a little insecure

he knows how he feels about you and is confident in the affections you hold for him, but sometimes it ends up eating at him a little

if he’s the one to kind of go off on his own and be silent for a while, then something is definitely wrong

anything you both say you know the other didn’t mean, but it doesn’t make it sting any less

eventually the two of you will talk it out, the distance will never last more than a day

shinso is also a very in the moment type of person, so i don’t think he’d be able to cope if the both of you were to go to bed without resolution

he never wants to be mad at you and vice versa, so he works hard to approach you and talk things out when he knows the time is right

“baby, do you think you’re ready to talk?” he asks softly, slowly making his way into the bed where you’re laying under the covers. nothing happens on his part until you give him a nod, once you do he’s slowly bringing you into his arms. with one arm wrapped securely around your waist, his free hand reaches up and runs through your hair slowly. “listen..” his voice drops low, almost unable to hear if he weren’t so purposely close to your ear.

“I’m really sorry about what happened, you know i didn’t mean the things that i said. i love you, and i’d really like to work this whole thing out if you’re willing to as well..” you can practically hear the sadness in his voice, knowing there isn’t a second that goes by where the both of you don’t want to be with each other. once you both talk it out you’re basically all good, staying in each others arms for the remainder of the night and likely falling asleep that way.

tokoyami

out of everyone, he’s the most direct

i don’t think toko often has a filter, he’s more than willing to speak his mind

it would be hard to get into a fight with him though

not that either of you would ever want to

but he would want the situation to be okay again the same second that it would turn sour

he, similar to shinso, would give you the space you need if either of you say something that cuts a little deeper than intended

will even offer to leave and give you time if you want it

in all honesty he is just a sweetheart and wants to do well by you

although he does end up overthinking a lot if he is to be left alone

as much as he understands that fighting in relationships and having opinions that might clash is normal, he always feels wrong for it

it’s never his intention to hurt you, so if you’re upset in any way even if it wasn’t his fault he would feel pretty defeated

once the two of you try and talk things out and get to apologising, you can almost see the relief rushing through him

might also unintentionally bring dark shadow out if he’s by himself, his thoughts being too full of how to fix what’s going on between the two of you to worry about his companion

although - dark shadow does comfort him, though he would rather have you in his arms again and happy

you are his top priority

so he makes quick work to seek you out again once things cool off

coming up to the door of your room, tokoyami lets out a breath to try and control his creeping nerves. “love?” he calls out softly as he opens the door, seeing you sat at the edge of your bed looking just as shaken up as he does. it takes no more than a second for him to be by your side, checking that you’re alright and that nothing is upsetting you. “i’m truly sorry for the things i said and if they caused you any distress, that was never and will never be my intention” he explains, holding your hands in his own and doing his best to maintain eye contact.

after the conflict is resolved, he’s never away from you for the entire rest of the night - he also has a habit of trying to spoil you in times like this. any kind of affection you’d like? you’ve got it without question. need anything? he’s getting up from bed to get it for you. want to go out and make plans or stay in the room to watch movies? he’s happy either way, as long as you’re close to him.

todoroki

right off the bat i feel bad for saying this

but todoroki just

doesn’t handle conflict well

at all

that’s not to say he doesn’t try, but it’s just something he grew up never properly dealing with

i also think he shuts himself off quite a bit whenever you guys fight, purely because he’s built up his defences as to not get hurt

some of his words will end up stinging more than he intends because of this, his main goal being that nothing comes for his heart and jabs at it like he always fears

but seeing you so upset sets something off in him, he doesn’t understand how he can be so saddened by what you say but also want nothing more than to just protect you

it’s obvious earlier on in your relationship that he avoids fighting with you for this reason

meaning he’ll usually go along with whatever you say

but having someone be like that with you only does so much

it makes that aspect of your relationship feel pretty in-genuine

so if you guys didn’t eventually fight about it, chances are the rift would have furthered between the two of you

i think it would take him a while to figure his feelings out, but there would eventually be some guilt that comes

he’d regret almost all of what he says, wondering if the way he snapped at you was just his projections of fights from his family

so he’d go to find you immediately

todoroki is almost frantic as he looks for you, after you walked away from him and claimed you needed time alone to think his thoughts started to spiral a bit. what if this was you realising that you could probably do better? that you would leave him? though all of those thoughts leave him as soon as he sees you. without even thinking of if you’re still made he rushes you, bringing you into a tight hug and nuzzling his nose against the side of your neck.

“i’m sorry...” he whispers, thankful when he feels you lean into him and reciprocate his hug. “my anger and selfishness got the better of me and i upset you, i promise i’ll be more mature in the future...” he adds, one hand now going into your hair. after the two of you break away he apologises again, then once more as you take him back to your room and lay down with him in your arms. he’ll eventually learn to adjust to the dynamic of all relationships having moments like that, and he’s thankful you’re willing to give him time.

tamaki

tamaki’s kind of hurts the most to write tbh

because i just know it wouldn’t go well

the other boys typically might get more angry but feel guilt and remorse obviously

but with tamaki i can’t help but think he would get so upset

enough things in life make him question his abilities, so if he hurts you?

he thinks he’s royally fucked up

neither of you could leave the room after the two of you might, mostly since you’re both aware that he would get anxious and panic which you’d never want for him

so both of your backs would be facing away from the other as you lie in bed

tamaki does already end up starting to spiral, but for your sake he does his best to stay calm and let each of you cool off

chances are he is the most likely to cry in situations like this, but i highkey don’t wanna think about that

the silence wouldn’t last long between the two of you

the obvious amounts of love and care linger around even if there’s tension strung within it

his hand would reach blindly behind him and sit against your thigh to indicate he’s ready to talk when you are

or he would turn around first and reach up to run the hand through your hair

once you’re ready he would be there waiting for you, a small smile on his face no matter how he feels so that you don’t worry too much about him

“tamaki..” is all you have to say, before his eyes squeeze shut and he brings you into his arms without much thought. it catches you off guard for the most part, but it’s obvious to see he was holding back from it and missed the physical contact that always keeps him so reassured. the string of apologies that leave his mouth are nothing out of the ordinary, so you hold his head to your chest and talk to him softly to help bring him back down to earth.

of course you forgive him, as well as him you since he could never stay mad at you for any reason. he understands that this happens in relationships and people get upset, although that doesn’t mean he wants to like or get used to it. you’re lucky if you get to leave his arms until the next day, since all he wants is to be close to you and remind you that no matter how many times the two of you may not see eye to eye - he’ll love you no matter what.

