#and I have to ask for his email every time and it’s actually painful for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wongyuuu · 3 months

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lens of ice | yjh | one

pairing: jeonghan x f!reader genre: figure skater jeonghan, light angst, a little fluff, smut in the next part word count: 12k summary: jeonghan has only one chance left to make it to the olympics. as he embarks on this decisive journey, you, a documentarist, are set to follow him as he seeks the ultimate glory. warnings: jeonghan is kind of reckless with his body a/n: i've been writing this one for so long now and though it's not finished yet, i decided to post half of it, as a way to motivate myself to finish it. i really wanna thank @ressonancee first for giving me idea and second for helping me through all of this and putting up my crazy ass mind 💓

part one | part two (final)

The light buzzing of the fluorescent lights made him uncomfortable, it was like a premonition of what was to come. Something bad, he was sure.

Jeonghan was many things in his life, stubborn perhaps being the most obvious one, but dumb wasn't one then. He knew that his ankle was fucked up, that he was probably the cause of it. Too many hours of training, never giving himself enough time to heal before he got the ice again. He didn't know exactly how bad it was, that was for the doctor in front of him to say, but Jeonghan knew that nothing good would come out of the man's mouth.

"It's worse than I thought," the man said with a sigh, taking off his glasses "It's not just your ankle anymore, it's also your knee. And, I could be wrong, but considering the way you're walking, I'd say that you're right ankle also started to bother you"

Jeonghan hung his head. He was an athlete and he knew that he was being reckless, beyond actually. He should have gone to his coach the second he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. But he just went home, took an ice bath, and kept the whole thing to himself. Even on the following days, when the pain didn't go away at all, he still chose to keep his mouth shut and go to practice every day. And his coach, unaware of his condition, kept pushing him during practice.

Not that he needed anyone to be harsh on him, Jeonghan did all of that on his own. But having someone else do that for him as well brought out a different desire for perfection. One that came from a dark place to show someone else that he was good, to prove people wrong.

"Can I still compete?" was all he asked, it was the only thing that mattered to him "Can I make it to the Olympics? It's the last one for me, after this I retire"

The look on the doctor's face wasn't reassuring, Jeonghan knew that his next words wouldn't be the ones he wanted. He wasn't about to hear what he needed.

"If, and only if, you have surgery, take physical therapy seriously, and rest as we instruct you, there might be a possibility. Small, but it exists"

"When can I have the surgery?"

You stared at your computer screen, a hand on your forehead as you read the email your boss sent you. You sat at your desk, not really knowing what to do.

"Seungkwan!" you called without looking up "Did you get this email too?"

Just to make sure that you weren't crazy, you read it once again. The third time in less than five minutes. No matter how many times you read it, it didn't change.

"Yeah. I'm excited but scared…"

That was enough to get your attention.

"Why?"

Closing your laptop, you stood up moving closer to Seungkwan. Unlike you, who read the email many times, Seungkwan had already started his research. Not that he really needed to, everyone at the office knew that he was a huge fan of figure skating. So of course he would know all about Yoon Jeonghan.

The nation's pride and joy in figure skating, at least in the make category.

"Why scared? I thought everyone loved him"

It was impossible to look away from the picture Seungkwan had open on his computer. Jeonghan's face really was something else, as if he had been carved in marble by some ancient Greek artist. From his dark hair covering his eyes, giving him almost a mysterious vibe, to the way his lips were slightly crooked into a smile. You had to give it to him, the man was absolutely stunning. No wonder he left a trail of fans everywhere he went.

"He isn't the biggest enthusiast when it comes to the press. He barely gives interviews so I guess doing a documentary about him won't be easy"

Seungkwan kept scrolling, reading the latest news on Jeonghan. But the truth was that there wasn't any. His social media was also rarely updated, the last post was from months before.

"Well, good luck to you"

"What do you mean? You're the one in charge"

You just shook your head. The problem was Jeonghan honestly, you barely knew anything about him, though Seungkwan's words didn't help the case. The thing was that you barely knew anything at all about sports, in general, much less about figure skating. Lack of knowledge was an easy fix. The real issue was the fact that a documentary on a sport was way too different from what you usually did.

"I'm not doing this one. I have other projects I want to work on. Plus, this is too sudden. They want us to start tomorrow, Seungkwan. Do you really think that it's possible to have anything done by tomorrow?" he shook his head and you nodded in agreement "Precisely, so I'm sure that if we talk with Jihoon…"

"Nothing will change"

A curse left your lips at the sudden voice behind you. Turning around you faced the small man. Jihoon had his arms crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes that told you that no matter what he wouldn't let you off the hook. Still, you had to try.

"Jihoon, I'm not your sports person. And it's too soon. I don't anything about Jeonghan or figure skating"

Jihoon simply shook his head at you.

"They want a different approach than the average sports documentary, so I recommended you. I'm sending Seungkwan with you because I know this isn't your area of expertise, though I highly suggest you do some sort of research" he turned around to leave with a wave of his hand then turned around for a second, as if remembering something "Hansol will be your camera and sound guy. They asked for a small crew"

With a salute Jihoon left.

"Fuck"

You couldn't take your eyes away from the crutches under Jeonghan's arms and the orthopedic boot around his left leg. There was not a single article that pointed to surgery. There were plenty about his constant injuries though. Seungkwan had the same look on his face, of pure shock.

"Are you okay?" you asked once he made himself comfortable on the couch.

Jeonghan sat sideways on the couch, his leg propped up over cushions. The position looked weird but he didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, this" he pointed at his leg nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing "Yeah, it's okay. Had to get the surgery done in order to make it to the next Olympic"

Nodding, you looked around. His apartment wasn't as big as you had expected. In fact, the three of you stood closely together in the living room, a bit too small for all the gear Hansol said he needed.

"Put your things down, let's talk. I don't know how this is going to work"

Me neither, you wanted to say but kept your mouth shut. Thankfully, Seungkwan was there to help you.

"Before we start any real interview or conversation, I think we have to tell you that this was very last minute for us. We only heard about this documentary yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon" he used his kindest voice, his voice laced with concern and a hit of fear, maybe "yn is in charge, she's the documentarist, she'll be asking the questions and dictating the overall direction that we're going to take with the documentary. I'm Seungkwan and that's Hansol. This is the smallest crew he could assemble"

Seungkwan was giving too many explanations, you felt. But he also wasn't wrong. What he did was normal, he was just introducing the crew. Maybe you were a little irritated by the way you were tossed into this job, without someone giving you enough time to prepare. Sixteen hours were barely enough.

"I assume my… reputation has gotten to you," Jeonghan said, a small smile on his lips.

A reputation he had indeed. Jeonghan was known for not liking the press and journalists. He avoided them at all costs and once, on one occasion, was seen being rude. And honestly, you had to give him a pass for it. Pushing the camera away from his face, almost delicately, could barely be considered rude at such a moment. There were way too many cameras around, all of them on his face, trying to get some sort of pronouncement on why he had not made it to the podium.

And that had been years before but people still remembered him by that one moment. But what exactly did they expect? He underperformed, came in fourth place, and injured himself in the process. Was anyone expecting a happy and bright Jeonghan?

"You can be comfortable around me. A conversation like this is fine. I just don't like being swarmed"

Though his words were inviting, his face told a whole different story. He clearly didn't want this documentary.

"All of our interactions will be recorded," you told him, not leaving room for arguments on his end "These first few minutes aren't, out of courtesy and so that we can set our goals. I need to know if you're uncomfortable with anything, or something that you don't want to be filmed, either right now or before we turn the cameras on. Once we start, we won't stop"

Jeonghan adjusted his position on the couch, his eyes never leaving you. It was like he was measuring your every move. He didn't like your tone, and how aggressive you were towards him.

"I know this was last minute and I apologize for that. This is going to be my last run and, as much as I hate to admit, I'm a bit sensitive to it.

With furrowed eyebrows, you nodded. Jeonghan knew that you didn't believe him or that you cared about his reasons. He knew that the sole reason you were there was because someone made you.

"Will you need to film my family?"

"Yes, usually film family members to get a complete idea of someone's life"

Turning around you nodded at Hansol, telling him to start setting up. With a shake of his head, Seungkwan moved to help him.

"I don't want my family to know the extent of my injuries. So if you only want them for context, to know about me as a child, that's fine. But they can't know anything about this" Jeonghan pointed at his leg "I've been hiding this for a very long time and I'd like to keep it that way"

You dropped your bag on the couch, eyes tired and mind filled with one too many thoughts. The day had been easier than you expected, far more so.

Based on Seungkwan's words you had expected to fight with Jeonghan in a way. It was a documentary so you needed him to talk and talk he did. There was no question unanswered or dodged, all of his answers were precise and consistent. All of it had sounded fake like he had rehearsed them a million times.

Even if you thought that your question had been good, and had caught him off guard, Jeonghan seemed to be fully prepared for it. He didn't hesitate for a second.

In the few hours you spent around him, you finally managed to understand the fascination most people had with him. He was handsome, yes, but that was just the very basic and surface level of him. Beyonce that he was also good with his words. It was hard to tell that he was lying because he talked with conviction. After just one interview you were sure that if one day Jeonghan decided to tell you that your mom wasn’t actually your mother, you’d somehow believe him.

And the man knew all of it. He was aware of his beauty and charm, of what it did to normal people, and he used it in his favor. Jeonghan knew that most people couldn’t resist a handsome talented man. And that was a part he was all too willing to fill.

“Yeah,” you answered your phone, not bothering to see who it was, certain that it was just Jihoon.

“How was it today?” he sounded just as tired as you felt and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay.

“Fine”

“Just fine?”

You turned on your back, facing the ceiling, or at least whatever you could see with the lights turned off - not a whole lot, to be honest.

“He lied through his teeth today. There was no manager, and no coach around, though I do remember him saying someone would come. The person never showed up” you sighed “Seungkwan hates and Vernon probably thinks I’m a crazy bitch. So yeah, just fine”

Jihoon laughed on the other side of the line and you felt the little butterflies in your stomach come to life. You rolled your eyes at yourself. How pathetic it was of you, to have a crush on your boss. How very much bland of you.

Growing up, like a lot of girls that were influenced by way too much TV, you had wanted the be the odd one out. The I’m one of the guys kind of girl, or the one who refused to wear any kind of makeup or even come close to the pink because that was just girly for you. And now there you were, in love with the color pink, finding excuses to wear pretty dresses, and having a crush on your boss.

Teenage you would throw eggs at your head if she had the chance.

“Okay, but how was Jeonghan?” Jihoon pressed even further.

You sighed and closed your eyes, covering over face with your hand.

“He was polite, answered all of my questions, had a pleasant smile the entire time, and only asked for a bathroom break while we were there. Offered us food and drinks. He was fine” you said again, emphasizing the fine.

You could picture Jihoon, nodding his head and looking at the floor, probably thinking of what to ask next.

“Why would Seungkwan hate you? And why would Vernon think you’re a bitch?”

“Seungkwan thinks I went too hard on Jeonghan and Vernon just trusts Seungkwan’s judgment and goes with it”

Jihoon laughed again and you heard him moving around.

“Classic yn, going at someone while she’s angry. At least your anger was sort of directed to the right person”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you sat up.

You liked to think that you didn’t act that way all the time. In your mind, most of the time, you were able to hide your anger and just play nice like your mother had taught you to be. Jihoon’s words told a completely different story.

“Have some rest, there’s still a lot of work to do. Tomorrow you’re going with him to rehab, right?” Jihoon paused for a second and you heard a female voice in the back, you couldn’t make out what she said but you were sure of who it belonged to “I have to go. We’ll talk next week”

The line was disconnected and leaned back on the couch again. The problem of having a crush on your boss was also the fact that he had a long-time girlfriend and soon he was supposed to be marrying her.

You groaned, wondering if you had gone far enough that there was no going back from this crush.

You sat across from Jeonghan once again, the position exactly the same as the first day. But this time you chose to be less irritable.

The other day you were frustrated because you had to give up other projects to be able to accompany Jeonghan and that, thinking rationally, had nothing to do with him. He asked for a specific documentary filmmaker profile and you were chosen by the studio. Maybe it was more your fault than his. But it was also a no-return kind of situation. The job was assigned to you and there was nothing you could do to change it. So the least you could do was do your best and pray that it didn’t take a turn for the worse.

And, if anything, the conversation with Jihoon helped you focus on work. It wouldn't be the first time you were doing something you didn't want to do and it certainly wouldn't be the last. So you decided that the best thing to do was just work, showing your professional side that had been left aside before.

Jeonghan looked at you the same way, eyes serious as if he was ready for a new attack.

"Thank you," he said to Vernon, who had just placed the microphone inside his jacket, so that he could pick up the sound well, but it was not visible to the camera.

You turned to Seungkwan and Vernon, waiting for confirmation from the two that you could begin. You received a wave from each of them after they checked that the cameras were on and recording.

You took a deep breath and turned to Jeonghan.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," you said "I wasn't fair to you. I was irritated by things that had nothing to do with you, but I somehow decided that they did"

Everyone in Jeonghan's living room seemed to hold their breath, you included. You didn't know what to expect from Jeonghan, not really. You had been anything but ungracious with him, in a way that to most people meant that any door between you two had closed.

Jeonghan decided, at that moment, that he had two options: a) he could let the previous day dictate how all interactions between the two of you from then on would be, and it would be many months of a bad relationship that would bring no benefit to anyone involved in it; or b) he could accept your apology, which seemed sincere enough, and let go of the discomfort he felt.

Option b was actually the only possible choice.

“Okay” he finally smiled “my reputation isn’t the best, either way”

Seungkwan and Vernon breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if a huge gray cloud had moved away and the weather was beginning to clear.

“No, your reputation had no influence. I was the one who lost my hand because of my problems and for that, I apologize” you said and you were sincere in your words “But Jeonghan, I need you to stop seeing me as your enemy. I need you to be honest with me.”

You hoped Jeonghan could understand what you were saying.

“You think I wasn’t honest?” he tilted his head as if analyzing you.

“In the same way that you don't want your reputation to affect the way I see you, I need you to not let the way you see other journalists affect the way you see me. I want to tell your story, however you want it told, but I need you to be honest with me.”

You hoped Jeonghan could understand what you were saying.

He was silent for a minute, his eyes fixed on his hands. His hair covered his face, so it was hard to get an idea of what was going through his head.

You looked at Seungkwan, seeking confirmation that you hadn’t been rude. He seemed to be as lost as you were, but the small smile he gave you was enough to make your restless heart rest for a second.

“What if I say something and regret it later?”

It was the first time Jeonghan looked insecure and it was a strange sight, but much more realistic than the other version of him.

“We can edit it, it’s not a problem. I said that because I was angry” you said apologetically once again.

“Can we throw it all away and start again?”

Jeonghan smiled and you had no choice but to smile along with him.

“Let’s start with what’s happening now,” you said, folding your legs under your body, notebook open to a blank page and a pen ready to take notes “You underwent surgery not long ago, right? Why?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, eyes closed for a second before placing all his attention on you. His gaze was almost too intense. You had to force yourself not to look anywhere but at him.

“A few years ago I fell during training and twisted my ankle. At the time, it wasn't a big deal and if I had stayed quiet for a few weeks, and did everything right, I wouldn't have had any problems. But I couldn't do it, I was preparing for a competition. I didn't tell anyone about the problem and just endured the pain. When I participated in the competition I fell again and that only made the situation worse. Today I have a problem with my ligament and tendon.”

With every word that left his mouth, you felt like a lump was forming in your throat, and with every second it was getting bigger.

Unlike the day before, it didn't seem like Jeonghan was lying, but you didn't know if you wanted the truth he was sharing. Even if it was a lie, a character he had created, the version of Jeonghan from before was a little brighter, a little more present in the moment. The version of him that was in front of you, that you imagined to be the closest to reality, was almost sad, detached from everything.

“Because I forced my right knee a lot, trying to compensate for the lack of my left one, I developed a problem with that one too”

“You’ve never talked about your injuries before, right?” he nodded “Why talk now?”

He was silent again, his lower lip caught between his teeth. That was a great question, one that not even Jeonghan himself knew exactly how to answer.