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6sakusa · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I please make a request for Konoha?? Can it be super angsty where y/n is a second year and have been a Fukurodani manager since first year and he’s had a crush on them since they first showed up. Him and y/n are super close but he knows Akaashi or someone else on the team. He constantly puts their feelings above his own, listening to them ramble about their crush to him even tho it hurts him because he’s scared of rejection. One day he tells y/n to confess and they get rejected and he has to comfort them. The ending is up to you, angst or fluff. (Also can you make y/n super short like 4’9??? Oh and any pronouns are fine it doesn’t have to be gender neutral)

‘lost’ konoha akinori ft akaashi keiji.

a/n : so i kinda put my own twist on this, i hope that’s okay! if you like please support by reblogging and liking.

warnings : angst, love triangle, mild swearing, me not proof reading.

“you’re still going on about that short stack?” konoha grinned as you gushed over akaashi, of course deep down it stung. everytime he had made you smile the silver haired boy swore he could feel his heart breaking but for you, his bestfriend, of course he would put on a brave face.

besides, it was inevitable that the two of you would meet the second you had taken on the role as fukurodani’s manager in first year. konoha slightly regrets pushing you to take on the position, he had thought it would allow the two of you to spend more time together but instead it practically secured your position in akaashi’s arms.

what made things worse is he could never bring himself to hate the setter, he was an amazing friend and teammate, he was smart, handsome and funny, it was definitely understandable why you were so infatuated with him. regardless, akaashi had never even known about his crush on you so it wasn’t even like he was violating the bro code or anything.

“it’s hard to stop when he looks that good.” you leaned back slightly on your chair, you and konoha were at the back of the classroom observing the scene in front of you which was quite literally akaashi being perfect, as usual.

“you really like him huh?” he turned to you raising an eyebrow. he hated the way he had to sound so encouraging as if he ever wanted you to be with someone else. it was something he almost couldn’t stand to see but you deserved to be happy and what kind of bestfriend would he be if he stood in the way of that. “have you been head over heels for him this entire year?” amusement was laced in his voice now, but he wasn’t laughing, none of this was even slightly funny.

“no uhh, i liked someone before but i don’t think he liked me back.” you chuckled awkwardly missing the way konoha scowled.

great, he thought. not only did you like one boy but two and neither of them were him.

wrong — he’s wrong but he doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know how it was him that you liked. but he was your bestfriend. how could you put him in such a position where he probably didn’t want to be in. if he liked you he would’ve obviously said it by now right? there was no way you would risk your friendship with him, the single most important person in the world. it hurt back then but you had to bury those feelings. akaashi always seemed to be there to help with that.

“he didn’t like you back? what an idiot.” konoha snickered. little did they know, you both thought.

“well the past is the past right? why don’t you confess to akaashi? you’ve been talking about him for quite a while now.” as the words tumbled out of his mouth he felt sick to his stomach, but he needed to see you happy, he had to. your wellbeing was far more important than his, if akaashi could make you smile then that’s all he needed to know he was telling you the right thing.

oh.. you were right about konoha not liking you back, you thought. otherwise why would he push you to confess to akaashi. you were being dumb, seriously dumb. this was embarrassing .. did you seriously think all this gushing over akaashi would make your bestfriend realise his feelings for you? that’s right, he doesn’t have feelings for you. otherwise why was he pushing you in the arms of another man.

anyways maybe he was right, maybe you should march up to akaashi instead, he was a great guy and he was sure to treat you right.

“right now?” you cocked your eyebrow, your face whipping to face your bestfriend as your cheeks flushed in nervousness.

“might as well, go on.” he bit back the longing feeling to tell you how much he loved you since the two of you had first met, how he never wanted to see you with akaashi, how he wanted you in his arms more than anything. he was a coward, one who was afraid of ruining your friendship, and he hated himself for it.

“wish me luck.” you took a deep breath before approaching the setter, your bestfriend behind you watching eagle-eyed.

“akaashi?” he looked up at the sound of his name, a smile etching onto his lips the moment he realised it was you. suddenly, you had his full and undivided attention which was not an easy feet to achieve. it was clear to anyone who had two pairs of eyes how much akaashi favoured you, the only other people he really held to the same standard of friendship was his teammates.

“y/n, don’t tell me you didn’t do the homework again.” he chuckled as he pulled out a seat for you to sit on. “what a gentleman.” konoha muttered seeing the twinkle in your expression at his simple action.

“no i— i want to tell you something.” you fiddled with your fingers, you weren’t usually this shy. in fact with akaashi you almost never were. in all honesty in the time you had known him you had been quite snarky, not to say he didn’t like it. maybe that was one of the reasons he had found you so entertaining. many times the setter could be quiet himself, it was always fun having someone different around. much like him and bokuto.

so when your expression changed and your body language shifted awkwardly he definitely picked up on it. especially the way you refused to make eye contact.

“is something wrong? you know y/n if you’ve gotten yourself in any kind of trouble i’m here to help.” he brought your hands in his searching for any clue of your next words in your eyes.

“that’s not it— it’s just that.. akaashi, i like you. and not just as friends but in a romantic way.” you were talking so fast that if he wasn’t listening so attentively he would’ve missed half the words you were saying.

at your confession his eyes shifted to konoha for a split second at the back of the classroom. it was so quick that the silver hair boy hadn’t even realised but keiji had caught the expression on his face. the one of heartbreak and longing. to him, it was obvious how much the two of you liked eachother so he was almost taken aback by this entire ordeal. and why was konoha just watching? why wasn’t he stopping you? to make matters even worse akaashi had feelings for you too, so.. what would his next move be?

“y/n... i’m sorry but i don’t think i can maintain a relationship right now, you know with volleyball and classes it’s ju—“

“it’s okay akaashi.” you cut him off quickly not wanting to hear the next words and feel them sting your chest. “you don’t have to explain yourself.. i— i’m sorry.” you stood up leaving the classroom calmly. no one would even be able to tell that anything was wrong, except your bestfriend of course who was watching with a whole new anger flearing up inside him. of course he couldn’t force akaashi to like you back but the fact that he had pushed you to confess which just resulted in you getting your heart trampled on really made him want to.

“what the hell man?” konoha marched up to him, his hands coming down onto the table with a firm grip. “why did you reject her? it’s obvious that you like her.” he grit his teeth searching the setters face for any remorse.

“you don’t understand.” akaashi’s expression remained the same as usual and it was grinding konoha’s gears. couldn’t he see what he was doing to you?

“there’s nothing to understand—“ he was cut off by keiji’s stoic tone. “she’s your bestfriend right? you should go after her.” he sighed closing his textbook as he moved to walk away.

“don’t say it like that man, don’t pretend she’s not your friend too, doesn’t she matter to you?” konoha grabbed onto the setters sleeve stopping him from leaving.

akaashi can admit, he was shocked by this action, it was obvious how much he liked you but was he really prepared to start a fight over it, much less with his own friend? he was right when he said that konoha didn’t understand. he was right when he said that he liked you but akaashi couldn’t help but think about how selfish it was for him to have you all to himself while your bestfriend loved you. and as much as you pretended you didn’t you loved him back.

“it’s raining outside and she’s going to get a cold if she goes out there, so go after her.” he brushed your bestfriends hand away with a scoff. maybe one day the both of you would get it.

konoha let go turning to the doors which led into the outdoor school courtyard. raining was an understatement. it was pouring right now and he couldn’t help but wonder how you were bearing out here with your school skirt and knee high socks.

“y/n..” he spotted you, head held low in shame, sitting on a bench under the foul weather as if there was nothing but sunshine in the desolate sky. “i didn’t know that would happen-“

“i don’t wanna talk right now.” you sighed bringing yourself to face him.

“i know but you can’t stay out here.” he moved closer allowing himself to drape his jacket over your shoulders. it wouldn’t do much help since you were already drenched but he couldn’t stand the sight of you wallowing in pity. plus whether you cared to acknowledge it or not it was pretty cosy, well it should be considering it was a few sizes too big for you.

first konoha, now akaashi.. you ought to stop falling for guys who don’t share the same feelings you do about them. something about this rejection hurt more than you had expected it too. maybe it’s because you felt the rejection of both of them in akaashi’s words. the realisation that not only one, but two dont like you back. you had never had that heart wrenching moment with konoha but now here it was, even if it wasn’t his words it all hurt the same.

double heartbreak huh? how tragic.

but you could be better than this, you could get over them both.. granted you would need a some time. seeing them during practice all the time probably wouldn’t help but you could power through if you wanted to. there was no point sitting here crying on a bench when the only person here to comfort you was one of the reasons you were hurting so bad.

“i don’t want this.” you slipped off his jacket handing it back to him. “i’m sick of feeling like this i just— i really thought — i don’t even know.. i’m an idiot.” you chuckled bitterly.

“what are you saying? you’re not an idi-“

“i’m sorry konoha but i think — i think i want some time alone.” your words came out shaky and uneven, it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure and even he was noticing it.

“time alone? you’re not in your right mind how long would you even want to be alone for..” he said while trying to shove his jacket back over you but you pulled away every time. he doesn’t even know the affect he has on you huh.. he’s just trying to be a good friend. nothing more. nothing less.

“permanently.” you finally stood, this time you would choose yourself.

and there he stood unmoving, konoha with the most broken expression on his face, if it wasn’t for the rain you would’ve maybe noticed the tear that escaped his eyes. he could barely process the word you had just said as you walked away slowly while he stood there, frozen. he wanted nothing more than to call out to you but his voice was nonexistent, it felt like his windpipe was closing in on him, without you he couldn’t breathe.

while all you could think was of course he didn’t come after me, he doesn’t care that much.. just a friend nothing more nothing less.

when he finally regained his senses the most he could do was fall back onto the bench you once sat on. akaashi that idiot, how could he not see what was right in front of him.. the perfect girl. he gritted his teeth at the thought. akaashi was an idiot.

meanwhile he didn’t notice the setter staring at the whole ordeal through the window proclaiming the same thing about him. why didn’t he just confess his feelings? how could he be so stupid.

and you, so blind to the truth had just cut off the two people who considered your feelings the most.. who was the biggest fool? it was impossible to decide.

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immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

Text

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.…

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp tubbo #mild angst #tw mentions of abuse #borrower!tommy #the lads are orphans #the start of found family #dream smp borrower au #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Ten: When it Rains

a/n: hi besties!! This one is... tough I’m ngl to y’all. It is the second to the last chapter which is so wild to think about, but alas all good things must come to an end. Hopefully you don’t hate me too much by the end of it but feel free to vent in my inbox :))) much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor, ANGST (!!)

Word Count: 7.4 k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine

“Is that my shirt?”

“No,”

Alani squints at the cartoon bee printed on Harry’s white t-shirt and crosses her arms in disbelief.

“Yes it is! I’ve been looking for it everywhere,”

“Don’t worry, you can have it back soon,” he admits, crawling back into his bed with an apologetic kiss to her pouting lips. “Doesn’t smell like you anymore,”

“Thief,”

Harry scoffs and props himself up on an elbow. “Don’t act like my Spice World jumper isn’t hanging at the foot of your bed right now,”

“You left it there,” Alani defends. “I was merely being kind and looking after said hoodie because it was abandoned by its owner,”

“Oh yeah and you’ve fought real hard to reunite us,”

“Can we get back to the main issue at hand? Which is that I’m kinda pissed off that you look better in that shirt than I do.”

Harry chuckles to himself and presses an affectionate kiss to her temple. “You’re too kind.”

Alani rests her cheek against his chest and listens to the rain pattering harshly against the window, admiring the flashes of lightning that illuminate the dimly lit room. Harry had convinced her to stay the night, worried about her driving home alone in the storm, and he was met with very little resistance. Secretly, he thanks the rain gods for allowing him another night to hold her close.

********

“H, you gotta tell her,” Jeff had warned the previous night. “I already pushed the flight back a week—”

“I know,” Harry huffed. “I just need a little more time.”

Jeff sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “You have until this weekend when we go away with the girls. One week in Maui, and then it’s back home. I’m sorry.”

********

Harry’s stomach turns remembering the conversation, but he decides to push all the nagging thoughts to the back of his mind and focus on the present.

“You all packed?” he asks, trailing his fingers up and down her arm.

Alani drapes her leg over his hip and nods. “Been packed since last week.”

She had been ecstatic the day after Mila and Chad’s wedding when Harry invited her to tag along on the couple’s trip with Jeff, Tom, and their significant others. His eagerness to include her in his friend group was not only reassuring, but exciting. It felt like their lives were coming together, even more so after she had introduced him to her parents. They, of course, had adored him and quickly given their seal of approval. While Alani knew that it was ultimately her choice, it still felt good to have support from the most important people in her life, and she hoped to win his friends over just as easily. Harry, on the other hand, had no doubts that she would fit right into his chosen family. Her name had been cautiously dropped during a weekly FaceTime call with his mother and sister, and he was overjoyed when they enthusiastically grilled him for details.

What Harry was less sure of, however, was how Alani would react upon hearing that his vacation was up and that he would be headed back to L.A. in a week’s time. It was still early in their relationship and an indeterminate break seemed less than ideal. He had tried to convince both Jeff and the label that he could finish the album in Hawaii, but the same couldn’t be said for Jeff Bhasker, Mitch, Tom, and his new bassist, Adam, who all had families waiting for them back on the mainland. It was too risky personally and financially, so Harry reluctantly negotiated one last week to persuade Alani that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t be a death sentence.