“I'm not sure, to be honest” he laughed a little. Instead of looking directly at the camera, his eyes were focused on you “Someone came up with the idea at some point and it didn't seem like a bad one, but I think it will only work if I make it to the Olympics.”

“Is that the ultimate goal then, to get to the Olympics?”

He shook his head, that fearless, confident look you had only seen in photos finally making itself known.

“No, the ultimate goal is to win”

As promised, Jeonghan waited for you, Seungkwan, and Vernon outside the clinic. He was nowhere to be seen, really, but the car his assistant informed you of was parked right in front of the door.

You were the first one to exit your own car, while Seungkwan and Vernon prepared the camera to follow along. You could only assume he was the manager. Terribly young for a manager, sure, but a manager nonetheless.

“I assume you’re in” he extended a hand to you “I’m Joshua”

“Hi”

The exchange of words with Joshua was quick, no more than half a dozen. You didn't have much to talk about with him and he wasn't your priority, at least not at the moment. Later, at some other time, talking to him would be great. He had introduced himself as a friend/manager of Jeonghan. Having his point of view would be great and could contribute a lot, but your eyes couldn't leave Jeonghan.

His hair was tied back, but a cap covered much of his face. He had barely said hi to you or the other two. It wasn't a big surprise. While it was true that made up to a certain extent, you didn't expect him to simply welcome you with open arms, but his reaction was strange - or as strange as the reaction of a person you knew little, or nothing, could be.

“Can we film it?” You asked.

Jeonghan stopped and turned towards you. He had forgotten that you and your team would attend his first physical therapy session, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Since the last time you saw each other, Jeonghan spent hours on end watching documentaries made by you and they all had one thing in common: they were almost like video logs. You followed everyone around documenting every tiny aspect of their lives. All those people told their stories and didn't seem afraid of having their lives exposed. And perhaps for people who didn't lead lives where they had been exposed too much, sincerity came easily.

For Jeonghan, that was never the case.

Being treated as the future, a promise of the sport, had brought a lot of harm and situations that neither he, nor anyone else, had the option to deal with or even, perhaps, ignore.

Cameras were pointed at him, rumors spread and suddenly he wasn't just Yoon Jeonghan, the boy who started skating because it would annoy his little sister. He became someone from whom people expected something.

As much as he could, Jeonghan tried to live up to all of those expectations, realistic or not. He tried to be as perfect as possible, on the ice and off of it. And it only took one day of silence, a few rude unanswered questions, and one bad performance — which had no real effect — for everything to collapse.

“You said you would film anything and everything.”

You grimaced, clearly regretful and maybe even a little embarrassed. It wasn't his intention, but he found your reaction funny anyway.

In your place, Jeonghan would have done much worse.

“Do you think it’s important?”

You nodded, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. Jeonghan laughed, he wanted to hold your head to make sure it was still in the right place.

“The documentary is about your return, so filming you here is important. I asked because it's your first session. I heard it can be painful.”

“It will probably be uncomfortable” he couldn’t deny that “Let’s do it like this, you can record it, if in the end you think it’s bad or that it doesn’t fit, we won’t use it

You quietly followed Jeonghan and Joshua out of the clinic, Seungkwan and Vernon trailing behind you talking in hushed tones. It was no surprise that they were talking. Truth was rehab had been brutal. You knew that it could get hard for Jeonghan, that it could be painful but nothing really prepared you for what you saw. And if it was hard for you to watch him go through that, it was unimaginable to understand how it was for him.

Throughout the entire session, Jeonghan looked in pain, his grunts and the scowl on his face growing with each passing second and new movement. Midway through you told Seungkwan and Vernon to stop filming. You had seen enough and you had more than what you needed for the documentary.

You would only film his rehab again when he was no longer in such pain, you decided. Out of the many things you learned about Jeonghan was that showing his weaknesses wasn’t something he was too fond of or even comfortable with the idea of it. So there was no real reason to keep recording and you couldn’t stand it either.

While you watched his face contort in pain, you felt something inside your chest tighten.

It had never been a real issue before with you. You had always managed to separate your personal emotions from the things you felt while working. More often than not you told stories that were hard to listen to, took someone’s suffering, and put it on the TV for the entire world to see in hopes that maybe a part of their lives would be changed. You had always been able to detach yourself from that.

However while inside with Jeonghan, such a thing was not possible. You felt your throat constrict and your eyes grow wet and for a short while, you couldn’t breathe either. It made no sense really. Why did it hurt to see this man, you knew nothing about, in pain to the point you wanted to cry? Why did it sadden you so much that he was limping harder than before?

You wanted to approach him, ask if he was okay, if it had been too much. But it was out of line, it was one that you knew you shouldn’t cross. There was this itch though, in the back of your mind, begging you to just ask, to just take a step closer to him.

It happened so suddenly that you didn’t even see it happening. One second it was just the five of you in the parking lot, in the next there were reporters with mics and cameras pointed at Jeonghan. You noticed how Jeonghan raised his shoulders at the same time he lowered his head. He couldn’t see in front of himself, you were certain.

Joshua put an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder while he used the other one to keep them away from him. Not that it was of any use. One of the cameras was directly under his face as if trying to get an expression, anything at all, that could show his discomfort with the situation. From somewhere behind you there were flashes.

"Do you believe your injury was a result of your own carelessness?" someone asked.

You felt your blood run cold for a second and you froze in place, Seungkwan and Vernon behind you.

"Do you think your skating career is over after such devastating injuries?" someone followed.

"Did you regret pushing yourself so hard during training, knowing it led to your injury?"

"How did it feel to watch other skaters progress while you were stuck in rehab?"

"Are you worried that your injury will define your career more than your achievements on the ice?"

The questions got progressively worse and you wanted to scream at them to just shut up, and stop. How could they just ambush someone like that with those questions? It made no sense at all. And though you knew that it would cause more harm than good you wished Jeonghan would tell them all to fuck off.

Instead, he kept his head low and just slowly walked to his car while ignoring everyone around him, all the careless words being thrown at him.

You tried to take a step forward but were held back by Seungkwan, who gripped the strap of your purse. He didn’t say a word, just shook his head.

“They can’t just do that to him” you almost cried

“If you say anything, it might only make matters worse,” Hansol said, his voice sad.

That sudden need to protect Jeonghan felt weird but oddly natural as well. Weird because you knew that you shouldn’t, because you hardly knew the guy. Natural because it felt as if you had always done that like it was just second nature to you.

“He is used to this,” Seungkwan said, still not letting go of your purse.

“He shouldn’t be! They are barely treating him like a human!”

By the time you turned around, Jeonghan was already inside the car leaving the parking lot.

The clock on the top of your phone screen told you that it was 4:37 am. You hadn't even realized that you had spent so many hours still awake.

As soon as you got home from the rehab with Jeonghan, you took a quick shower, ate the leftovers from the night before, and started to look up Jeonghan’s performances.

The man was a celebrity amongst athletes since he was a child. He was always seen as a promise of the sport. He was good from the start. Performing moves that he was still too young to do, entering competitions boys his age never really competed in and somehow managing to either come up to the podium or even winning some of them.

Everything was displayed online. Yearly competitions, practices, and small moments of his life.

Jeonghan's entire life, at least the sports part, was exposed on the internet for anyone, from anywhere in the world, to see. And it wasn't just the competitions, having videos of that part seemed completely normal and expected.

What was scary was all the other content. Some photos of him in school uniform, not one where he was actually looking at the camera, but ones that were clearly taken in secret. Another one from when he seemed to have simply gone out for coffee with Joshua.

You knew he had fans, that he was liked wherever he went, and that he was always followed, but that seemed a bit much.

In reality, watching videos of the competitions was like a gateway to everything that came after.

You knew very little about Jeonghan, only what you had read about in all the articles that you found and all of them had one thing in common: Jeonghan was a huge diva, who thought he was superior to everyone. But after seeing how he had been treated that day, as soon as he got out of rehab, you knew it wasn't like that. It was as if they had appeared out of nowhere, one second the parking lot was empty and the next it was full of journalists, shouting things and asking questions that to many would seem harmless, but were clearly intended to hurt.

Instead of watching more competition videos, not that there were many you hadn't watched yet, you decided to look for the famous video of him treating journalists badly.

You had never found one so easily on the internet. You just typed "Jeonghan and journalists" into the search bar and it was the first video to appear.

It was a scene very similar to the previous day. Jeonghan was in the parking lot, walking towards the guy when he was surrounded by several journalists.

"You didn't get the podium today, are you disappointed?" one of them asked and that was the most harmless question he got. “Did you really try hard or did you think you would get a high score because you were the favorite?” “Why did you fall in such a simple jump?” “Don't you think it was an amateur's performance?”

You didn't want to keep listening to all those meaningless questions, but you couldn't take your eyes off Jeonghan. He still had short hair at the time, even covering his eyebrows. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard, and his gaze was focused straight ahead, as he walked slowly to his car. Joshua tried as best he could to control the journalists with their microphones and cameras, but he was just one man against many. Finally, after what felt like ages, two security guards appeared, pushing the journalists away as they began shouting profanities in Jeonghan's direction.

Could those people even consider themselves journalists? Real journalists, who took their work seriously?

There is a very fine line between being a journalist who asks incisive questions and one who is completely disrespectful to the athlete. And those people were anything but professional.

It was no surprise that after that Jeonghan refused to give interviews.

That whole situation happened years before, at the beginning of the previous Olympic cycle, but even so, it was still a moment that haunted him. People remembered him as just that guy, someone who refused to answer simple questions. But what exactly did these people expect? That he was all smiles when he failed to reach the podium, even though he was the favorite in the competition? That he smiles when he hurts?

Finally, you managed to understand why he acted that way, and why his answers were so polite and direct. Jeonghan didn't want to leave room for interpretation. Not that he had much of a choice. People only see what they want to see, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

Jeonghan couldn’t take his eyes away from your back, he followed your every move. You stood next to Joshua, talking to him quietly, his friend showing you something on his phone. He felt something scratch at his neck. This new and unknown feeling.

It was unusual for Jeonghan, to want to have someone’s undivided attention. It was usually the other way around and he was never willing to do it, with anyone. And then there you were and suddenly he didn’t like that you were talking with Joshua.

It wasn’t like you seemed to be having fun either. You moved around with intention, your eyes always focused, your words and questions firm and straight to the point. Jeonghan couldn’t help but wonder if it was always like that with you. If your professional persona always took over who you were in other moments.

His curiosity was huge but his courage to ask was very little.

“She may seem like it, but she won’t bite your head off if you talk with her,” someone said on his left.

Seungkwan stood at his side, his hands clasped in front of him while he rocked on his heels.

“I think she will,” Jeonghan said.

Seungkwan took his reply as an invitation to sit.

“You know, in the office, people call her the ice queen” he too looked in your direction, at your serious expression "She’s like that most of the time”

Jeonghan looked at Seungkwan expectantly, he knew there was a but coming soon. All he needed to do was wait long enough.

“She didn’t want to take this job, our boss forced her to. She’s more into storytelling, real people, with real issues”

“Am I not a real person?”

The offense in Jeonghan’s voice made Seungkwan almost fall off his chair. He didn’t intend for his words to sound like that.

“Of course you are” he laughed nervously while trying to explain it as best as he could “If it were up to her, she would focus this documentary on you, on how you started skating, why, what attracted you to it, how it affected the rest of your life. But your team doesn’t want that, I think. We were told that you already gave many interviews on the matter so there’s no point in talking about it again. They want us to focus on your recovery and then you make it to the Olympics. She’s trying to figure out how to do that in a way that makes someone watch it”

Jeonghan nodded, feeling guilty. It had been his request to not the documentary so focused on the past and more on what was happening in the moment

“She also doesn’t like sports and hated the idea of the job, but that's beside the point”

Both of them laughed, eyes still on your back now that you talked with Vernon, giving him new instructions.

“I’ll make sure that she gets to do the kind of documentary she thinks is best”

Seungkwan stood up, a big smile on his lips.

“Who could have known that the ice queen and the ice prince aren’t actually that cold”

After months of just rehab, it’s finally time for Jeonghan to get back on the ice and it pained you a little to admit that you were looking forward to it. The videos you watched could only take you so far, you wanted to actually see the real thing. Him, in action.

Of course, you know that he wasn’t going to be able to do a third of the things he did on those videos. But you wanted to see him in his element, how he would behave when he was finally around the thing he loved the most in the world — his words, not yours.

The one thing you were able to learn from Jeonghan was the fact that he indeed loved what he did. Like most people, sometimes he hated it. It was the thing he was most passionate about, yes, but it was also his job, so there were days when he just hated and the mere idea of leaving the house was too much.

It was too hard to be a professional athlete, it demanded way too much of him. Of anyone, really. Sometimes he wanted to be like everyone else and just not put everything he was into it. But if he did that, he lost one single day, he was scared that he could lose an entire year and maybe that year turned into two and then he could lose his chance to go to the Olympics.

And he only had one change left.

So, instead of focusing on much he didn’t want to do, Jeonghan decided to focus on the fact that there was only a year ahead of him and he would be able to do whatever he wanted and have as many down days as he wanted.

He didn’t know what he wanted to do and what would be the after for him but it gave him something to look forward to.

“Are you nervous?” you asked him.

Jeonghan was someone who was mostly quiet. You noticed that once he started to feel more comfortable he was one to start the conversation and even crack a few jokes here and there. Seungkwan had been the first person he kind of opened up to, which had left you a hint of jealousy. You wanted to be one he talked with mostly because it was your job but also just because.

However, he had been especially quiet that day. The three of you went to meet him at his apartment. The idea was that you’d follow him the entire day, from the moment he woke up, to when he went to the doctor to get the final clear and then finally to the ring.

He had talked very little, his eyes always focused somewhere else. It was clear that his mind was traveling somewhere far, far away. So you left him be, quietly watching him just move around. A silent shooting day, you told yourself In the end, however, you had a job and he needed to do the talking.

“It’s been too long,” he said, his eyes never really leaving the ice “I don’t know if I can still do it”

You laughed, causing him to finally look at you, eyes wide on his face. He tried to look serious but the corners of his lips were turned slightly up.

“You just don’t feel confident, but you didn’t forget it” you looked at his ankle, it was still weird to see him without any sort of protection around it “How’s your ankle?”

He just shook his head and in that moment you chose to believe that he was said It doesn’t bother me anymore.

Through the interviews, you found out that Jeonghan is the kind of person to suffer in silence. It was clear from all of his previous injuries, how he competed while in pain and only ever said anything when it was almost too late.

“Do you think I can still do it?”

There was something in his voice like he was almost on the verge of breaking. He sounded vulnerable in a way that was entirely too new, in a way you wanted to push Vernon and his camera away because that was a part of him you knew he didn’t want the world to see.

Instead, you reached for his arm, patting it a couple of times, hoping that your touch, as ungraceful and awkward as it was, was able to soothe him, even if it was just for a moment.

“I was watching some of your competitions last night, again, you know? And that guy? He’s still in there, I’m sure of it, I’ve seen him”

You weren’t just saying that to cheer him up, your words were true. You had seen that version of him, little glimpses here and there. He was in the way his eyes suddenly changed and it was like he owned the entire room, in the way he suddenly turned confident, in the way he was charming in a way that was almost sickening but all too enchanting either way.

Whether or not he believed it himself, Yoon Jeonghan was a force to be reckoned with.

"What kind of kid were you?" you asked, looking up at Jeonghan.

He sat opposite to you, bent down to tie the laces on his skates. His hair covered his face, you were sure that he couldn't see much, but he didn't seem bothered by it in the least. Maybe he had just gotten used to it.

Four months had gone by since you started to follow Jeonghan and even before that, he had kept his hair long. And you hated to admit that he looked good, too good even.

"What kind do you think I was?" He smirked at you for a second before going back to his skates.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile.

"This is not how it works. I ask the questions here"

Jeonghan leaned back on his seat, giving you his full attention. His smirk did something to your insides. It felt tight and loose at the same time, like wild butterflies running around on your skin.

"Come on, humor me"

You pretended to be in deep thought, Jeonghan as a child had been something you thought about for a long time now. Even though he was very serious most of the time there were these small moments where he looked like a kid ready to do something he wasn't supposed to.