“What d’you wanna watch?” he asks, sitting up against the headboard to turn on the T.V.

Alani sighs and settles deeper into his side. “When Harry Met Sally,”

“But it’s not Christmas or New Year’s,”

“So?”

“So,” Harry explains. “We have to wait ‘til the holidays, wouldn’t be right otherwise,”

Alani scoffs and peers up at him with a judgemental look. “So I guess Serendipity is also out of the question?”

“We’ll have all Christmas to get through that list, darlin’,”

Her stomach flips at his suggestion of their future holiday plans. Privately, she had wondered about such things, as well, including what gifts she might get him or where they would spend the holidays. Though still months away, it suddenly felt within reach.

“Fine,” Alani softens. “The Notebook,”

“And let you drool over what’s-his-face?” Harry pokes. “No fuckin’ way,”

Alani pinches his side and sits up. “Would you stop being insecure about that? I’ve already told you I was just kidding that time,”

“Yeah well, it still stings,”

“Why don’t you tell me your celebrity crush? You know, so I can be totally fine about it because it doesn’t mean anything,”

Harry shrugs, the corners of his lips turning into a playful smirk. “Don’t have one,”

“Liar,”

“M’serious,”

“Why, because you’ve already dated them?”

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “That was a bit snippy,”

Alani’s muscles tighten. She hadn’t realized that his dating history was a sore spot, but she takes a deep breath and plants a sweet kiss to his jaw as an offering of peace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,”

“S’alright. Truce?”

“Deal,”

“Jennifer Aniston,”

“Huh?”

“My celebrity crush,” Harry explains shyly. “When I was younger,”

Alani giggles lightly. “I see. Good taste, she’s hot,”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna leave me for her too,”

“I just might,”

“Can’t say that I blame you,”

“Look I know this is a cute little bit we do,” Alani sits up, her gaze dead-set on Harry’s to communicate the seriousness behind her words. “But I just want you to know that I feel so lucky to be with you. I’m not going anywhere any time soon,”

Harry swallows harshly. It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear and it kills him that he can’t return the sentiment with full honesty. A little less than a week is all he has to prove that even though he physically has to go, his heart will remain wherever Alani is. “Me either,”

Another round of thunder booms outside and the lights fizzle out, leaving the room completely dark save for the intermittent flashes of lightning that gently illuminate the room.

“So much for watching a movie, huh?” Alani sighs.

“I think I know some other ways we can keep ourselves entertained.”

********

Harry sets a steaming cup of tea down onto the table in front of Alani and she looks up from her tube of nail polish curiously. Harry flashes a dimpled grin in her direction and whistles a familiar tune, one that she had heard in the studio when he was busy doing his Bob Dylan impression.

“What’re you singing?”

“Hm?”

“The song,” she clarifies. “You were singing it the other day, what is it?”

Harry serves her plate of hash browns and shrugs. “Dunno, just a little tune ‘ve been workin’ on,”

“It’s nice,”

“Thanks, sweets,” he offers, setting her food down and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey Alani,” Jeff interrupts, stepping into the kitchen with his cellphone pressed to his shoulder.

“Glenne wants to know if you’re okay with her setting up a spa thing for you guys,”

"Yeah, definitely,” Alani perks up.

“Cool, thanks.”

“Look at you,” Harry teases, taking a bite of his toast coated in strawberry jam. “Minglin’ with the girls,”

“They’re not even here yet,”

He scans over her appearance and his brows furrow, hit with the sudden realization that she’s dressed in formal attire.

“What’s with the fancy outfit”

“I have a meeting, remember?”

“With?”

Alani blows on her freshly painted nails and holds up her other hand for Harry to do the same.

“My senior advisor. We’re going over my research project,”

Harry’s brows raise. “Smarty-pants,”

Alani had scheduled her meeting with Dr. Hudson months ago and had, truthfully, forgotten all about it until she had received a courtesy email the day prior. She had been working on her proposal in the spare minutes she had away from Harry, which were few and far between, but she knew the initial meeting would be much more casual. Alani checks the time on her phone and stands quickly when she realizes that she is supposed to meet Dr. Hudson in less than thirty-minutes.

“Gotta go,” she offers, shoveling potatoes into her mouth and grabbing her bag.

Harry ceases blowing on her nails and kisses the back of her hand before sticking out his lips for a kiss of his own. “Good luck, darlin’. Meet me at the studio after?”

“Sure thing, sunshine. See you later.”

********

“How did the Joni Mitchell piece go? You never told me,” Dr. Hudson questions, taking a sip of her coffee.

Alani offers a shy smile and toys with the hem of her skirt. “A flop,”

“Just one more closer to the winner,”

“Yeah,” Alani sighs, stirring her smoothie. “Maybe it’s time to move on from that,”

The professor shoots her a disapproving look and sets her drink down. “Alani—”

“I just think maybe there’s more realistic—”

“You are not giving up,” Dr. Hudson reassures her. “You’ve come too far and you’re a terrific writer. One of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. These things take time,”

Alani nods gently, her lips pursed in a tight smile. “Thank you, that really means a lot,”

“What are you working on right now?”

Absolutely nothing, Alani thinks, but then she remembers the half-written article about Harry sitting in her files.

“A short piece about… a local musician,”

Dr. Hudson’s brows raise, intrigued, and she nods. “That sounds interesting. Definitely more personal,”

You have no idea. “Thanks. I mean, it’s not really anything—”

“I’d love to read it when you’re finished,” the professor continues. “What’s the scope?”

Alani thinks, trying not to give too much incriminating detail about her subject or their relationship.

“Well,” she starts, hesitant. “He’s writing new music and working on his first album. I guess I kind of want to follow his journey and redefinition of success in the music industry,”

Dr. Hudson hums. “I love it. Send me a draft.”

Alani swallows and takes a minute to consider the offer. Surely there couldn’t be anything wrong about sharing her work privately with her advisor. She had been so excited about the potential of the article when it was first started, but it had since been neglected like so many of her other rejected pieces. Starting again seemed exciting, and she knew that Harry would be pleased to play such an important role in making her dreams come true. That had, after all, been the initial terms of their agreement.

“Okay,” Alani accepts. “I will.”

********

Harry draws out the last note and Mitch lets the chord ring between them for a moment.

“I think that’s the one,”

“Yeah, I liked that progression better,”

“Hope you got that, Bhasker,” Mitch calls to Jeff in the sound booth, who gives a thumbs up in response.

Harry continues humming, his head still bobbing to the tune, when he hears the studio door creak unpleasantly. His eyes shoot up to find Alani wincing and timidly stepping into the room.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,”

He softens and beckons her over. “Never an interruption, sweets,”

Alani slots herself between his legs and wraps her arms around his neck, giving a gentle peck to the tip of his nose before pressing their lips together.

“How’s the weather?”

“Just got a lot sunnier,”

“Meeting go well?”

She nods and twists a lock of his chestnut hair between her fingers. “Yeah, actually,”

“Then we should celebrate!” Harry perks up, peppering a kiss to her cheek. “Dinner, wine, movie, the whole shebang,”

Alani frowns, thinking back to the article she promised Dr. Hudson. “Hmmm, raincheck?”

Her boyfriend deflates. “You’re ditching me?”

“Just for one night,” she explains, pulling him closer. “I wanna finish up some school stuff before our trip. Otherwise I won’t be able to give you my full attention,”

Harry pouts, but he nods understandingly. “‘Kay,”

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I’ll miss you tons,”

“Ditto, sweets,”

Alani presses her forehead against his and her fingertips wander through the growing curls at the nape of his neck. “Please don’t be upset,”

Harry smiles warmly and smoothes his hands up and down her back. “Never, m’love. Could never be upset with you,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, planting a sweet kiss to her lips. “Hey, I wanna play you somethin’,”

Alani grins and pulls back a bit to read his expression. “Let’s hear it,”

Harry grabs the guitar next to him and slings it over his shoulder before adjusting the capo. The song starts sweet and gentle, his voice light to match the tune.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It’s hard when we argue

We’re both stubborn I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Alani watches in awe as he pours so much emotion behind every word, his vocals effortlessly powerful and rich. She claps when the song finishes and leans in for a kiss.

“I love it,”

“S’not finished yet,” Harry shrugs, still fiddling with the strings. “Just the chorus right now,”

“Will you teach it to me?”

His brows raise in surprise. “You play?”

“No,” Alani admits. “But I have a feeling you’re a good teacher,”

“Well, let’s see what you got,”

Alani turns and Harry props the guitar in her lap, his arms wrapping around her as he guides her into the right position. His left hand demonstrates the beginning chord and she replaces his fingers on the fretboard to try for herself. She strums and the beginning note resonates in near-perfect pitch.

“Hey,” Harry beams. “You’re a regular Hendrix,”

He continues positioning her fingers over the right spaces and letting her strum, humming the lyrics softly into the shell of her ear.

“We don’t argue that much,” Alani defends playfully.

Harry chuckles and kisses her temple. “Maybe not, but we’re really good at makin’ up.”

“Easy, Styles.”

********

Harry: Hungry?

Alani peels her eyes away from the computer screen and reads the message lighting up her phone.

Alani: Not really

Harry: …

Harry: oh

She laughs and pads over to the window. Sure enough, Harry holds up two bags and flashes a cheesy grin down below.

“Need a study break?”

“I’ll meet you at the door.”

Harry makes himself comfortable in the middle of her bed and unpacks the bags.

“I’ve got a California and a spicy tuna for my favorite girl,” he announces. “With a side of eel sauce,”

“And the world's best boyfriend goes to Mr. Harry Styles,” Alani grins, taking a seat next to him.

He smirks and pulls out his own order of miso soup and sushi. “How’s the homework comin’ along?”

“Not too shabby,”

“Glad to hear it,”

“Hey, what time do I meet you at the airport tomorrow?” she asks, dipping her roll in the sauce.

Harry freezes and turns to her with confusion written all over his face. “I’m sorry, did my girlfriend just insinuate that we’re not leaving for the airport together?”

“I really need to finish this,” Alani explains. “It’s almost there,”

“Two nights?” he complains.

Alani nudges him with her shoulder and shakes her head. “We’re gonna be spending an entire week together, non-stop. You’re gonna get sick of me,”

“Never,” Harry rebuts. “Not possible,”

“Just one more night,” Alani bargains. “Then I’m all yours, no interruptions.”

He nods and takes a sip of his soup. “Alright, deal.”

You have to tell her, Jeff’s voice rings in his mind.

********

The airline stewardess ushers Harry and Alani to their seats while Scott and Miles settle down a few rows behind. She didn’t know exactly what to expect from first-class, but suddenly the perks of having a famous boyfriend increased tenfold by the sight of their luxurious accommodations.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Alani asks while Harry hovers over his chair.

“Sitting, or I was about to,”

“And you’re not even gonna offer rock-paper-scissors for the window seat?”

Harry shakes his head with an amused chuckle. “No because I already know that you’re gonna get up to pee every five minutes,”

“Not true,”

“It is too true and it’s exactly why we can’t cuddle while we fall asleep,”

“Or maybe the reason is because I’m claustrophobic and I just don’t wanna hurt your feelings,”

Harry frowns. “Really?”

“No,” Alani admits, taking the aisle seat. “I just said that so you’d give me the window,”

“Get up, we’re switching,”

“Thank you, sunshine! You’re the best,”

Harry slumps into his new chair and crosses his arms. “Forty-five minutes and we’re already fighting like an old married couple,”

“Oh really?” Alani smirks. “Is that what old married couples argue about? Who gets the window seat?”

“And leaving the toilet seat up, going antique shopping—”

“—What old married couples have you been hanging out with—?”

“—Picking up the kids from school,”

Alani presses a kiss to his shoulder and rests her head in the crook of his neck. Her eyelids are still heavy from staying up the night before, but her article was completely finished and sent off to Dr. Hudson just like she’d promised. Now, she could enjoy her vacation free of any worry or obligation, completely focused on the perfect boy still rambling next to her.

“But, obviously I mean that doesn’t count, right?” Harry asks, craning his neck and smiling softly when he sees that his girlfriend has already dozed off. He kisses the top of her head gently and lets his own eyes flutter close with a deep, contented breath.

********

“And then I’ll have to repaint it, but I haven’t decided on a color yet,” Glenne explains to Alani as they stroll through the airport.

Alani hums. “It was your grandmother’s?”

“Well, it was somebody’s grandmother’s. We picked it up at this little antique shop in Santa Monica.”

Jeff escorts Glenne into the shuttle car while Harry and Alani share a knowing look and stifle their laughter. They shuffle into the back seats as Tom and his wife, Jenny, claim the middle row.

“So you’re a journalist?” Jenny asks, turning in her seat eagerly to face Alani.

“Not quite,” she explains with a polite smile. “Still a student, but hopefully someday,”

Jenny nods and twirls the ring around her finger. “Sounds exciting. Maybe you can hitch a ride on tour with this one and do some writing there.”