"I can only think of you as a troublemaker” you smiled, closing your notes knowing well that you’d make no progress at all with the filming “I’ve seen pictures of you and a child and although you looked very cute, I’m sure you were a handful to your mother”

Jeonghan laughed, throwing his head back and in that moment he looked so carefree.

Even since the start of the documentary Jeonghan had used his most serious expressions, a frown always taking over his beautiful features. But he had been back on the ice for a few days already and in those days he had looked the happiest you had seen him yet.

Of course, he still hasn’t practiced the way he wanted or the way he used to. He still needed to take things slowly: fewer hours, less power in the movements. But it was undeniable that he was a completely different person.

It wasn’t that he had been in a bad mood every single day but there was just something about him in his element, of him doing something he was obviously passionate about, that was so enchanting that it became impossible to look away from him.

“Where did you see those pictures?”

“You do know that I had to google you because I had no idea who you were, right?”

One thing you managed to learn about Jeonghan is the fact that, if in the right mood, he is a trickster and most of all, a flit. You weren’t even sure that he was aware of what he was doing, it seemed like second nature to him.

He put a hand over his chest, faking being in pain. His face contorted and a pout on his lips.

“I thought we were getting to know each other”.

Seungkwan coughed by your side, finally making you remember that there were people around you and that the entire interaction between you and Jeonghan was being recorded.

There was something about Jeonghan that always seemed to make you forget where you were, that maybe there were people around you. You could only suppose that it was the charm of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, who knew how to sweet talk someone.

And Jeonghan knew what he was doing, what kind of words or looks could get a reaction from a woman.

Most of the time while around Jeonghan you had to remind your heart to be calm and quiet. Being around him was a temporary arrangement, as soon as the Olympics started said arrangement would be done and you’d have to go back to your normal life. One that didn’t include Yoon Jeonghan. And you also knew that there wasn’t space for you in his life.

“We’re going to set up the cameras around the ice,” Seungkwan said awkwardly while dragging Verno by the hand.

You watched as the two walked away from you, whispering in secrecy. You could only imagine the kind of things that they were saying. If you knew Seungkwan at all, you were certain that it couldn’t be any good.

“Jeonghan, I ask questions and you answer them. And while one could say that I’m getting to know you, I don’t think it would be possible to say the same thing about me”

Jeongahn's smile was defiant when he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You have a no-bullshit policy, which I should have known, from the start, but I wasn’t expecting someone like you. Although you try really hard to pretend that you’re not, your eyes are kind and you quietly take care of those around you, me included sometimes. You got worried when I was in pain in rehab and when Vernon got hurt it seemed as if you were angry, but you were concerned about him and after that, you asked to have another staff with you so that he wouldn’t need to carry so many things on his own. You and Seungkwan bicker a lot but when he isn’t around for a day you are quieter and your questions have been more direct. That doesn’t make you a lousy documentarist, please don’t think that I’m saying that, you take your job very seriously. I’m saying that you put people above your job. I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to become a documentarist, to begin with, to tell stories”

You stared at him, mouth open wondering just how he had come up with all of that and why he had managed to hit everything right on the stop. Especially the reason why you became a documentarist. It seemed very obvious, yes, but it wasn’t something that you had said.

In fact, your personal life was something that very few people knew. You weren’t one to share your thoughts and what was on your mind with people. Seungkwan was a good friend, but he was a work friend so your personal life was just that, personal. Not that you had someone to share it with, either way.

The apartment was empty when you left and it was in the exact same way and you got back. You were on your own, with no parents, no siblings and most of your friends had given up on you somewhere along the way.

For the longest time, you put your job first. It came before anything and anyone. You were building your career and name at the time so it was hard not to put it first. It was your dream, one that your friends supported at first but were displeased when you decided to put it first.

You had thought that if you made it big on your job if you got hired by a big production company, you’d be able to find the happiness that you had searched for a long time. And while some of it was true, your career was on the right path and you did something you loved, you didn’t have a lot more beyond that going one.

It was become just you and your job.

Was it sad? Yes, but it was also the life you chose.

“Just because I don’t know details of your life, doesn’t mean that I don’t watch you, yn”

You watched as Jeonghan fell for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It didn't make sense, not really. At least not for you. And from the looks of it, for him too.

He was frustrated and completely angry. All those people looking at him, expectations high, waiting for something. He wasn't sure what. For him to fail? To see if he still could do it?

Everything was possible and impossible at the same time.

He couldn't stop his eyes from going after you every time you fell. Somehow, your reaction was the only one that mattered to him. The first few times your face was completely emotionless, as if you were staring at a blank wall. Then Jeonghan fell once again, and again, and again. He stopped counting at 10, but he knew it was much more than that actually. But your gaze, which was fixed on him, became more worried as the minutes passed and he hated being the cause of it.

Somehow, since he met you, only two things were on Jeonghan's mind: skating and you.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but you had taken over his every thought. It was as if you had walked through an imaginary door and entered his mind and decided that it was a great place to be.

Even on days when you didn't see each other because there was no recording, he was tempted to talk to you. And on one of those days, he just succumbed to the temptation of picking up the phone and calling you.

“Jeonghan, is everything okay?” was the first thing you said.

He hated that worry was the first emotion he awakened in you. He hated that the first thing you said wasn't "hello" like a normal person. But at the same time, the concern made him feel somehow welcomed. It could, of course, be all in his head, and what he saw as concern for himself was actually concern for the documentary.

"I just wanted to talk," he admitted.

Maybe it was because he had gotten used to talking to you, maybe it was because you offered zero judgment for the way he thought or reacted. Or maybe it was because it was you. Whatever it was, Jeonghan felt comfortable talking to you.

Telling the truth, about everything, was not difficult, in fact, it became something very easy. It was because of you, he knew.

"I realized I don't know anything about you"

You laughed and he listened as you moved through what he imagined to be his apartment.

"That's because I interview you and not the other way around"

He sat on the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him as he supported the rest of his weight on his arms stretched behind him.

"Do you think it's so bad that I know anything about you?"

You remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to think about the idea. It wasn't bad, not at all.

At several moments you found yourself with your cell phone in your hand, ready to send a message or call him. You weren’t sure what, but there was something about Jeonghan that just made you want to tell him everything.

"What do you want to know?" you said with a sigh.

"Whatever you want to share"

The great truth is that very little happened in your life. You lived alone, worked every day, and came home alone. Your last boyfriend, or even a fling, was over a year before. Your friends, if you could call them that, were all from work. Your life was quite still and dull. Even if you wanted to talk about work. Jeonghan was your job. There wasn't much to talk about.

"I don't think I have much to tell" you knew that what you were about to say wasn't the happiest topic in the world, but it was what you had to offer "My mother passed away when I was nineteen, since then I've been alone"

You could still clearly remember the day your father left. There wasn't a fight. He never packed his bag and left. One day he was there when you woke up, he gave you breakfast and took you to school, like he did on most days. But it was his job to pick you up and he never showed up. Your mother showed up instead, her eyes swollen as she did her smile to smile at you and explain to the teacher why she was so late. When you finally got home she said "Now it's just you and me. Daddy had to leave"

For months, years even, you waited for him to come back. You thought one day he would just appear in front of you. You were disappointed when it was your mother who showed up to pick you up when he didn't come to his birthdays when you called the number he had left with his mother and he never answered.

You waited until you turned 18 to go after him. You only had a name, but with that alone, a person can find everything on the internet. You found him in another state, working at a real estate agency. You sat down in front of him and talked for about half an hour. You made up a story about going to college and needing a place to live. You said your name and your mother's name several times, surname and everything, and at no point did he seem to connect one thing to the other. Until the last second, when you said you would think about renting the studio he had suggested, and he walked you to the door. He said, "I left for a reason, don't come back here."

You couldn't believe what you had heard. You couldn't understand why he left and why he never came back. But at that moment you decided that if he didn't want you, you didn't need him. Your mother had worked so hard to make sure you had everything you needed.

Exactly one year later, your mother died in a bizarre car accident. It was like being 7 years old again and losing another person, only in a much more painful way.

"You don’t have any siblings?" Jeonghan's voice on the other end brought you back "Relatives?"

You shook her head, even though you knew he couldn't see you.

"I was an only child, so no siblings. My mom was an orphan so relatives either. My father left when I was a child"

You and Jeonghan spent the whole night on the phone, talking about everything and nothing. From trivial things to more personal matters. His delight upon learning that you didn’t have a boyfriend didn’t go unnoticed.

Calls and messages became commonplace between the two of you. Your heart raced every time a new message arrived and it was hard to hide your disappointment when you realized it wasn't from him. On days when you didn't see each other, you would stare at your phone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for him to call.

So you hoped he understood when you shook your head in his direction, a request written on your face. That's enough for today, you can try more tomorrow, you hoped he would understand.

Instead of trying one more time after he fell once again, he skated to the edge of the ice. His face was red from the effort, and his chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm trying to force air back into his lungs.

"I want everyone out," he said, his voice broken.

Seungkwan and Vernon didn't even question it, they simply started putting away the equipment. Jihoon, who had shown up unexpectedly to "supervise" didn't seem to understand what was going on, but turned to help Vernon.

Jeonghan's coach was the only one who approached him, his hand on the athlete's shoulder.

"Go home, rest. Tomorrow we try again"

Jeonghan shook his head. He would only get out of there after managing to make the damn jump, even if he had to stay the whole night.

"Just half an hour more, but I want to be alone"

The coach clearly didn't like the idea, but he knew it was stupid to try and make Jeonghan change his mind.

You turned to him, looking at his face, trying to figure out if he was in pain or if he was just being a big blockhead. Without giving yourself the luxury of thinking about what you were doing, you placed your hand over Jeonghan's and squeezed for a second. You hoped he understood what you meant.

"You have to rest"

You knew everyone was watching, that despite saying they were leaving they weren't actually moving. Jeonghan didn't seem to care and for a moment you decided not to care either.

“Stay,” he said softly, so only you could hear him “please.”

Some strands of hair were stuck to Jeonghan's face, you wanted to get them out of his face, but caution spoke louder. You looked over your shoulder and everyone was still looking at the two of you, but as soon as they noticed your gaze they started moving again. Seungkwan shouted “We’re leaving” and seconds later the door slammed.

Finally, you were alone.

“You have to rest,” you said again.

You took advantage of the fact that no one else was there and removed the strands of hair stuck to his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Jeonghan sighed, his eyes closing as he leaned towards you. Just that little touch wasn't enough.

“I need to get it right”

"If you stop now and rest you will know what you are doing wrong"

A half smile shined on Jeonghan's face as he leaned further into the barrier, his face just inches away from his.

"My ego loves it when you say I'm doing something wrong”

You pushed him back, needing a little bit more space to yourself. He was too close, you could feel his breath on your nose and cheeks. It was suddenly as if the world was made of Yoon Jeonghan, it was just him and no one else.

“I’m sure your ego will be just fine”

Instead of pulling your hand back, you allowed it to stay in his chest. Jeonghan smiled for a second before pressing his hand over yours.

“Just another 30 minutes” he repeated what he said to his coach “I promise I’ll stop in precisely 30 minutes”

You nodded with a sigh. There was nothing you could do to stop him. Something told you that even if you threatened him to leave he would stay and practice, he would stay on the ice for far more than just 30 minutes if you weren’t around.

So you sat down and waited for him. And he fell time and time again, his face growing displeased with himself at each passing second, each time he jumped but didn't manage to land.

Jeonghan had done that same jump countless times before with ease as if one's body would simply perform such movements. To him, it always seemed as easy as walking. You had seen it in all of his videos, almost in trance by him.

“If you’re not done in twenty-one minutes” you pretended to look at your imaginary watch “I’m taking you out of there by force”

Jeonghan threw his head back, laughing.

“Remember when you said that you never skated before?” Jeonghan asked after finally being able to breathe properly again.

You weren’t too sure how, but he had stopped after 30 minutes. A big smile on his face after he managed to land the jump after so many tries. After getting it right once, he didn’t get it wrong again. It was like something clicked inside his brain as if he had found the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Of all the things you said to Jeonghan, from the most personal to the most trivial, that was, by far, the only one you regretted. You had told him over the phone but he looked horrified, it was easy to imagine the wide eyes on his face.

But him standing there, in front of you, with a smile that could only be seen on the face of a mischievous child, said much more than any words he could utter.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, already moving back.

You had learned several peculiarities about Jeonghan in all the months you spent by his side, and one of the most glaring was the look in his eyes when he was about to do something he shouldn't.

“You have to try, at least once” his lips were a mixture of a smile and a pout “You will have the best teacher in the world”

You saw it and shook your head again.

“I can’t trust a teacher who spent the day falling” you pointed to the rink behind him.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You didn't know if your words would offend him, you hoped he knew it wasn't your intention. But you also knew that hell was paved with good intentions. Jeonghan was silent for a minute, his face serious, his eyes not leaving yours for an entire minute.

Then he smiled, his nose wrinkling a little as he laughed, loudly. It didn't take long for you to join him.

“You’re evil,” he said, trying to control himself, but failing “This way you’re going to break my heart”

“I think there are few things in this world that can break your heart.”

You would definitely be one of them, Jeonghan wanted to say, but he held his tongue in his mouth. He knew he couldn't say that, he knew that any word said wrongly could simply ruin everything he had built so far. If he could even say he built something. He liked to think so.

From the first time you spoke, Jeonghan knew there was no going back, at least for him. He had never done anything like that. He had never called someone in the middle of the night simply because he wanted to hear someone's voice. And in this case, it wasn't just someone's voice, it was your voice that he wanted to hear.

With each passing sentence, Jeonghan found himself falling more in love with you and he wasn't able to say why. Maybe he could blame it on your eyes, always so focused, but somehow when they turned to him, they seemed so sweet and sincere. Or your voice, which gave orders and asked incisive questions, but as soon as the cameras were turned off it became gentle and almost shy. Maybe it was the fact that you seemed like a lioness when you were working, never giving space for unfounded questions, but you were shy when it was just the two of you alone.

He liked this version of you, who was right in front of him, who seemed completely comfortable with him, to the point of making jokes — something that until that moment you hadn't done yet.

“We always have extra pairs in the back, I'm sure one of them is your size” he had made sure you would, with Seungkwan's help of course “And then we try it, what do you think?”

Even though you were shaking your head, you went to the closet where you knew the skates were stored.

With your knees bent and shaking, you stepped onto the ice and immediately regretted giving in to Jeonghan's will. You didn't know how he had managed it, but in the closet, there was a brand new pair of skates, your size. Jeonghan had smiled as he bent down to tie your shoelaces,

“I’m going to fall flat on my face,” you said as you grabbed the bars.

Jeonghan held your face in his hands, your eyes fixed on his.

“I won’t let you fall”

The way the words left his lips made your heart skip a beat, or maybe several of them. You could feel it on the back of your throat and you could swear that your hands shook a little as you accepted the hand Jeonghan had extended to you.

You wished it could just stop. Not for your heart to stop beating altogether but for it to stop reacting to Jeonghan. Everything changed after that first call and you weren’t too sure of where it was. He had, someway, somehow, become a pivotal point of you. His voice, his eyes. The way tingles started to run down through your body the moment his skin came in touch with yours. How, despite all odds, he made you feel safe in a way you weren’t too sure you had ever experienced before.

When he said that he wasn’t going to you fall, you believed him so you held his hands — strong enough that you were sure were hurting him but he didn't seem to mind — and allowed Jeonghan to pull you into the rink.

“Don't move your feet” he said, voice ever so sweet but with a slight hint of teasing “I know it's probably hard, but let me take control here”

Forcing out all of the remaining air inside your lungs, you did as he asked. Instead of keeping your focus on the ice under your feet, you kept them in Jeonghan's face. A mistake, of course.

His eyes were too intense if you could say that. You didn't want to understand what was happening. Perhaps for the first time since you met Jeonghan, you didn't want to understand what it could mean. You were scared. What, exactly, you weren’t sure.

“I didn’t even have to ask you to look at me,” he said and you laughed a little, automatically looking away “Keep looking at me”

The whole experience of skating for the first time, or being guided, was not being registered by your brain. All you could see, think, feel, was Jeonghan, as if he had become a central point of everything.

“I think we should stop here”

You hoped your voice was loud enough and judging by the look on Jeonghan's face, it was. The smile fell from his lips and it was as if a small light in his eyes had gone out.

You hated that you were the one causing that reaction in him, but you knew it was best to stop everything before it went too far.

"I thought that…"

“We can’t blur the lines that much” you shook your head.

You didn't know exactly who you were trying to convince, him or you. You also weren't sure you had to convince yourself of anything. It was as if your brain had split in two. One part, probably the loudest, wanted you to just let things happen. You knew you weren't doing anything wrong, you weren't doing anything much really. What you did outside of your working hours and who you did it with was your problem and no one else's.

But the other part, one that spoke softly and that should have had much less strength, said it was dangerous, but also didn't offer much reason to be dangerous.

Yet somehow, that was the side you chose to listen to.

"Why?" He asked forcing his feet to the ground, making the two of you stand in the center of the rink. “What line are we blurring?”

You shook your head, hands clinging to his waist as you felt your feet begin to slide.

“I don’t know” you whispered in response “We are working”

Jeonghan leaned forward and pressed his lips to your cheek. With a sigh, he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder and closed his eyes.

You didn't know exactly where your skepticism came from, but you were also sure it wasn't completely unfounded. But truth be told, you wanted to blur that line and any others that might appear along the way.

“Go on a date with me,” he said “If you still feel that way, there’s nothing we can do. Just don’t… don’t stop something that hasn’t even started yet”

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cherryjuiceblues · 10 months

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𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟐

➯ HARRY IS A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH Y/N AND Y/N JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHEN HE’LL HAVE SEX WITH HER AGAIN. ✰ dom!harry sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 14k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Harry doesn’t love his job.

He doesn’t hate it either. But he certainly doesn’t love what he does.

It’s not the hardest of occupations; since becoming CEO (and after getting over the guilt of surpassing his colleagues in status), having the option of assigning others to complete otherwise arduous tasks for him has eased some of his tension.

However—inevitably—those smoothed over stress bumps are quickly replaced by bigger, more stubborn protrusions that take more than a gentle palm to flatten out.

But Harry is comfortable—he’s financially secure, surrounded by a loving family and loyal friends, and treated with respect, revered even, by some. So despite being true, what Harry had told Y/N—that You think I was wishing to own a finance company when I was a little boy? indicating that it has hardly been a dream come true—he is grateful for his position in life. Aware of his privilege but also immensely proud of how much his hard work had paid off.

However right now, as he sits behind his desk with his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Harry hates his job.

Hates the schedule that’s pulled up on his monitor, hates the squeak of his chair as he rolls over to the filing cabinet, hates the way the clock is ticking louder than he’s ever heard it before. And the seconds are taking twice as long as they should.

With each passing minute, the presence of his phone in his trouser pocket becomes heavier and heavier; its lack of buzzing and dinging feeling abnormally disheartening. And everytime his work phone—that’s lying face up on his desk—lights up with an email or a phone call and creates its shrill cacophony that pushes the line of Harry’s brow deeper and deeper into his already default frown, he becomes less and less of the easy-going boss he presents to everyone.

It’s enough to drive anyone mad; this torturous waiting. Harry feels as though he’s being dangled over the edge of a cliff but never dropped, never given the sweet release of death which he would gladly take over the pain of not knowing when he was going to fall.

One week. It had been one week since Harry first met Y/N. One week since they’d had maybe the best first experience he’d ever had with someone, and one week since he’d heard a single thing from her. And the memory of that night is enough to have Harry distracted. Enough to have him on the edge of his seat.

ㅤㅤ

“Please.” She whines—to Harry’s teasingly obvious question.

“More what?” He wants to ask. Wants to make her spell it out for him.

But he doesn’t. He’s nice.

Nice as he stretches her open with his fingers—intrusion more than easy with the copious amount of slick between her thighs—whilst his tongue plays with her masterfully. She pants and whines, bucks and wiggles. Loses the ability to say coherent words without stuttering over them.

He takes his time—relishing in the fierce, squeezing heat around his fingers—in the way her excitement makes his palm shine the longer he goes at it.

And he’s thorough in the treatment he gives her. Behaves as if he’s a professional that’s been paid to change her life. He imagines Niall as his agent who had come to him earlier in the day with a ‘great opportunity’ and demanded Harry give his absolute best.

Pretends that his entire career rides on Y/N’s enjoyment of this night.

Harry thinks, really, that Y/N’s lack of experience means he could do a subpar job in actuality—but the thought just makes him go harder. Makes every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers feel like the best thing she’s ever known.

She’s soaking into his skin and it’s filthy; the way Harry’s throat rumbles out a groan at the thought of his stubble bathing in her—the resentment he’ll have in washing his face later.

Little does he know that Y/N is thinking the same thing—or rather, imagining the irritation of her thighs his facial hair will leave behind. The soreness that can only come from pure satiation, that she’s sure she’ll admire with great joy. Her first marks, her first memory-jolting piece of evidence of the night she was finally touched. The day she’s been waiting for—for far too long, in her opinion.

Especially now, as it’s happening, and Y/N doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to stop chasing this feeling. Her limbs fight between stretching out in tight, desperate attempts to grasp for her orgasm—and melting into the mattress in a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Harry’s mouth struggles to compete with the smile that overtakes his expression, watching Y/N’s body writhe in response to his ministrations.

This is his favourite thing to do.

She tightens, and squeaks, and drips—Harry’s fingers working her just right and tongue curling in fast, pointed flitters—as she propels further towards the edge. Close, so close; lips moulding around a string of garbled sounds and hips pushing up into the large span of his hand. She’s trying to beg but she doesn’t get the chance because Harry is feeling her spasm in contracting waves and she’s slicking down his fingers, crying out—

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s debauched daydream fizzles away when his work phone chimes insolently. The screen lights up, forcing his eyes towards it.

A reminder.

Team meeting | in 15m

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair as the leather stretches. His trousers are tighter than he would consider comfortable, but he’s safe—no recognisable evidence of unprofessional thoughts in his professional environment.

Harry considers himself to be a focused man—often finds solace in working to provide distraction—but this constant replay that has been leading his mind astray whenever he even attempts to shift his concentration is proving to be a hurdle too high for Harry to jump over. He thinks if he makes himself come then the unavoidable meeting that’s starting in thirteen minutes might be less torturous to sit through.

But just as he smooths a palm over his thigh, there’s a telltale knock on his door. The rapping a pattern that only his assistant uses.

Harry clears his throat, shifting himself higher to appear more orthodox in his chair.

“Come in, Mr Rowland.”

The door makes way as it’s opened, rattling the blinds that preserve Harry’s modesty—matching that of the ones on the full-length windows that look out into the building.

The man moves to stand stiffly in front of his boss’ desk, suit free of creases and long hair tied back to maintain formality. Harry used to have long hair once.

Mitch Rowland is a quiet man; stoic, but not unfeeling. Harry believes him to be the thoughtful type, and he chips away more and more of his exterior everyday, he’s sure. Cracking a joke that makes Mitch laugh feels like a reward—an acknowledgment of all the hard work he puts in to becoming closer to his reserved assistant.

“Time for a briefing, Mr Styles?”

Harry nods, gesturing to one of the armchairs facing his desk. “Yes, go ahead.”

He’s respectful enough to look intently at the man sitting across from him. As he speaks, Harry doesn’t drift off into his fantasy land full of strawberry embroidered dresses and passion fruit martinis—no, he converses with Mitch like the approachable boss he takes care to be, discussing the best way to go about conducting the team meeting and how to amicably pull up the areas that his employees are lacking in.

Truth be told, it’s life changing having someone like Mitch as his assistant. He demonstrates capability—enough so that Harry can often sit back and let him take the reins—it’s satisfying when their brains match up like they're connected via bluetooth. It’s an easy relationship to maintain, and Harry often ponders about how grateful he is.

But never has Harry been more grateful for Mitch as he is right now. (Which is cruel really, for a situation that would probably lose in a battle of importance if voted on by a large audience.)

The meeting is going fine, most likely—Harry wouldn’t know because his mind is elsewhere once again.

ㅤㅤ

“That’s it, take a deep breath for me, darlin’.” He’s good at maintaining composure, but God if Y/N isn’t testing Harry right now. She’s still fluttering—more than ready to let him start pushing into her—as her arousal coats copious miles of skin. He leans over her, pressing a soft kiss to the dip above her chin as he rolls a condom over his neglected cock. The throbbing gets harder to ignore now that she’s laid out for him; all stretched and wet.

“Are you sure it’s gonna… fit?” Y/N looks down, pupils expanding at the sight. Long, and thick, and hard.

“I’m sure,” Harry drags his nose against her throat, lifting back up to catch her blown-out eyes. He smiles.

“I… I want you to feel good too, Harry. Please?”

His heart thumps and his eyebrows pinch. She’s special. He wants to take such good care of her.

“I feel so good, love. I promise.” Harry drops his hips to prove it, sliding through her folds and nudging her sensitive clit as Y/N’s breath shudders. “Are you ready?”

“Can I—can I hold your hand?”

She’s a doll. (Maybe in more ways than one permitting she’d like to be pliable for him, but right now Harry knows she’s cuter than even the sweetest of puppies). He wants to coo right in her face, obnoxious and embarrassing, before his voice takes on a squeaky pitch and he expresses Of course, you can hold my hand—you’re just adorable, aren’t you?

Instead, he wordlessly transfers his weight to the now singular arm holding him up as he reaches for the girl’s empty palm and tugs it up beside her head. Their fingers entwine as the mattress creates a mould of their knuckles—and Y/N’s eyes clear themselves of the fear of rejection, gazing up at Harry with such appreciation that he doesn’t even receive from his employees. Not that he’d expect them to but the way Y/N is looking at him makes Harry feel as though he’s done something far more significant than hold her hand or coax a few orgasms out of her.

It’s almost sad.

“Ready now,” she whispers, and Harry’s forgotten everything else.

He reaches down to stroke over her hip bone in soothing circles. “Keep looking at me, okay?” She nods, eyes never wavering even as Harry guides himself into her drippy hole.

The first feel of intrusion is new—different to his fingers—exciting and tight as the mushroom tip of Harry’s cock presses in gently. Y/N gasps but it doesn’t hurt; it’s a filling sensation, one that makes her question why she’s not always been doing this. It feels right, like it’s meant to be.

And when she breaks eye contact to look down, she sees that he’s hardly an inch in and exhales heavily into Harry’s face. He squeezes her hand, green surveying her expression. It takes all of his composure to ignore how tight she is around him. It’s euphoria.

“H-Harry,” Y/N whines, shiny mouth falling further with each centimetre discovered inside of her.

“So good, baby, you’re so good. Keep looking at me…there you go.” His voice is taut, even Y/N can tell, and she blinks at him because it’s all she can do—hoping she is communicating well enough with her eyes.

As he gets deeper, she suddenly expels a great breath, jumbled words tumbling out. “Thank you, oh—that’s so—oh my god.”

And Harry is bottoming out, balls resting against her bum, as he lets out some air of his own. “Look at that, darlin’,” he smiles, “took all of me, first try.”

Y/N’s face suddenly splits into a grin. She chances a lift of her leg, to open herself up more as she stretches it to the side, bent knee pressing into the sheets.

“I didn’t know I had that much space in there.”

Harry laughs (it’s quite literally forced out of his lungs) and Y/N starts to let out endless strings of giggles—delirious with overwhelming happiness—as her stomach starts to contract. She can’t stop laughing. And every one has her core tightening around Harry’s cock in pulsing flutters.

If he wasn’t searching deep in his mind for the stability not to build up too quickly, then Harry’s heart would be bounding at the sweet sound of Y/N’s giggles. Pure elation in the form of prancing lilts. Bouncing off the walls and racing past their ears; slicing through any of the nerves she had left.

To see her face bunched up in laughter is to witness beauty in its rawest form, Harry is certain. All whilst she lays bare with himself inside of her—connected as far as he can possibly reach—this feeling doesn’t compel him very often. If ever at all.

ㅤㅤ

Sitting at the head of the table with absent eyes, Harry’s nodding his head in faux-interest whilst his mind is full of filth. Not many eyes are on him anyhow, as Mitch talks through the monthly rates but—understandably—when his personal phone starts ringing disturbingly loudly, the heads of everyone turn to watch their boss answer it alarmingly quickly. The same boss who most employees have never seen handle a personal phone in their entire career at his company; might have believed he lived permanently in his office, in fact.

It’s a shock when he holds the phone up to his ear, shoots his assistant a glance and says, “You’ve got this, haven’t y’Mitch?” before exiting the room with a curt nod and a rushed shuffle to squeeze around the chairs.

Harry knows it’s unprofessional of him, but he’s been waiting for his phone to ring all week. So he’ll be damned if he misses an important call just to maintain formality. He can’t fire himself.

The voice on the other end of the line doesn’t quite contain the lilt he was hoping for, however.

“Heyyy, Harry.” He can’t help but sigh as he closes his office door and slouches unceremoniously into his chair. “You’re at work, aren’t you? Surprised you answered.”

“The luxury of being your own boss, Niall,” Harry watches the seconds hand spin around the clock on his wall. Each tick is echoed by nails tapping wood. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was ringing to ask about you, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard from Y/N at all?”

Harry looks away from his clock. “I haven’t. Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s more than alright. She had a great time with you.”

He smiles a little, “That’s nice. She’s very sweet, Niall.”

“Mhm she is… I think you should see her again.”

Harry thinks so too. “I’d like that. But I haven’t heard from her, which is fine—I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”

“That’s the thing though—she’s so nervous, even though she’s been proper gushing about ya. She’d love to see you again, I’m sure. But she’s too scared to call you.”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Alright… what are you saying, Niall?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is shy.

Chronically shy.

She always has been and that certainly isn’t going to change overnight. Especially not if she were to meet the most attractive man she’s ever seen, have him take her home and then alter the very definition of pleasure itself. Especially not then.

But she so very wishes that was the case.

The post-it note hasn’t moved from the position Harry left it in when he penned his number. He’d been so sweet when asking if he could give it to her—like making her come multiple times wasn’t enough of an indication that she might want to see him again.

And she really does. God, she wants it more than anything.

But she’s an overthinker. She’s a worrywart, a nervous Nellie, a wet blanket—whatever. In every version of the phone call they have in her mind, she says the wrong thing, or Harry lets her down gently, or someone else picks up the phone. And if she texts him, her responses are awkward, or he leaves her messages on delivered—or worse read—or even worse he asks to see her again and then Y/N has to panic over fifty completely different hypothetical scenarios.

She decides that it’s just not meant for her—relationships, or human interaction, happiness—she’s not sure what specifically, but she knows it’s too much to handle. Harry would only be disappointed in the long run anyway; Y/N is simply saving his time—doing him a favour.

Niall isn’t inclined to agree—because of course the topic came up in conversation. Her friend had never been so eager to talk about anything in his entire life, and he loves talking.

The morning after Y/N met Harry, she was greeted by a dozen text messages, followed by multiple missed calls. (If Niall was ever in danger, Y/N thinks she’d be inclined to ignore him—never phased by the multitudes of spam she receives on a daily basis.) And at the first opportunity he had, Niall was knocking—no, pounding—on her door, sing-songing her name from outside her flat.

There was a reluctance in letting him in. This was all new territory for Y/N and Niall knew that. However in fairness to her—rather oversized golden retriever of a—friend, he attempted with all his heart to pretend he wasn’t bursting at the seams for as long as he could. Grinning in a somewhat subdued manner as she opened the door—elated beam withstanding his journey to her sofa—until he sat down and just couldn’t help himself, springing back up.

“You didn’t fuck on the couch, did you?” Half teasing, half deadly serious as his eyes widen and he shuffles away in an attempt to evacuate quicker if Y/N were to confirm his fear.

Y/N cowered behind her hands, cheeks burning, “No! Don’t say it like that, Niall.”

“Oh right, I’m sorry, hang on,” he cleared his throat obnoxiously, “You didn’t make sweet, sweet love on the couch, did you?”

She squawked and Niall cackled, holding his arms in front of his face when Y/N started to batter him with a sofa cushion.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll be nice.”

He was nice. A relief to have someone to talk to, and never before has Niall been happier about anything, Y/N is convinced. She didn’t realise the status of her sex life was something to be so thrilled about, but his smile threatened to blind her.

And once the initial embarrassment had somewhat passed, Y/N was honest.