“Yeah,” Alani smiles, settling further into Harry’s side. “Maybe.”

The idea of traveling the world with Harry and being a part of the excitement of touring the album was something she had considered briefly, but hadn’t allowed herself to fully indulge until this moment. It was already thrilling to see him polish the songs he had begun during his trip, but she could only imagine how much more special it would be to see him perform them for the rest of the world. A twinge of jealousy sparks at the thought of having to share any part of him with the public, but Alani knows that his gifts are much too special to keep all for herself. Harry was golden and he deserved to shine in all of his radiant glory. That was exactly what she had penned in her article, and she said it not because he was her boyfriend and there were clear personal investments, but because she knew it was true even before he had shown any romantic interest in her.

“What’s tour like?” Alani pipes up as Harry watches the landscape out his window.

He considers it for a moment and clears his throat. “Fun, mostly. Can be tiring,”

“Lots of partying and adoring fans?”

“No,” he chuckles to himself. “Not so much the partying. Enthusiastic fans, sure,”

Alani narrows her eyes. “No partying?”

“Nope,” Harry reiterates. “Don’t really like to do all that stuff when I’m working. Also just didn’t wanna…”

He trails off and Alani waits a beat to see if he’ll continue. “Didn’t wanna?”

“Fuck it up,” he finishes. “You know, like, be the one who ruined a good thing for a little bit of fun.”

She lets his words settle in, rubbing a reassuring circle on the back of his hand. “Makes sense. Sounds really responsible of you to do that.”

Harry presses a soft kiss to her temple and resumes his study of the scenery. They chat amongst their friends for the remainder of the drive and Alani immediately presses Glenne and Jenny for information about her boyfriend in his younger years. They indulge her inquiries and ask their own questions, deciding privately after a few minutes that her and Harry are a good fit.

When the group arrives at the resort, Glenne takes charge and instructs them all to meet at the lobby for lunch in twenty minutes. They collect their keys and head up to their respective rooms, which are all located on the very top floor.

“What a view,” Alani muses as she takes in the sight from their private balcony.

Harry admires the wonder on her face and nods, his eyes not leaving her side profile. “You’re tellin’ me,”

“Let’s never go home,” she poses, arms snaking around his torso. “Let’s stay here forever, just me and you,”

His throat tightens as he thinks back to the inevitable conversation waiting for them. Harry didn’t know why it was so hard to think about leaving because he had every intention of keeping touch and making their relationship work at all costs. But there was a part of him, a very tiny recess in the back of his mind, that feared the possibility of Alani not feeling the same.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “Whatever you want, sweets,”

Alani senses a shift in his demeanor, but she can’t read it. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Harry swallows, mustering up a small smile. “But I am hungry,”

She isn’t entirely convinced that there isn’t something bothering him, but she decides not to push it and tightens her grip around his waist, instead.

“Race you to the lobby.”

“You’re on.”

********

“You’ve never seen Finding Nemo?”

“Was I s’posed to?”

“My god,” Alani marvels. “You know, I’m starting to believe those rumors that you were grown in a lab,”

Harry’s brow raises and he blinks. “That I was what?”

The restaurant that Glenne and Jeff chose features an aquarium tunnel at the entrance, much to both Harry and Alani’s excitement. Fish, large and small, swim around them and the pair take turns pointing out their favorite colorful species. The Hull’s snap photos for their four year-old daughter, but Jenny also secretly captures one of Harry and Alani with their hands clasped under the mesmerizing blue lighting as a keepsake for her friend.

“Add Finding Nemo to our movie list,” Alani says, admiring a clownfish that swims close to the glass.

“S’it gonna make me cry?”

“Probably,”

“Goddamnit,”

Alani giggles softly and turns her head away from the glass to silently observe Harry under the lighting of the rippling water. The combination of his serene features and the sound of Billie Holiday’s I’ll Be Seeing You over the sound system creates a perfect image in her mind, one that makes her afraid to blink, lest it be gone forever. Harry glances over at her through the corner of his eye and his lips curl.

“Checkin’ me out?”

“Always,”

“Like whatcha see?”

“Love it.”

His heart nearly stops at her words, but before he has a chance to process their implication, the hostess calls on their group.

“And I’ll have the piña colada,” Harry orders once they're seated.

“Oh my god, H,” Glenne laughs from across the table. “That reminds me, remember your birthday last year when James got trashed and hoarded the karaoke machine for, like, two hours?”

“Ruined that song forever,” Jeff quips, reliving the memory of the Late-Late host drunkenly serenading the entire party with the same song on repeat.

Harry cringes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I try not to,”

Alani watches as they reminisce on the event, adding their own details and pieces to the puzzle. It’s amusing to watch, but a small part of her also has to fight the pang of exclusion settling into the pit of her stomach. She feels guilty for being affected by it knowing, logically, that it isn’t intentional or malicious in any way. Still, Alani is painfully reminded of the vast differences between their worlds. Harry had gotten to know practically every part of her life, including her family, but there was still so much that she didn’t know about his. It was something she worked hard not to dwell on, given the novelty of their relationship, but she also worried that fear and insecurity would prevent her from investing what little of her heart Harry hadn’t claimed yet.

“Who was it that started dancing on a table and almost broke a chandelier?” Tom asks, wracking his brain.

“I think it was Ken—” Jeff hesitates, clearing his throat. “Actually, I don’t remember,”

Harry shifts in his seat beside Alani and reads over the menu, quickly changing the subject. “What’re you gonna get?”

“I don’t know,” Alani admits. “Everything looks so good,”

“Oh look,” Jenny pipes up across from Harry. “They’ve got your fav, the mango sorbet. I wonder if it’s as good as the one in Italy,”

Harry beams and reads over the item. “Oh yeah, that was amazin’,”

Alani files the detail to the back of her mind. She hadn’t known mango was his favorite flavor of anything, and while it was a trivial detail, she realized that there were so still many little details about him that she wanted to know. Harry had made such an effort to remember everything about her, like her go-to sushi order and the fact that she always saved the kiwis for last in her fruit salad, so it made her feel a touch guilty that she hadn’t made the same effort.

“Wanna share the coconut shrimp?” Alani asks with a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Oh, uh—”

“He’s allergic,” Glenne says offhandedly, not cold or condescending, but more in the same way that an older sister would.

“Oh my god,” Alani’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry,”

Harry laughs lightly and shrugs. “S’okay, I’d let you poison me,”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Glenne apologizes, reaching her hand out to Alani. “I thought you knew.”

Alani accepts the hand and waves away her concern. “No, don’t worry about it. I didn’t know, actually.”