“He was so lovely, Niall. Far too good for me, I mean—God,” she smiled but it’s a little sad.

“Hey,” Niall’s eyebrows pinched, “don’t go there with me, young lady.” He flicked her arm. “Harry wouldn’t have initiated a thing if he didn’t want to. And he left his number, come on.”

And that’s how they’d ended up in a tizzy over calling him. Y/N just couldn’t make herself do it. No matter how sweet, and pretty, and kind he’d been to her. Niall had even offered to do it for her but that had sent humiliating shivers down her spine, imagining it play out. My friend has a crush on you—absolutely not.

The days pass and Y/N works. She eats poorly, often asleep standing by the time she arrives home—and if it is proper food she’s ingesting, it’s something she’s woken up at two a.m. to bake because she’d had a sudden itch to do it. The rest of her time at home is spent cleaning the mess she made whilst baking—which turns into moping with a feather duster in hand. Moping about the best night of her life and how she’ll never get a part two.

Nighttime comes and her fingers don’t feel the same. It feels fruitless to even try. She’s hardly got hands big enough and none of the curling does her any good. It only makes her angry, and that’s the one thing she was always told not to be when going to bed.

She asked Niall not to bring Harry up in conversation again; that it would only make her sad and she’ll just have to get over it. Over him—or over whatever he could’ve become.

So the last person Y/N assumes is at her door when she hears knocking, is the very man she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist. She’s exhausted—been home for no longer than an hour after a long day of answering the phone to far more people than usual, trying to maintain equanimity as she booked meetings in the rapidly filling calendar. Her lunch break had been undeniably cut short—some may argue it was cut out completely—when the computer she was entering sensitive data into decided to crash (without saving) and Y/N had to compose herself in the toilet so she didn’t stain inky droplets all over her desk.

She was hungry, and tired, and sad, and—above all else—overwhelmed. Y/N’s not sure the last time in her life when she wasn’t, and it really builds up in a person. It’s near impressive that she’s even still running. If Y/N were a computer, much like the one at work, she would have crashed years ago. And point blank refused to turn back on again.

It’s unsettling, to say the least, when she hears that knocking. Because who could possibly be at her door right now? It’s too late for it to be the postman, Niall is still working—and that is literally all the people she knows.

In a panicked rush, Y/N scrambles to answer it, too startled to check her appearance or wipe the panda circles from around her eyes. It feels like everything happens in slow motion, from the door opening to reveal the man standing behind it—to the unveiling of his gentle smile and kind eyes. Y/N is half-inclined to slam it shut in his face with an affronted squeal.

She doesn’t quite squeal, but a noise is certainly made. One of terror, Harry might believe, as her eyes widen and flit around his face in a frenzy. The flowers in his hand are only just noticed, and she pauses on them for a moment, an expression of disbelief passing over her features before they become chaotic once again.

“Harry! I—” Y/N pastes a hand to her cheek in bewilderment, heart sinking at the sight of the man’s eyebrows kinking, migrating towards the centre. Then she trails further down, sees him still clad in his suit—crisp navy pressed to perfection. It’s jarring the way her brain switches from awkward to lewd for a split second, until she looks away with shame.

“Darlin’, are you alright?” He steps forward, hand reaching out. “You’re not going to faint, are you?” His voice is light and Y/N wants to laugh because what a ridiculous suggestion, of course she’s not going to faint! but she’s not so sure she believes it.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she lies.

“Let’s sit you down. Can I come in?”

Y/N swallows, exhaling as she looks up at him, before nodding slightly and stepping to the side to allow him room. Harry barely stops to assess his surroundings—only guides her to where he’s been before—her sofa feeling like the softest of clouds in this moment, while her heart is racing and her skin is tingling. He stays remarkably calm and light on his feet, whisking himself away to do God knows what but Y/N is hardly concerned. All she can think about is the fact that he’s here, and she’s a catastrophe, and she has not prepared for this. She has NOT prepared for this.

Harry finds the kitchen, near tripping over his feet to turn down the boiling pot of water that’s about to overflow. He throws some pasta in the saucepan—something quick he can fill her tummy with—and digs around for another that he fills with a jar of sauce. Then he’s rifling through cabinets to find a vase for the bouquet in his hand—which is something she apparently does not own, so a jug will do—before filling both that and a glass with water to take back to Y/N.

She looks timid and small—hands fiddling with themselves in her lap as she disassociates whilst staring at her coffee table. Harry places the jug down right where she’s looking and she blinks some. Her lips upturn just a little at the sight of the buttery petals.

“Drink.” Y/N accepts the glass easily, swallowing multitudes. Her face is dewy, a slight sheen of anxiety, and her knees bounce. “Better?” Harry softens his gaze, aware of the tension between his eyes—he knows he can sometimes appear cross without realising.

Y/N nods, rubbing at her nose like a little rabbit, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is small, “you’ve been at work, and now you’re here and I’m… I’m a mess,” she tries to laugh but it falls flat.

“Don’t be silly. I’m a big boy, Y/N, you don’t need to apologise.” He’s encouraging as he smiles, rubbing over her knee soothingly. She’s still in her pencil skirt and white shirt—but she looks less like a sexy secretary and more like a sweaty schoolgirl. It’s hardly self-respecting.

Y/N grips the glass like it’s an anchor, altering her train of thought. “Uh… no one has ever… bought me flowers before.”

The smile he gives her is compassionate. A small curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as if to implore his feelings to display correctly on his face. The way he disagrees with the fact of it—why could that be true? It shouldn’t be true. Everyone deserves flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile… yellow tulips, that’s what they mean.” He offers the information with zero insecurity.

Y/N’s face starts to burn, heart fighting to burst through her ribcage. She opens her mouth, and then she closes it. Harry’s watching her so, very intently, eyes crinkling when her hands press into her cheeks as if to will the heat away.

“I don’t know what your favourites are, but I thought you might like those.”

“No…” Y/N shakes her head, “yellow tulips are my favourite flower… definitely.” She chews on her lip to detain the smile threatening to break free.

“Yeah?” His eyes are shining, light reflecting off the sea glass of his irises and unlocking the depths of his spirit. “You gonna let me see your sunshine smile, darlin’?”

She laughs, a bright, bubbly giggle as her palms smother her face. “No!”

“What?” Harry grins. “What’s so funny?”

“Stop talking like that… it’s— I’m… flustered.”

“‘M just talkin’!” He insists, hands holding themself in a surrender.

“You’re being… a lot.”

“Too much?”

“No. It’s just— people don’t talk to me like you do. It’s nice… but I don’t know how to react.”

“Just show me your pretty smile, I think that’s a good place to start.”

She giggles again, eyes full of mirth—trying so desperately to embrace the fire in her cheeks. “Thank you for the flowers, Harry.”

They hold each other’s gaze.

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” his voice is soft.

“Can I— Can I make you dinner?” She starts, desperate to repay him in any way that she can. And then her eyes widen and she springs from the sofa. “Oh shit—”

“It’s okay, I did it, love.”

“What?”

“I turned the water down and put some pasta in. I’ve got it all sorted.” He touches her elbow, conveying his wish for her to sit back down.

She doesn’t.

“You— Really?”

Harry nods.

“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be doing that! I can’t even boil a pan of water properly.”

“Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice hardens a little. Not enough to be scary, or rude, or suggest he has ill intentions. His voice hardens and suddenly Y/N wants to listen to him, just like he said. It’s relieving, almost, the way his words cut through the thick fog inside her skull.

“Sit down, okay?”

She does, eyes wide and nervous.

“You remember what we spoke about last week?”

The look on his face prompts Y/N to answer—to brush past the sex despite it being the first thing she thinks of. “About you being a— a dominant? Or… uh… taking care of… people?”

“Mhm. How would you feel about letting me take care of you?”

And Y/N is shy—it’s been discussed—but she knows she really has to be honest right now. Even if that means embarrassing herself.

“Guilty,” she murmurs.

Harry straightens up some. “Guilty? Now why would you feel like that?”

“Because! You’ve turned up today with—with flowers and you’ve put dinner on and I already want to pay you back. I don’t deserve it, I’ve done nothing to warrant all of this.”

“All of this?” Harry parrots. His eyebrows furrow but he maintains a gentle tone, shifting closer to Y/N and holding his hand out, palm facing up. She places her own on top with the hesitance of a newborn lamb, eyes meeting his. “Darling, I don’t mean to be blunt but… this is not a lot. Flowers are really the bare minimum, and putting pasta in a pot is hardly a back-breaking task. Lovely… relationships, friendships—they’re not transactional, okay?” His thumb drags across the back of her hand.

She’s going to cry.

“You don’t need to pay me back for anything. I’m here because I want to be. And I want to show you that you deserve to be taken care of. Because you do, Y/N. You do deserve it.”

A tear brims over her rapidly filling waterline. “I’m sorry,” she laughs wetly. “I’m just tired.”

Harry nods, “I know,” wiping her cheek. “You just need a little help. And that’s okay.”

“You wanna do all this… and you barely know me… why?” He’s cloudy in front of her eyes, tears obstructing his handsome face.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week. You know that?”

“Okay, sure.” Y/N rubs at her lashes, smearing more mascara around. But she’s smiling a little, at the absurdity of Harry’s words.

He replaces her hands, the soft pads of his thumbs doing an adequate job of preserving her dignity whilst he wipes the smudges away.

“Mean it. Been distracted at work remembering it all.”

She’s not laughing anymore. No, her skin is tingling now. And her throat squeezes around a swallow.

“But it’s not just about sex. I like you, Y/N. And I want to like you more—get to know you, spend time with you. Is that convincing enough?”

Y/N shakes her head. But Harry sees the glint in her eye. He narrows his own at her.

“No? Are you playing with me? I thought you were a sweet, good girl.”

The skin of her cheeks has never been subjected to so much heat in such little time. It spreads out to her chest, and down her arms. She must be praying to some sort of God to ensure her hands haven’t become sodden yet.

“That’s not fair,” she squirms. “I just… like hearing you talk.”

“Hm, you like hearing me say that I like you, is that it?”

“Maybe,” she looks down. “Never really heard it before.”

“Well, get used to it, love. I want you to become sick of those three words.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Harry just smiles. “Will you let me?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is confused.

Or rather, she is tentative. Anxious, uncertain, disbelieving—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Harry sits across from her in the café they’ve frequented quite a few times in the last two weeks. His eyes are closed, taking in the first gulp of his coffee as it slinks down his throat and warms his chest, leaving a pleasant trail of heat in its place.

She admires him; something she wishes she could do more without his beady eyes on her and making her feel all embarrassed. He’s pretty—she likes to look at him. Especially when he’s not in his usual suit and slack attire. (Not that her brain doesn’t start to malfunction when he’s embraced by the flattering lines of fabric clutching to the muscles Y/N has had the pleasure of being crowded by but…) The contrast of seeing him comfortable and unfiltered is enough to make her relax too.

Or attempt to relax.

The first time Y/N and Harry came to The Little Snail Café, the former of the two had been nervous. (That is hardly information anyone would pay for.) It was a date as far she had been aware; Harry had explicitly labelled it so. And Y/N hadn’t been on a date since she was with her ex… but their time out was hardly ever impressive enough to warrant any kind of excitement.

Even remembering that she’d had a boyfriend renders every moment spent with him as less and less meaningful. As time spent wasted. He’d never told her her smile was that of sunshine. He’d barely ever told her he liked her.

But Y/N wasn’t thinking about him. Not on that day.

Harry had forced her to let him serve her dinner that evening he’d brought her flowers. Had implored that she change into something comfortable and sternly ordered glue your pretty arse to that sofa, little miss. That had been hard to argue with. Then he’d proceeded to plate up perhaps her first proper meal she’d consumed in a week and ask her about her day.

Y/N had been a little hesitant to admit the extent of her misery but Harry cottoned onto her pause quicker than most would. He was earnest in his sympathy, eyes void of ridicule as she detailed all her misfortunes.

“No wonder you nearly stacked it when I turned up,” he’d joked. “I’m sorry you had a rough day, love.”

It had been nice to have company. A pleasant silence whilst the two filled their stomachs. Y/N had missed it irrevocably—someone to breathe the same air with.

That had been when Harry asked about taking her somewhere the following day during her lunch break. A quaint place I think you’ll like. It wasn’t far and he’d have her back at work just in time. Y/N found that she trusted his word.

And although she had been worrying about it, as soon as Harry walked through the front doors and into the reception—wearing a chestnut suit that once again clung to him, like thick globules of honey, with his slicked hair that begged to curl onto his forehead in ringlets like that of a piglet’s tail—she had tunnel vision.

Her boss could have come in and fired her on the spot and Y/N wouldn’t have heard a thing. Only the rush of blood in her ears as her pupils expanded to the size of ten pence pieces and her stomach became the home to a dozen butterflies.

Harry had watched her reaction as she’d read the sign above the café—smiled at her bright eyes when she’d told him how cute it was. Had smiled even larger when he took her inside and let her discover the tiny snails etched into the edges of the tables.

“No one else has ever shared my passion for these little guys,” he’d emphasised as they sat down in the corner, sunlight flooding in through the windows and brightening up their irises, making Y/N giggle easily. Harry could tell she wasn’t laughing to make him feel better—or just to flirt—and that only made him try even harder to elicit those sounds from her pretty mouth.

He’d insisted he wanted to get to know her better. So that’s what he did.

Harry learned that Y/N eats far too much sugar, doesn’t sleep enough, and wishes she could have a pet cow. Or that is how he heard the words that exited her mouth. Y/N had only said she usually baked goodies in the dead of night and that videos of little fluffy calves make her cry.

The two never glanced away from one another. It was the kind of chemistry that drew eyes. Subtle glimpses from other customers sipping their warm drinks and cherishing that collective sense of human connection just from witnessing two people so innately into each other. Old couples nudging the other to reminisce on their younger days—workers wiping down tables and feeling a sense of respite during their long day at the unmistakable widening of the woman’s eyes in an attempt to see all of the man before her—to hang onto his every last word.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

Y/N had asked him lots of those questions. And had seemed very content with every answer he gave her. Perhaps apart from that last one. Y/N might have preferred cats but it wasn’t a dealbreaker.

It didn’t last long enough, in her opinion; their date. She had to return to work far too soon for her liking. But Harry paid for her toastie and hot chocolate, much to Y/N’s disarray, and dropped her off with a stroke of his thumb to the back of her hand and a kiss to her cheek.

She’d smiled so much she’d had to bite her lip to tone it down. Receptionists were never that happy.

ㅤㅤ

Their second date had been impromptu. And not really a date. Harry had knocked on her door once again—however this time, Y/N hadn’t jumped out of her skin. In fact, she’d just finished decorating a cake she’d hoped to surprise him with and the shock of his presence was replaced with elation at the coincidence.

The door opened, and before Harry stood a smiling girl with youthful glee painted all over her face. A pleasant difference from the last time. She giggled to herself and instructed he close his eyes as she guided him to her kitchen where the sweet smells were surely giving away any element of surprise. Still, Harry played up to it—feigning shock—(it’s not that he’s a cruel man but Harry remembered things about people and Y/N wasn’t so hard to read).

“Oh! It’s beautiful, darlin’… you made this f’me?”

Y/N nodded, grinning. A proper smile, unabashed and without premeditation. Harry felt its warmth; lucky to receive such a display from someone he’d previously seen so reserved.

The cake was cute; rusticly smothered in vanilla buttercream and decorated with halved strawberries circling the edges (Y/N was not so hard to read) and it tasted heavenly. Harry never believed he was much of a cake person—he’d always much preferred ice cream—but devouring a slice with the knowledge it had been made with care, especially for him, had his taste buds in a sugarcoated frenzy.

Y/N had been so elated to watch Harry enjoy her baking that she’d failed to realise that he had come to her home for a reason. And so had Harry, apparently—a look of epiphany crossing his face as he was placing his plate in the dishwasher. (Y/N had tried to do it for him but Harry had smoothed a large palm over the top of her head and all thoughts just melted away.)

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mhm?”

“Weather’s supposed to be nice this weekend. Picnic?”

And Y/N still got flustered, sure, but…

“You came all the way here to ask me that? You have… you have my number, don’t you?”