“We can stop talking about my defects now,” Harry teases. “‘M not dyin’,”

He leans in closer to Alani and presses a kiss to her temple. “But if I was, it’d be an honor to have my last meal with you.”

She responds with a soft smile before returning her attention back to the menu. His sentiments, however sweet, unfortunately did very little to soothe the embarrassment of her mini faux pas. It was irrational, Alani knew this, but it made her wonder what else she didn’t know and what bigger secrets he was potentially keeping. Whose name had Jeff meant to say earlier to identify the mystery dancer at Harry’s party, and why had it created an awkward shift in the air? She decides not to let the spiraling questions spoil her fun and takes a generous sip of her cocktail to avoid them for the time being.

********

Harry sets the room key on the nightstand next to their king sized bed and lets himself sink down into the soft mattress. The group had spent the entire day sightseeing, from botanical gardens to scenic beaches, but he was really itching for some quality time alone with Alani. Lately, their time together had been cut frustratingly short by work, school, and life in general. Even when they were seated right next to each other with arms linked or fingers interlocked, she felt far away and he didn’t know why. He hoped that this trip would allow them time to reconnect and solidify their relationship before he had to return to California.

“Mini bar,” Alani comments, kicking her shoes off and wandering over to the small refrigerator in their suite. “Who’s paying again?”

“The label,”

“Thank you Columbia Records,”

She swipes a few bottles of tequila before climbing into the bed next to Harry.

“Wanna play a game?”

Harry props himself up on his elbow and nods. “What kinda game?”

“Never have I ever,” Alani explains. “But instead of putting your finger down, you take a shot,”

“Sounds dangerous,”

“It’ll be fun. You can go first if you want,”

He hums and nods in agreement before sitting up to face her. “‘Kay. Never have I ever...named my car after a musician,”

“Cheap shot,” Alani narrows her eyes, taking a sip from the bottle of Jose Cuervo.

“Your turn,”

She fiddles with the bottle cap, a question already in mind, though she isn’t sure if she should ask it.

“Never have I ever… dated a model,”

Harry’s brow furrows, but he opens his own bottle slowly and takes a sip. “So it’s that kind of never have I ever,”

“Just trying to keep it interesting,” Alani shrugs innocently.

“Right. Never have I ever slept with a guy named David,”

Her eyes widen, but she laughs half-heartedly and takes a sip. “Jeez, okay. Never have I ever—”

“Wait, so you two actually…” Harry interrupts, trailing off at the end.

“I mean,” Alani starts, her eyes wandering to the ceiling. “Yeah, a long time ago,”

“How long ago?”

“Okay, maybe this was a mistake—”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll play nice,”

“Alright,” Alani accepts. She knows that she should probably steer the game back onto safer territory, but the wound has been re-opened and she can’t resist the urge to keep picking at it. “Never have I ever slept with a fan,”

Harry takes a slow sip. “Never have I ever cheated on my partner,”

The bottle stays put in Alani’s hand. “Never had I ever gone on a vacation with my partner before this trip,”

The tequila washes over his tongue bitterly like the faint memories that it symbolizes. “Never have I ever dated someone just for the publicity,”

The bottle in Alani’s hand doesn’t move, much to Harry’s relief, but her mind is not as tranquil.

“Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t,” she says slowly.

Harry takes another shot and it burns all the way down. “Why are we doin’ this?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t wanna play anymore,”

“Alani,” he starts, springing to his feet when she leaves the bed. “Hey, look at me, please,”

She blinks back the tears that threaten to spill over her lower lashes before turning to him. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid game,”

“S’just all out of context,” Harry offers, reaching for her hands. “Wasn’t the right way to have all of those conversations,”

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah, you’re right,”

“What’s really botherin’ you, hm sweets?” He coos, bringing her cold knuckles to his warm lips. “Tell me, please?”

She releases a shaky breath and tries to sift through the fog in her brain for the right answer.

“I don’t know, really, I just,” Alani hesitates. “Am I a bad girlfriend?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, his hands lifting to cup her face. “God no, you’re the best,”

“Then why didn’t I know that your favorite ice cream flavor was mango? And why didn’t I know that you were allergic to coconut, and why—”

“Hang on, is that what this is all about?” he questions. “Cause I’ll go eat an entire coconut right now,”

Alani laughs lightly and pinches her eyes shut. “No, it’s not about that. I just feel like you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and you make me feel so fucking special and, God, I just wanna be good enough for you because—”

Harry holds his breath and watches as her eyes gloss over.

“Because I love you,” she finishes, voice small. “More than I ever thought possible,”

His own eyes sting, but he doesn’t fight the tears that fall as he presses his lips to hers firmly.

“I love you, too,” Harry murmurs. “I love you so fuckin’ much it drives me crazy,”

Alani chuckles softly. “Ditto,”

“I’ve been wanting to say it for ages, can’t believe you beat me to it.”

“Guess you’re not the only one full of surprises.”

********

The early morning sunlight creeps gently into Harry and Alani’s room, casting a soft, golden glow onto the bare skin that peeks through the white duvet. Harry stirs first, a strand of Alani’s hair tickling his nose and making him smile. He prys his heavy eyelids open and winces at the dull aching of his head aggravated by the light. Alani hears his muffled groan and sighs, willing the sun to go back down and let her sleep a few more hours.

“Mornin’ sweets,” he rasps with a warm kiss to her bare shoulder.

She peels her own tired eyes open and flashes a sleepy grin. “Good morning, sunshine,”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Super. You?”

Harry props himself up on his elbow and rests his chin in his palm as he admires the traces of sleep still on her face.

“Just swell.”

Alani chuckles lightly and reaches a hand up to comb through his unruly bedhead. His skin is warm to the touch, and the light from the window casts a heavenly glow around his visage. She pokes her finger into his dimple, which elicits a soft laugh and makes his smile grow wider. They stay intertwined under the sheets as the sun fully rises and soak up their own details to keep as souvenirs from this moment. Alani takes in the scent of vanilla and the juxtaposition of Harry’s inked bicep against the plain, white sheets. He stores away the image of her sleepy, mocha eyes and the pink, manicured fingernails that trail up and down his arm. Neither of them are sure exactly how long they remain in this moment, for all they know it could be hours or days. But whatever the duration, it doesn’t seem to be enough. I need more time, Harry had told Jeff, but there was no more left to give. He had to tell her, and it was now or never.

“Hey,” he begins carefully. “I need to tell you something,”

Alani sits up to be eye level with him and nods. “Anything,”

Harry waits a beat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressing his lips to her bare shoulder before letting the confession spill out.