Harry couldn’t help his smile, tongue stuffing his cheek to attempt to control it. “Yeah, I do. I do. Just wanted to see you. Good job I did too.” He nodded to the cake.

But Y/N was all twinkles. In her eyes, over her face, all the way to her toes. She had half the mind to believe Harry visited her just to garner this reaction; to inflate his ego.

“I won’t be able to take you for lunch tomorrow though, ‘m sorry.”

“Oh… that’s okay,” she smiled. It wasn’t okay. It was world-ending news. What was she supposed to look forward to now?

“Been offloading a lot onto m’assisstant lately—should really give him a break.”

Y/N frowned, “I’m sorry.”

Harry barely let her finish the word. “No. No, I don’t want to hear that.” He moved forward, nudging the back of his index finger under her chin. “Not your fault, is it?” His eyes bored into Y/N’s, stern but imploring her to not worry herself like that. To take the blame for something that was not her fault.

“I’m— I…” Words failed to form, eyelashes brushing her cheeks in repeated blinks.

Harry swept it under the rug. It’s not something he wanted her to get het up about. Another time—he’d thought—another time he’d make sure she understood never to apologise unnecessarily. To feel guilty about him causing an inconvenience just to see her; because God forbid she accepted that she was good enough to be treated with such consideration. Another time. “I’ll come see you the day after though, yeah? I still want you to try the beetroot soup.”

“Idon’tlikebeetroot,” the girl mumbled, lips downturning with the admission.

“What was that, love?”

“I don’t think I like beetroot, Harry.” Her eyes lifted…and there was that guilt once again. Fear that disliking something may cause offence or trouble.

“Have you ever tried it?”

Y/N’s silence was deafening. She smiled shyly up at him, skin tingling with the beginnings of heat—whilst Harry simply shook his head with a playful eye roll before stroking his thumb over her chin. The plush pad met with a soft indentation.

“Have an early night tonight, okay? Get some rest.” The syllables rolled off his tongue like a gentle caress; told her she looked tired in quite possibly the kindest way.

Y/N nodded, focusing all her energy on the feeling of his thumb on her skin.

And when Harry had gone, leaving her heart an overexerted mess of muscle and blood turned flower petals and bubbles, she’d simply looked to the ceiling with a shit-eating grin as she tried to swallow a giggle. There was nothing inside her that was not touched by Harry—and everything transformed from rickety and paint-chipped to sturdy and ornate—embellished down to the finest details.

ㅤㅤ

It had been a joy to wake up on Sunday.

Y/N felt the rays of sun through her curtains warming her sleepy face as her alarm blared—an alarm worth setting despite it being the weekend—and as her consciousness came rushing back to her, the memory of Harry promising to pick her up at eleven had her residual tiredness dancing away like it was performing the quickstep.

Dress weather made Y/N happy. Made her feel pretty and confident and giddy; something quite contradicting considering her skittish personality. And that’s exactly how she felt when she admired her sundress in the mirror of her wardrobe—square neck framing her chest, white fabric bunching around her shoulders in sheer puffs and cinching at her waist to flow into a floaty skirt. She looked sweet; the picturesque vision of a girl about to perch on a blanket under the sun and consume saccharine confections. Y/N pulled the hem between her finger and thumb, exposing the skin of her upper thigh, deep in thought at the fantasy of Harry taking her all in. His own confection.

And he did of course.

Though it didn’t unfold in perhaps the way Y/N had hoped. Which is why they’re called fantasies, she supposed. Because she was still her—despite feeling like a whole new person, she certainly wasn’t.

Harry had knocked on her door at two minutes to eleven, which may have been a problem had Y/N not been ready over an hour earlier than she needed to be. (With another bunch of flowers—white gardenias—“They mean I have a crush on you,” Harry leaned over and whispered as though it was some big secret. Y/N took them with a stifled titter and scurried off to place them in water, dress swishing around her thighs.) His gaze had dripped down her, as respectfully as he could manage when all he wanted was to glide his palms all over. The sight of soft skin contrasted by the sanctity of white cotton—her silky hands carrying a wicker basket (the true vision of a picnic) which Harry had plucked out of her grasp with little hesitation.

As a true gentleman would, he offered Y/N his arm to place her hand; the crook of his elbow providing a safe seat to rest from the weary necessity of holding the weight of her own limbs.

Y/N, however, would only be so lucky to mirror Harry’s formalities—to uphold the stereotype of womanly elegance—as her toe catches on a step down towards his car. Emulating their first night outside of her house, only this time it felt worse. It’s far more embarrassing, Y/N decided, to fall when holding onto the person you’re so enamoured by.

It was hardly a fall—moreso a drag of the foot, a buckle of the knee. But it was still enough to have her gasping and untangling herself from Harry. Harry who had kept her secure without any chuckling or patronising. Had his brows furrowed in concern and his hand to her elbow to steady her. Y/N still ripped herself away, turning so he couldn’t see her.

“Oh my god! Don’t look at me.” She was mortified; as the pair stood halfway down the steps, suspended in a moment.

“Darlin’—” Admittedly, Harry did have to try his hardest not to laugh. Not at her trip but her reaction; the drama! “Darling,” he tried again, “you’re alright.” His hand ghosted over Y/N’s shoulder blades, where fabric met flesh.

“That was—I’m mortified—that was so unattractive!” She barely meant it; was just humiliated as she’d said, but Harry shook his head behind her.

“You’re still very pretty, Y/N. Just a little clumsy. But that’s okay,” he turned her around, “you’ll just have to hold on tighter.” Harry admired the kinks in her brows, expressive in her shame, as he guided her hand back to his arm. “Very pretty.” He’d almost whispered it—not out of a wish that she had not heard but as an attempt to reseal their bubble—their intimate world.

The sun stayed magnificently bright for them.

As though it was watching its light bounce between their eyes; wanted the moment to last as long as it could maintain the warmth; the incandescence.

Harry followed the motions of her hands, fingernails painted in alternating shades of soft green and pastel pink, as Y/N devoured a punnet of strawberries. (She’d brought two.) She was a head-bobber, munching away with the occasional hum as her eyes transfixed onto his knees.

He was wearing corduroy shorts and a big floaty shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white top poking out from underneath. Y/N admired his golden skin, the delicate tattoos bracketing his kneecaps, and the dusting of hair covering his lean limbs. It was still a joy to see him so underdressed, the true image of a boy she would take home to her parents.

The two looked symbiotic—two sides of the same coin, or heart, or strawberry—as Y/N offered one to Harry, who took it graciously with a smile and a scrunch of his nose. (Mild hayfever, he’d described it as.) From an outside perspective, they looked established. A relationship that surely began as highschool sweethearts. Enough so to have strangers whispering I’ll bet you a tenner he’s about to propose to her.

But neither registered any sort of outside perspective, they were the only two people that mattered, after all.

“You ought to be careful, love, you’ll get a bad tummy if you eat so much fruit,” Harry prodded, as Y/N opened up the second punnet of strawberries.

“Oh,” she frowned down at them. “My stomach sorta always hurts anyway.” He perturbed her none, eyelashes fluttering as she bit into a picture perfect fruit. Harry hardened his gaze—registering her unbothered tone with concern.

“That’s not… ideal, Y/N.” He was slow, cautious. “Y’shouldn’t be hurting all the time.”

Her eyes rounded out as she looked at him, lips plush as she took another bite. But she just shrugged her shoulders, tastebuds too preoccupied by the blossoming on her tongue. The wind picked up a little, blowing her hair across her face in soft streaks—as though the Earth was wielding a paintbrush, and using her strands as the medium. She whined a little, trying to avoid getting hair in her mouth as she finished the rest of the strawberry. Harry watched with starry eyes—zoned in on her shining skin—as a drop seeped out of the edge of her lips and dribbled down the side of her chin.

He reached over without hesitation, thumb swiping the liquid away, and Harry basked in the subtle widening of Y/N’s eyes as he brought that very thumb to his mouth to coat his tongue. Her fingers scrambled at her face messily, brushing all hair out of her eyes. It felt incredibly humid all of a sudden.

“Hey,” she pouted, refusing to be swept away under Harry’s ruse, “that was my juice.”

And Harry couldn’t help himself. Not when she was setting the scene just perfectly. “Mm, sorry,” he hummed, “d’you want it back?”

Y/N nodded, tongue darting out to wetten her lips.

“Hm?” He prompted.

“Yeah—yes, I do, please.” She swallowed; Harry’s eyes followed the contraction of her throat.

“Come here then,” he tempted. He was already in a very alluring position, elbows bracing his weight as he sprawled across the blanket, knee propped up and easily manoeuvrable. Y/N shuffled on her knees, the short space towards him, setting herself down with her hands placed on her thighs as though he’d instructed her to.

Harry pushed up, hand ghosting along the side of Y/N’s cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” Their breaths mingled, swirling across one another’s face and sinking into their skin. Y/N’s eyelids dropped closed, patiently asking, waiting. He took his time to admire her anticipating face, leaning closer to drape a sigh over her bottom lip.

“Kiss—kiss me,” she exhaled, eyelids twitching—wanting to open. But they didn’t. They stayed shut, stayed waiting, stayed hiding her from the world around them.

Harry smiled and Y/N swore she could feel it. Feel as he leant forward and brushed the tip of his nose down the front of hers. His hand stroked through the hair behind her ear, large digits coaxing her to melt and mollify into his hands, which she did so easily. She parted her lips wider, blindly tilting to try to meet his. Harry let them touch for a second—a press of flesh—before he leant back, nose nudging hers once again.

Y/N expelled a shaky breath, a little whine falling out of her neglected mouth. Her eyebrows kinked and her pretty nails dug into her thighs.

She chose to stay in the dark—from fear that it would be over if she opened her eyes. But that was something she needn’t have worried about. Harry leant back, enough to see out of the corner of his eye and reach for a strawberry.

He resisted the urge to indulge himself, mouth watering at the thought, and instead brought the pointed tip towards Y/N’s eagerly awaiting lips. Harry grazed his nose along her cheekbone, words finding her sensitive ears as he pushed the fruit to touch.

“Bite,” he whispered.

A noise of complaint lodged itself in Y/N’s throat, but she complied regardless, teeth sinking into the strawberry. Its juice coated her tongue and lacquered over her lips, the gooey pulp going down smoothly as she dared to open her mouth for another offering.

But as she did, suddenly the air around her face shifted, and the heat of Harry’s breath ghosted across her once more. Pointed and heavy exhales from his nostrils as she felt his tongue dart out to swipe across her bottom lip. It felt exploratory, leisurely—like he had all the time in the world to get to know her mouth. And it’s not like they hadn’t done this before—kissed—but it felt new, all the same. It had her breath hitching and her body leaning unconsciously into his touch.

Once her bottom lip stopped being enough, Harry pulled it down with the pad of his thumb and unlatched Y/N’s jaw in the process. He opened her up, and she let him completely, sat still on her knees as he played with her. She didn’t feel toyed with really—was still processing being touched in such a way and wondering if it would ever stop feeling so intoxicating. Harry took one final moment to bask in her blind trust; to watch the stillness of her face and feel the gentle (but rapid) breaths fan against his mouth.

And then he kissed her.

He really kissed her.

Y/N’s hmph quickly turned into a muffled mewl, open mouth accepting Harry’s tongue rubbing over hers as though it was her resuscitative medication. The only thing to stabilise her bloodstream, to soothe her fighting heart. He tasted like strawberries. And so did she. Sweet, and wet, and promising. It felt filthy but it felt clean at the same time—renewing and resetting, like running across soft sands to plunge into bracing sea water—Y/N would let him drip juice anywhere he liked, she’d let him feed fruit from his own mouth into hers. She’d let Harry spread her out and do with her as he pleased. Right there. Right then.

And it caught up to her all too quickly, the overwhelming heat of her thoughts. They were in public. But yet she couldn’t possibly entertain pulling away—not when Harry’s mouth engulfed her entirely. It wasn’t a cute kiss, a sweet reminder of affection or endearment. It was a kiss you shielded your child’s eyes away from, or grimaced at from nearby. It was sloppy, and sticky, and mind-numbingly dizzying.

Harry’s lips left syrupy residue wherever they landed—her top lip, her bottom lip, her tongue, her cupid’s bow. Y/N felt poisoned. Drip fed for weeks until Harry deemed the time right as he went in for the kill. She wasn’t sure she was even doing much of the kissing; perhaps she was simply being kissed. She tried to keep up, returned his tongue with her own and let her mouth encase his bottom lip in a frenzied attempt at reciprocation.

But his hands were holding her face, and then they were sliding into her hair, and all Y/N could do was feel.

Feel, and be felt, and—and—

ㅤㅤ

And Y/N is still confused!

She’s drifted away from their cosy table at The Little Snail Café—well physically, she’s right there but mentally… Her eyes are glossed over and she’s still very much contemplating the state of their relationship. Because… that kiss had been nearly a week ago and… well, Y/N doesn’t want to be thought of as some sex pest (she loses her virginity and now she’s clawing at the walls for orgasms) but she always thought—completely aware of her ignorance and unrealistic education—that the role of a dominant was to… fuck the living shit out of someone on the regular.

And even as she’s thinking that, with Harry right in front of her, she feels crude and disrespectful. But he hasn’t so much as hinted that he was going to have sex with her again, and that moment with the strawberries has been going round, and round, and round inside her head for days and nights and it’s driving her insane. Because, as previously established, nothing she can do matches what Harry made her feel, so any attempt at quelling the ache leaves her worse off than before.

“Don’t much like hearing how I feel about squirting, huh?”

Y/N blinks, and physically shakes her head as if to wake herself up. “Sorry?”

Harry sips from his mug, smiling. “Joke, love.”

“How uh—” she clears her throat, “How do you feel?”

“Hm… messy, but hot.”

She nods—perhaps a confusing reaction to such a sentence. Most people would probably quip back something flirtatious or coy. But Y/N just nods.

“What’re you thinking about in there?”

“Um… I was just wondering when— when you were gonna kiss me… again…”

“Y’are, are you? How uncouth.”

“Well— I just… When you said you were,” she leans forward, volume dropping considerably, “a dominant… I just thought… something different would be happening.” And then she starts to spiral. “Not in a— not because this is… this is great. I mean—”

“Settle down, darlin’, it’s okay.” Harry sighs, scratching the top of his head with a thoughtful expression on his lovely face. “‘s my fault, really. I haven’t explained much to you. And I have no doubt you are basing all of your facts on poor media portrayal.” Y/N scrunches her nose in a silent show of guilt. “It’s not just about sex,” he starts. “It is for some people, but for you I don’t think it is. And I’ve been slow, and cautious in fear of overwhelming you, and it’s resulted in probably a couple confusing weeks for you. So, I’m sorry.

“The whole point is for you not to worry, and you’re still doing that because I’m not doing my job properly, but I was worried you might change your mind so I held off. You can still change your mind, by the way.” Y/N shakes her head. Harry continues. “I’ll take you home now, if you like, give you the whoooole run through. Does that sound good?” Y/N nods. “And you’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?”

“Yes, Harry. I will.”

“Can I take you to my home? Cook you dinner?” He asks, staring at the way Y/N’s head lays heavy against the headrest and her limbs are leaden, as she relaxes into his car.

She nods, lips quirking upwards with intrigue. At the blanks in her mind that will be filled. What to imagine when he’s in bed, when he’s watching TV, or eating… or… showering. “Can I help?”

Harry pretends to consider it. “We’ll see.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s house is… not what Y/N expects it to be.

Well, it is in some ways.

It’s large, and it’s expensive, and it’s astronomically grand. But it’s… it’s characterless. It lacks personality—and Harry Styles does not lack personality. Harry Styles is charming, and intelligent, and beautiful. But his house is stark white. There is no indication that his house is not a show home. It’s untouched, unlived in, unloved. And Y/N wasn’t expecting that.

“It’s too big, I know,” Harry gestures to the air around them as he watches Y/N take it all in.

“Not at all! No… it’s so beautiful, Harry.” And it is, it really is. She’s not lying. How can she lie when she’s staring at such a grand staircase? When the windows are so large, and bright that the space is nearly sparkling. And the garden she sees through the other side is blooming trees and unkempt flowers and just begging to be loved.

But as beautiful as it is, it’s still just… white.

He guides her through to the kitchen which…

“Woah,” Y/N admires, “you could make so many cakes in here.” She laughs and Harry grins just at the sight.

It’s true, there’s enough counter space to house at least ten separate mixing bowls. Impressively clean considering the observed shades of white. But there are signs of life in here—photos on the fridge, (one that catches her eye of two women that absolutely have to share his genes) post-it notes huddled around a pot of pens, a basket of cleaning products, a vase of flowers in the middle of the island. A comforting sight to see a little bit of the inside of Harry’s brain.

“They’re very pretty,” Y/N points at the photo on his fridge with a hesitancy that suggests she’s expecting him to berate her for being nosy.

“Mum’ll love that,” he laughs. “That’s her,” Harry points to the woman on the left, adorning sunglasses and a bright smile, and then to the right, “and m’sister, Gemma.”

“You look like each other.”

“Yeah? Y’think so?”

Harry shines when he speaks about his loved ones. Is so happy to talk about the photo of his father, his step-dad, his mum’s cat, the younger Harry surrounded by other young boys (“My mate Jonny, he was stoned as fuck in this picture. Had no idea.” His eyes crinkle around the edges and Y/N can only think about how beautiful those lines look).

Then he moves over to the island and tugs out a stool. “Come sit,” he pats.

He doesn’t let her help him cook—insists that she stay right where she is and carry on looking at him like that.

“Like what?” Y/N pretends she’s not shy about being caught.

“With those gooey eyes.”

“Gooey?”

“Mhm. You look one moment away from melting into the counter.”

“I do not,” she scoffs.

“It’s okay, I like it.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry owns the fluffiest rug in the history of the universe, Y/N is sure.

Obnoxiously cream in comparison to the rest of the colour palette. And in defence of Harry, the walls of his living room are painted a warm beige and his vast, velvet sofa is a deep forest green. The main attraction remains the rug, however. Long and shaggy and absolutely imperative to lie upon.

Y/N withholds the urge, but she stares pointedly and longingly towards it for too long to be considered a passing gaze.

“You can touch it if you want.”

“Hm?”

“The rug… that you’re eyefucking.”

“I—” she blanches, “It looks so soft.”

Harry makes the first move, blue jeans creasing at the knees as he crouches down. He pushes his palms into the strands and watches as they’re swallowed up into the depths of the faux-fur. Y/N hesitates, looking down at him on his hands and knees and wondering if it would be inappropriate to join him. But when he leans back, hands bracing himself behind him so he can lounge—mirroring the position of the day they had their picnic far too much—Y/N caves and drops to her own knees.

It’s sensory heaven—quite frankly—and Y/N knows immediately that she could get lost stroking this sole rug for hours. Harry watches her with an informed smile as she drags her fingers back and forth through the threads, already lost in a little world of her own.

“G’na have a mature and adult conversion now, alright, love?”

Y/N nods.

“Are you going to be able to listen and finger my rug at the same time?”

She narrows her eyes at him, adjusting from kneeling to crossing her legs. “I’m not finger—” she swallows. “Yes, I believe so.”

ㅤㅤ

“—I would encourage you to eat, go to bed at a certain time, turn your phone off. And I would want you to listen to me—not to argue, to trust that I know best.” That sounds easy, Y/N thinks. “I would want you to raise concerns in a polite manner—I don’t think it’s ever necessary to shout. And it would be important to me that you are always honest about the way you are feeling. No trying to make me feel better or pushing it down, okay?”

Y/N had feared it may be complicated, from the way Harry had suggested—had put off having this conversation for so long. But his commanding voice, and intense eyes make her feel so safe, and incredibly mellow. New feelings for Y/N. She nods.

“And when it comes to sex… trust is the most important thing. I don’t want to be doing anything we haven’t discussed, and I certainly don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable in an attempt to please me. Now I know you may not be experienced with a lot of the things that are involved in these kinds of relationships but would you be interested in learning… with me? What you like and dislike?”

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling now? Good?” When Y/N nods once more, Harry gets to his feet. His voice slicks down her spine when he drawls, “Come here then. And kneel.”

Whilst Harry had been speaking, Y/N can’t deny the fact that her insides had started stirring around in anticipation. But now, as he commands her to station herself so far below him in stature, the silly little brain inside her skull begins to melt into mush. She crawls the short distance towards him until her eyes are level with the tops of his knees, and she just waits, sneaking a glance up to see Harry towering above her with a subtle quirk of his lip.

He brings a hand up slowly, warm palm ghosting the heat of her cheek and smoothing over her head in a comforting stroke. “I want you to call me Sir. T’help you slip quicker. You wanna be all nice ‘n’ mellow? Forget about all your stress?”

“Yes… Sir.” It comes out as little more than a squeak.

Harry chuckles, “You’re so good.” Y/N quite nearly beams up at him, insides swarming. “You like that? You like when I praise you?”

“Mhm,” she nods.

“Well it’s just so easy for me, darlin’. Because you’re so lovely.”

She closes her eyes, bottom lip nibbled to hide the giddy smile that overtakes her. Harry’s hand in her hair, scratching and smoothing, is already doing enough to make her eyelids heavy. But she supposes sleep is not the end goal.

“Your first time,” Harry starts. “Did you enjoy it?”

What? “Yes—yes Sir, of course.”

“What would you change about it?”

“N-nothing! It was perfect.”

He hums, nails dragging soothing lines into her scalp. “Which part?” Y/N opens her mouth but Harry keeps speaking. “When I fucked you open with my fingers? Got you nice and stretched for me—had your little pussy just quivering and begging me to fill her up?” He fists a more substantial amount of her hair. “Or maybe when I finally got my cock inside of you, and you were so happy. Squirming underneath me like a wet dream.”

Y/N can’t help but grab for his thighs, nails trying to dig in.

“Hands in your lap, darlin’.”

She pulls away regretfully.

“Was it when I fucked up into you, hard enough to force all those pretty sounds out? Or when I stretched over you and held your hands above your head? Had your body arching for me.”

Y/N is on fire. She must be. Her body is aflame and her insides have melted.

“I think…” Harry bends over some, trying to catch the eyes of the girl who is fighting every feeling. Her eyelids are shut, concealing the windows to her soul, and her brows are knitted together so tightly that she might induce a migraine. He smooths them out with a thumb before stroking over the delicate skin of her lids. “I think—look at me, darling—I think… it was when I had your stomach pressed into the mattress and a hand around your throat,” thick fingers squeeze her cheeks together with care, “and all you could do was lie there and take it. As I fucked you for the first time, just like you deserve.

“And after you came around me for the third time, I flipped you over so I could see your pretty face, and I came between your soft thighs, didn’t I, love? Did you want it inside of you? Warm, and sticky, and all because of you? Is that what you’d change?”

Y/N doesn’t actually think he would have come inside of her—he’d worn a condom, after all—but if the thought doesn’t have her thighs squeezing… “Wouldn't change,” she shakes her head. “Liked having you— liked it on…”

“Mm, I think you’d say that about everything. What do you know, after all?”

He’s right, and she hates the way his condescension has her wilting even further into the palm of his hand.

Y/N leans her face into Harry’s hand as he begins tracing over her features with a curious thumb, dedicating every line and mark to his memory. Then he’s crouching down with a little exhale and securing his hands under her armpits to pull her up with miniscule preamble. Y/N gasps, and her hands shoot out instinctively whilst Harry is lifting her up to his height. She grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist using muscle memory she didn’t realise she had.

Her knees sink into the rich green of his sofa as Harry sits down, gently encouraging her hands down from his shoulders and behind her back. A buzz zips through her chest from the feel of his warm body underneath her. Warm, and strong, and solid.

“Wanna hold these here, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his rose-tinted lips. “Gonna be a little rough with you. If you want to stop, you say Red. If you want to slow down—take a break—you say Yellow. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says, eyes trailing down her neck, deciding what to do, “good,” repeated solely to himself.

Y/N feels the frustration of choosing to put on jeans this morning, mind spiralling at the thought of being on top of Harry with just a skirt to hide her modesty. Just a skirt that would so easily be slipped underneath by his hands, and then her underwear…

But Harry seems less concerned. His gaze is transfixed to her chest; to the intricate lace of her camisole, that—in contrast to her jeans—provides very easy access. Y/N’s breathing picks up at the very thought, ribs expanding and only drawing his eyes further. She’s tugged forward by a hand on her hip, searing through the fabric, and the other holding her hands. Tugged until Harry is resting his forehead on her sternum and inhaling deeply.

Her lungs are working at an extreme rate, and more of his nose presses into her with every breath. Y/N is so close to his hair in this position—just has to bend her face down a little and his musky scent fills her nostrils. It seems they both have similar ideas—breathing one another in—but Harry seems far more relaxed than the near shaking girl on top of him.

It only gets worse for her when he pushes his lips against the valley of her breasts—small, tender kisses that have Y/N’s breath hitching. The straps of her camisole want to fall down her shoulders in angelic swoops but her cardigan prohibits all movement. Suddenly it’s the heaviest and warmest piece of clothing she’s ever worn.

“Har—Sir,” she breathes, head tilting back on her shoulders. The caress of his breath on her body is immobilising, and he seems content in moving at a snail’s pace for his own enjoyment. Whether he gets the message or not is unclear, but regardless, Harry lets go of her hands just long enough to shuck the chunky cardigan down her arms and discard it beside them.

As soon as he tightens his grip around her wrists once again, the strain of her arms has her camisole straps slipping down the curves of her shoulders, like a waterfall of silk. The fabric is so light and thin that it pools underneath her breasts—the crooks of her elbows the only things keeping the straps suspended. And Harry’s immediate response suggests he’s somewhat of a starved individual, teeth digging into the top of the left cup of her bra and tugging it down with haste.

He takes her nipple into his mouth and Y/N is all gasps and bucks. The sensitivity of her skin and the rough suction of his lips, the flicking of his tongue and the grazing of his teeth. It’s deafening; the blood rushing in Y/N’s head, it’s near predisposing. The spit, and the hot exhales from his nose against her chest, the indentations his teeth leave behind when he pulls away to admire the wetness of her breast. But he goes back in—bites at her flesh—chews, and laves, and consumes her entirely.

Y/N’s cunt is pulsating. She is wet, and fervently hot, and the subtle rocking of her hips is ceased by a large palm over hip, which has her whining into the air.

“Stay still f’me,” he slurs into her skin, desperate fingers pulling her bra down further and watching to make sure it stays, before he starts on the other side of her chest. Her wrists are encircled behind her back, and Harry pushes her forward—into his mouth, as if he’s not already practically eating her. And maybe she can try her hardest not to squirm but all that energy has to go somewhere, and she’s panting now—whimpering all these sounds that she’s never heard herself make before—and Harry can surely feel the vigorous inflation and deflation of her lungs.

“Oh—oh, H—Sir, please.”

Please what? Stop? No. Keep torturing her breasts? Also no.

Harry hums against her, long and unwilling as his mouth leaves her with a wet smack. He admires her skin, eyes flitting up to see the dazed girl atop him.

“Don’t like it?” He puffs, inhaling deeply, beginning to dance a hand around her ribs.

“I do, I do,” Y/N breathes, eyes still closed. “Too h-hot.”

Harry frowns though she can’t see, before he’s unclasping her bra and pulling her camisole over her head—standing her up on jelly legs and pulling her jeans down. Sat on his lap once again, he tightens his grip around her wrists and curls his fingers around her throat.

“Can feel your heat, baby,” he looks down to where her clothed cunt rests just before his bulge. His still very clothed bulge. “Give me a kiss.” And she still feels exceptionally inexperienced in the whole department but her body surges forward, urged by the pressure against her pulse, as her lips meet his shiny ones.

This time, when Y/N’s hips start moving on their own accord, Harry doesn’t stop her—tugs her closer in fact. Right on top of where he’s warm, and hard. Their mouths part a centimetre, just enough to pant into one another at the feeling. Of his hand squeezing her throat, and pushing her arms into her back. Y/N doesn’t even notice when he lets go of her wrists—never daring to move them—as his palm comes down in an experimental slap to her arse.

It’s light; enough to not hurt but suggest his intentions. And when Y/N gasps and twitches on top of him, he gets the idea. “Is that nice?”

“Yes.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” she whimpers into his mouth, lips pasting to his cupid’s bow and falling away when he does it again. Hard enough to leave a tingle that spreads out to her centre and up her stomach.

“Unzip my trousers.”

There’s no hesitation, both his palms are holding her ass now, desperate to spread them apart but damned by the confines of her underwear. Y/N shakes a little but does what he says, exposing the hot pink of his boxers underneath—and the thick outline of his cock.

“Take me out, go on.” She meets his eyes—blown out and transfixed, mirroring her very own. “Take me out, Y/N,” he whispers, leaning closer to lick a stripe up the column of her throat, and then an open-mouthed kiss to her chin, and her mouth.

He’s heavy in her hand, and intimidatingly big. How did she ever fit this inside of her? But she feels the instinct to make him feel good. This was the one area she had experience in, afterall. The skin is so soft and all she has to do is spit down and watch as it drips from his head along his shaft. But Harry takes her hand instead and laves his tongue along her palm before guiding her down to wrap around him.

His breath hitches; their eyes don’t stray from one another’s. He holds her hand over him and starts to drag it up and down, his blinking lagging a little from the feel of her delicate fingers wriggling underneath his palm. It’s intense, and paralysingly slow—every second spent watching his face feels like sixty—and when she looks down, she feels herself clench around nothing at the sight of her smaller hand wrapped in his, and the way his cock looks between them. Red, and thick, and wet.

It must show on her face because Harry’s unwrapping her hand and reaching forward to press his fingers into the front of her underwear. “Put me in.”

“What? B-but I’m not… and you’re so…”

He nods, “I know. You can do it,” as he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet from his back pocket. Y/N’s heart jumps when he rips the condom open with his teeth—a true teenage fantasy—and slides it on with a swallowed grunt.

He tugs her gusset to the side, breaking strings of arousal and basking in the twitch of Y/N’s hips. She clumsily hovers over him, embarrassed as she holds onto his base. As she lowers down, Harry’s thumb finds her clit—swollen and hypersensitive—and she squeezes him reflexively. He groans, low and vibrating, content to roll her under his digit cruelly—distracting her from the attempt at swallowing him with composure.

Y/N whines as the thick head squeezes inside her tight hole, mouth ajar and eyes half-focused on the man who brings his shining thumb to his mouth and makes a show of relishing in the taste of her arousal.

“F-fuck,” the words force their way out of her shining mouth.

Harry rears a hand back and slaps her ass, harder than the other times, fingers staying on the skin to dig in and pull. “Don’t swear.” And Y/N doesn’t think he’s usually adverse to it but she’ll do whatever he asks of her right now.

“S-sorry, Sir,” she moans out as Harry sinks deeper and deeper inside. Maybe he should’ve stretched her out first but God if it isn’t the most blissful discomfort. That initial entrance—knowing what her body is accommodating for and how far he reaches inside of her most private place.

As soon as she’s seated on him, completely and utterly full, Harry confines her wrists once again as he sits up and encourages Y/N to lean into him. Her breasts squish into his shirt. His shirt. That he is still wearing. “Come on, baby. Tire yourself out.”

Exhaustion is already seeping into her bones but Harry’s voice croons into her ears so tenderly—it coats her skin in a sheen of glitter and pumps sparkling wine through her veins. She makes every effort in lifting up and sinking back down—in, albeit, slow and wobbly movements—but the concentration on her face is like a drug to Harry. It has him thumbing over her nipple and taking it into his mouth again, which only has Y/N stuttering and inevitably stopping. She pants, and wiggles, and whines, enough so to have Harry placing both palms underneath the seam of her underwear and gripping her bum like he’d wanted.

He squeezes and stretches to his heart’s desire, mouth still firmly attached to her breast, but his strong hold aiding Y/N in moving once more. She’s lifted up and down, and up and down—slow enough to feel every ridge of him opening her walls.

“M-my legs hurt. Sir.” Y/N wishes she were a gym fiend as she admits it.

“Do they, love?” He pulls back from her chest, discontent to stop nibbling her skin raw but her voice is oh, so fragile. He’ll take care of her like he promises all the time. “Lean your head on my shoulder—keep your arms where they are.”