“I have to go back to L.A.,”

“I kinda figured,”

He draws in a deep sigh of relief. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Alani shrugs. “Hilo isn’t exactly Hollywood,”

“I asked for more time, but the label—”

“No, I get it. So… when? Next month?”

“Friday,”

Alani’s brows furrow. “This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits with a gulp.

“The last day of our trip?”

“Yes,”

Her heart drops into her stomach and she feels sick. It all made sense now why Harry’s mood had shifted when she jokingly asked him not to leave, and why he had been so insistent on spending as much time together as possible this week. Their game of never have I ever turned instantly defensive when asked about his dating history. Never had I ever gone on vacation with my partner before this trip. Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t. He had whisked her away on a farewell trip and God knows who else had been in her place before, or worse, who would be in it next. Harry was saying good-bye.

“Wait,” Alani says finally, mind still racing too fast to process. “How long have you known?”

“Alani—”

“How long?”

Harry swallows. “Couple of weeks,”

“You knew for weeks and you didn’t tell me?” she questions incredulously.

“I tried—”

“You know that I hate surprises, you know how I feel about plans—”

“I’m sorry,” Harry insists, sitting up straighter. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but it just never felt right,”

Alani rolls her eyes. “So what, you were just gonna leave a fucking sticky note on my pillow and hope for the best?”

“Don’t say that—”

“Is that why you brought me here?” she asks, voice hoarse. “Is that why you gave me this necklace? A souvenir of our little summer fling so you could leave with a clear conscience?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “How could you even think that?”

“Because maybe it’s true. Why else would you wait until the very last minute to tell me about this?”

“Maybe we should take a minute,” he suggests, the whites of his eyes now bloodshot. “Before we say something we’ll regret,”

“I think I already did.” Alani admits. Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t.

Harry’s head pounds and he feels like he’s drowning, treading water in every direction only to be dragged further into the current. He quickly pulls on his clothes from the night before and tries to steady his breathing.

“M’gonna go wait in the hall,” he offers. “Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

Alani doesn’t respond or even meet his pleading eyes. She simply tightens the duvet around her body and turns her head to the window, letting a single, bitter tear roll down her cheek. The door closes softly and she is immediately filled with regret and guilt. Had she truly meant all of the things she said? Or was it fear and the instinct to flee taking over her mouth? Alani wanted to believe that she was wrong and that Harry hadn’t intentionally kept her in the dark, but from where she stood, the sun had long disappeared behind the clouds and all that was left was the storm.

Harry trudges down the hallway and the walls spin, closing in on him slowly. If he had just told Alani sooner, everything would be different. He had avoided doing so for this exact reason and out of fear that their relationship wouldn’t be worth the risk in her mind. It was selfish—he was selfish—to try to make the decision for her, and now the woman he loved was getting ready to walk away because he had broken her trust. What else was there to do? His back meets the wall and he sinks to the floor.

“Hey H,” Jeff clears his throat from above. “We should talk,”

“She knows. Didn’t go well,”

“So she did approve the article?”

Harry lifts his head and his brows furrow. “What?”

There’s a harsh knock at the door and Alani jumps. In Harry’s absence, she had managed to cool off and sift through her frantic thoughts. She had been wrong to think that he used her, all it took was a quick stroll down memory lane to prove otherwise. He had never given her any true reason not to trust him, so there had to be some other reason why he hadn’t told her about his plans to leave so soon. Alani pads over to the door and unlocks it gently.

“Harry, I’m sor—”

“Wanna talk about surprises?” he seethes. “What the fuck is this?”

She squints at the phone screen that he holds up to her face and the title of her unpublished article stares back at her.

“I don’t know—”

“Well it has your goddamn name on it,” Harry shoots back.

Alani steps aside and lets him into the room before she closes the door behind her. “I can explain—”

“Did you write it or not?”

“Yes, but—”

He shuts the phone off and slams it face down onto the night stand. “How fucking dare you call me a liar and then pull this shit behind my back,”

“I didn’t lie,” Alani defends, voice weak. “I had no idea it was going to be published, please just listen—”

“A class project,” he interrupts with his back still turned. “That’s what you said,”

“It was never meant to be released,”

“How do I know that? How do I know you’re not just trying to cover your ass?”

“Please,” Alani begs as her vision begins to blur. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said all those things,”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and casts his eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to quell the emotion that pools behind his eyes.

“So why did you?”

“I was scared,”

“Of?”

Alani takes a deep breath. “Of losing you for good. Of falling in l—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Don’t finish that sentence,”

“I don’t know how,” she tries again. “And I don’t know who released it, but I swear—”

“You really expect me to trust a word you say after you accused me of lying about this whole thing, about us?”

Harry’s gaze lowers back to hers and the bright, green eyes that she has come to love are replaced with a blood-shot, stormy sea that makes her stomach drop. The words get caught in her throat.

“I fucked up,” he continues. “I know that I should’ve told you. But I’m having a hard time believing that this wasn’t planned, that this random website would just accidentally publish your work without your consent,”

Alani can’t explain it either, she truly had no idea how her writing had ended up in the wrong hands. There was only one other person she had entrusted it with, but surely Dr. Hudson hadn’t betrayed her, had she? Alani didn’t know who to believe anymore.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she tries. “I didn’t mean what I said, and I know I can’t take it back, but you have to at least believe that I never wanted to hurt you,”

Harry is silent for a moment, and Alani decides that it’s her turn to tell the truth. There was nothing left to lose.

“At first, I did want to publish it,” she explains. “But I changed my mind and I scrapped the whole thing. In the end, the only person I intended to show it to was you,”

“So how did it get onto the internet for the whole fucking world to see?” he presses.

Alani sighs. “My advisor wanted to know what I was working on, so I sent it to her, but she never had my permission to publish it. Now I realize how stupid it sounds, but it’s the truth,”

“If you had come to me, I would have given you permission,”

“I’m so sorry,”

Harry’s shoulders tense. Every fiber of his being wants to believe her, but how could he? She had told him herself that things would be messy and warned him that he didn’t know what he was asking by pursuing a relationship with her. Maybe it really was all his fault for not seeing the signs, but that still didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t trust her anymore. And based on her reaction to the news of his departure, it seemed as though Alani didn’t trust him either.

“Even if you’re telling the truth,” Harry begins, slow and deliberate. “You still thought, after everything, that I would abandon you. And if that’s the kind of person you think I am, if that’s the person you wrote about—”

“Harry—”

“Then I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

“Please, don’t go.” Alani cries but it’s too late. The door slams and her heart falls.

After a beat, she races to the door and into the hallway but there’s no sign of Harry. As quickly as he had appeared into her life, he had vanished. Gone without a trace.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #ybmh #sorry besties <3

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