When she doesn’t immediately listen, and looks up to his eyes with a silently begging expression, he cocks his eyebrow. “Can I f-feel you? Your skin, please, Sir.” He’d left his clothes on, somewhat intentionally, but he doesn’t feel so mean in this moment. A nod is all the encouragement she needs, as Y/N unbuttons his shirt with clumsy fingers, and pushes it off his shoulder to rest her cheek upon. Her arms go back behind her and her nose moves forward to press into his neck deliciously. He smells of allure.

Harry can’t help himself when he tears her underwear from her body. She’s too soft, and warm, and wet to simply entertain the idea of pulling out of her. And from the noise she makes—a surprised squeak but no beratement—and the clench around his cock, he can only assume she likes it. Likes the desperation, or the display of strength, or his pure animal brain—it doesn’t matter. Because Harry’s kneading her ass in heavy handfuls, and moving her faster and faster, and Y/N is flooding his neck in her warm, tight pants—sweet whines falling out of her mouth.

“Beg me to come,” he grunts, granting Y/N no kind of warning before his fingers dig in harder and his hips slam into her at a speed that has her lungs forcing out high-pitched squeals. The sounds are nasty, unmistakable and unexplainable. The slap of skin, the wetness between her thighs, the noises that leave both their lips. It’s raw, and scaldingly hot, and— and… she needs to rub her clit.

“I— Sir, I can’t—”

“No?” His thrusts don’t falter, not even once. She’s on her back in a second, and her wrists are trapped underneath her. He makes no move to readjust them, only stretches her knee to the side so it pushes into the back of the sofa before grabbing a throw pillow and stuffing it under her hips. “Come on, beg me, little doll,” his hand spans across her mound, thumb meeting her clit in a back-arching press. This, has her cunt tightening—pulsating, contracting, strangling his cock. And with the pillow angling her just right, Harry can feel himself underneath his palm; it drives him batty.

He fucks her into the sofa, hard and unrelenting, leaning over her to chew on her tits once more. It’s sweaty, and messy, and that only makes it hotter. “Beg, Y/N.” His thumb rubs faster, expelling the choked up cry from her throat. She’s so close, is writhing underneath him—fighting the rolling of her eyes into the back of her skull.

“Please! S-sir, I—”

“That’s it. Good girl letting me fuck you—your sopping cunt, baby. Beg better than that, come on.”

His words send her spiralling, orgasm racing up on her and she panics that she won’t be given permission before it happens. “Oh my god! Oh, pleasepleaseplease, Harry!— Sir, please l-let me, please.” It’s adorable, Harry finds, her minimisation of the English dictionary when she’s so bent out of shape. Her pleading is less begging and more repetition, but he’ll let it slide.

He’ll let it slide as he presses his thumb harder and leans back to watch as he murmurs something akin to the value of diamond. “Come. Fucking come f’me, darlin’. Look at you.”

Y/N can’t hear anything. Not now. All she needed was that first word of permission and she’s seeing stars. Spasming around him so tight that Harry’s own moans started flowing out, pace increasing as he rolls her clit under his thumb. “Fuuuck, there you are. Keep squeezing like that, there’s a good girl.”

It takes her a while to come down from, no surprise considering Harry is still pounding into her, and her whimpers echo his moans—desperate and unabashed, his lips red and brows tight. He looks so handsome. So beautiful above her with his flushed skin and his flexing muscles, unbuttoned shirt floating around him. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever felt so peaceful, in a dreamlike state in all her vulnerability. And she keeps contracting around him, like he asks—because when he groans like that, she’d have to be a sadist not to—and as his moans build up in pitch, and his eyes meet hers in frenzied pleasure, she’s sure she wants him to come more than she’s ever wanted her own orgasm in her life.

Harry surges forward, smearing his lips all over Y/N’s mouth. It’s messy, and uncoordinated, and his tongue is slicking her skin. But it’s the hottest kiss she’s ever had. And it feels so good when his groans hit a crescendo, and his hips stutter, and Y/N can feel the warmth of his spurts inside the condom. She whimpers against his open mouth, arms losing all feeling behind her back, but she doesn’t care because his eyelashes are brushing against her cheek and it’s the most intimate thing she’s ever felt.

They’re lethargic, Harry’s movements, and he’d like to be much more alert but his body is tingling and Y/N is looking up at him so trustingly—he wonders if she’s fallen into a stupor.

“Th-thank you, Sir.”

He strokes her hip bones, pulling out with a soft hiss. Y/N whines a little at the sensitivity.

“You can call me Harry again now, if you like, darlin’.” He leans down to kiss her forehead, consuming palms holding her cheeks.

She’s not really listening. “Mm, feels… feel kinda drunk.” She smiles, nose turning into his thumb. Harry gives her another kiss and pulls away, to knot the condom and collect her clothes. Minus the pair of panties that are no longer wearable. He doesn’t feel even an ounce of guilt.

He’ll make her some food, watch as she eats it with her eyes begging to close, and then let her sleep in his bed—hoping she’ll want him to stay.

Little does he know that Y/N will wake up in the middle of the night to raid his kitchen in a matter of ways that Harry will reprimand her for.

But for right now, he’ll keep her as happy as he possibly can.

#harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines #mutually beneficial #writing #domrry #dom!harry #fanfiction

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salimanderwrites · 1 year

Text

Pro-hero!Bakugo x Bimbo secretary!reader

Minors DNI!!! No age in bio and you get blocked

Word count: 5.4k

Content: Boss x employee, Reader is both a bimbo and a bit of a perv, Bakugo is soft for reader and a soft dom, lots of consent and fluff, head pats as a kind of love language, f and m masturbation, imagined freeuse scenario, imagined exhibition, phone sex, exchanging fantasies (office sex, possessiveness, blowjob, eating reader out), actual sex, praise, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, brief pain from sex

Author’s note: Good to be back. Also this is looking like one of the shorter piece I plan on posting this summer.

Kirishima hires you for Bakugo since you’re so nice and sweet. Both as a little prank, but also to help his friend’s brutish image. You show up bright and early, bring flowers for Bakugo’s office and for your desk just outside. Pink pens, a pink keyboard, and a fresh manicure.

At first Bakugo was frustrated that there seemed to be nothing going on in your head. You couldn’t hold more than one task or you’d get confused. He catches you talking to friends on the phone, filing your nails, and chatting with anyone in the office. By any normal measure, you were a horrible employee. But you didn’t care. When you talked it was because you wanted to know people, listen to their problems. Sure, you forgot to send emails, didn’t make enough copies, and changed the filing system every other week. You brought baked goods for the employees at random intervals and whatever group went to lunch with you always came back late.

“From now on, lunch with me.” He can’t keep having people come in late, so he takes it upon himself to limit your ability to influence them. Only then, it’s him who comes back fifteen minutes late. You were in the middle of a story or saw something in a window. You stop and look at every dog. The worst instance was when you dragged him to a cat cafe for thirty minutes. Well, he can’t deny that he always comes back refreshed. Started looking forward to his lunches and stopped in front of your desk just to find out the place you would take him to this time.

Despite this and the ample time for you to settle into the work environment, you just couldn’t get the hang of it. Whenever Bakugo went to yell or scold you, you would pout and say, “I thought I got it right this time.” How could he stay mad? Instead he patted your head and asked you to get him water or coffee. Something you were all too eager to do. When you brought him his drink, you asked about patrols or missions giving Bakugo a chance to talk through them. Even voiced his concerns which he never did. You were happy to listen, only offering advice when he asked and leading him to feel more at ease, less fixated on his work. Yeah, he wasn’t letting you go.

It helped that everyone loved you. Every employee, every visitor could only fawn over Bakugo’s cute secretary. Though, he noticed no matter how many offered to take you on dates, you politely declined.

As the months went by Bakugo learns how you operate. You stay by his side talking about anything and everything of interest to you. He looked forward to listening to you and keeping up with whatever caught your fancy. When he needs you to do something, he writes it out and when you come back to him smiling, he always rewards you. Normally, Bakugo takes you out for dinner or gets you a hot chocolate to drink at the office or for you to have an excuse to invite him into your apartment.

What he loved most about you was that no matter what, you were there for him. You listened to his issues. When his anger got the better of him, you never took it to heart and instead stayed with him while he cooled down. You were happy to talk to him whether he responded or not, and you learned his tells, when he was tired or wanted the conversion to end.

It was true you were no mathematician and maybe you weren’t that great of a secretary, but Bakugo couldn’t imagine his life or the office without you.

After every mission he returned to the office, you at your desk, waiting against the soft glow of your computer playing some show. Bakugo has lost track of how many times he’s told you to go home after the work day ends, only to face another of your pouts.

“I'm just taking care of you.” You’d say as if you didn’t know what that did to him. How your words haunted him during his ride home. While he warmed up dinner and then called you while he ate because he missed you.

“You can’t do anything without me,” you’d tease. Jokingly he’d hang up and then immediately call back. Listening to your laugh when you picked up.

“I sleep without you just fine.” He’d stab his food as he bitterly accepted that reality.

“I guess that means it could be better,” you’d say and this was the part where one of you puts a stop to the conversation going further. “Goodnight, Katsuki. Counting sheep helps.”

Suffice to say he doesn’t count sheep. Fisting his cock or rutting against the mattress picturing your face screwed up in ecstasy. Moving his hips against a pillow, feeling the precum soil everything, but all he could think about was your perfect pussy taking him and you moaning for more until he was utterly exhausted, grinding out of sheer overstimulation. Afterwards, he’d chide himself for being so pathetic, for thinking about you that way.

Not that you were any better. It should have been shameful, how you grind against your own pillows imagining it’s your boss’s face. You work yourself into a frenzy imagining catching him jerking off in his office and going to help. Or stuffing your fingers into your cunt thinking about having a quickie with Bakugo before he has a meeting with execs unaware you’d fucked their boss on that very table.

Shame wasn’t exactly an emotion you felt. You loved work, really, everyone was so nice, but you also wouldn’t mind Bakugo keeping you away and all to himself. Of course, it’s your hormone-covered brain speaking, but you can’t help getting off to the thought of cockwarming Bakugo while he takes an important call. Him asking you to suck him off because he’s so stressed, and if it’s really bad, you think about him fucking you against his office door for anyone to hear.

You walk into the office and see Bakugo waiting at your desk. Smiling dreamily and secretly thanking him for the way he turns you on.

“Good morning, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” You sit down at your desk, aware he has a full shot of your cleavage. You can’t help but lean closer as he speaks. He coughs a little and hurries his sentences along watching you slowly process the words and then drop your arms in defeat.

“What?” You say too loudly. A whole week? He was going to be away for a whole week?

You fumble for a way to recover. To pull out a flirty remark or ask for him to clarify again. Anything to keep yourself from looking like an emotional mess, especially in front of Bakugo. “But…can I come with you?” You ask hopeful, but that hope shrivels up as Bakugo lets out a sigh. He pats your head and it’s the final straw before a silent tear slips out.

Yes, you were a horny mess, but only because you did really care about Bakugo. He always let you speak and actually took what you were saying seriously. If you mentioned a new restaurant Bakugo would take you that week. If there was a show you watched while you waited for him, he’d pull up a chair and watch the last thirty minutes with you. He never laughed when you made mistakes, he never complained when you got overwhelmed. And yes he petted your head like a dog, but it made you feel appreciated or at least you knew it was his way of saying he cared. He cared in the way of getting your throat lashes and tissues when you had a cold, keeping a blanket so you could bundle up while you waited, and always driving you home. Could anyone blame you for caring so much for him, for wanting to be the person Bakugo came to for everything.

He hushes you while dabbing a tissue under your eye and the other hand holding your chin steady.

“Won’t you need my help?” You ask again in a last ditch attempt to prevent being separated. He whispers your name.

“Of course, I need you. I just can’t take you this time,” he says. Bakugo gently caresses your cheek, going back to catch any stray tears. As always, you see not a trace of judgment. It’s the final push to make the confession.

“I need you too. I’ll miss-” You close your eyes and let out a short laugh. “Dammit, I can’t actually be having separation anxiety. You’re my boss. That would be so dumb.”

“You’re not dumb.” His tone was stern. Carefully, Bakugo looks around to make sure no one can overhear. “I’ll miss you too, so text me and I’ll call everyday if you want. Besides, I think we can at least call each other friends.” You can’t help but shoot out of your chair and go to give him a hug. He lets you, even returning it by rubbing your back in small circles. Once you pull away, you go back to your desk and Bakugo picks up his bag and prepares to head out.

“Make sure to call. Everyday, Katsuki,” you say. He turns, smiles and walks out.

He keeps his promise. Texts good morning and goodnight. Calls everyday. Texts at every meal. Your conversations weren’t about work. He told you about his childhood, the entitlement, the slap in the face when he realized he wasn’t what he had been propped up to be. He told you how much it hurt being small, the fear he had about never getting back to the person he promised to become. Realizing he didn’t want to be that anymore. You tell him about your own struggle growing up and always feeling lost, like you were stumbling in a desert storm. Like you were being kept away from a secret everyone else was in on. You told him how much you hated not understanding, being made fun of because of it. The worst was the painful awaking you would have when the niceness of others was a cheap attempt to get into your pants.

“I guess after a while, I just started blocking it out. The stares and hands. It’s easier that way.” You told him through the phone. The clock showed the late hour, but neither of you have the strength to hang up.

“You didn’t deserve that. I’ve met a lot of people and you outshine them all.” You smile against your screen.

“C’mon. You’re flattering me.” His heavy and tired chuckle hits you like a cool breeze on a summer day. Familiar and welcome.

“Nah, I’ve seen the way you make people feel at ease. Everyone wants to be around you, get a little bit of that light you have.” You don’t realize it when you fall asleep, but Bakugo stays listening to your breathing. Wishing more than anything he was there in person, holding you and soothing every doubt you’ve ever had. The desire burns him so hard, he has to calm the hole in his gut and with every ounce of strength, he ends the call.

The next night you lay restless. Bakugo would’ve called by now, but he texted and told you he had a stupid work dinner running late. So instead you run back over what he told you last night. And your mind wanders to other things he’s said with his gravely and stern voice. The one time you wrote an entire report on your own and while Bakugo reviewed it, he patted your head and said “You did well. I should reward you, you deserve it.” His voice had been so low, but his touch was gentle. You wanted it, wanted even more. Running your hands down your body and hearing his rough cadence playing like a broken record. You wanted to show up in his hotel room wearing something red. Have Bakugo come back, see you and tear the fabric from your body. Your pussy throbbed with the idea of him picking you up, throwing you on the bed and having his way.

Such a pretty pussy

So dumb for me aren’t you babygirl? Dumb for my cock

You whimper at your own unconscious desire, your fingers working your clit. The phone ringer interrupts. Fuck. You were so close. His name lights up and before you think about the situation you’re in, you answer.

“Katsuki.” You say, breathless. Sweat sticks to your skin, your pussy clenches around nothing and silently begs you to finish. He says your name, slightly alarmed.

“Everything okay?”

“Yea, yea. Why wouldn’t it be?” You respond, readjusting yourself. Bakugo waits for a beat.

“Are you with someone?” You don’t miss his seething. He thinks you’re cheating- or, wait- you can’t be cheating if you’re not together.

“No. I’m alone.” You say, still slightly out of breath and dazed from being so close to orgasm. The room was still dark and the setting made you feel exposed. Last night was intimate, an openness you cherished. Now, you were sinking into embarrassment with no lifeboat in sight.

“It’s a little late to be working out, isn’t it.” He waits for your response, but you’re speechless. His tone was still grating and you weren’t used to anything resembling a scolding.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” you say in defense, eyes welling up with tears.

“Then tell me what you were doing. I won’t be mad,” he says and you believe him. Shifting a little in your sitting position you cross your arms and mutter out.

“I was just missing you.” It’s high-pitched and a bit needy, enough for Bakugo to know exactly what he caught his little secretary in the middle of. For him. You were touching yourself to him. Bakugo thinks about getting on a plane right then and there. You need him, it’s like the elixir of life held just out of reach. He swears beneath his breath.

“Did you finish?” You hear him swallow. It made sense, this was crossing the invisible, but sturdy line. It was beyond his previous ‘friend’ statement. But you were tired of holding yourself away from Bakugo.

“I tried, but I couldn’t,” You lay back down among your pillows.

“Well, I guess we need to fix that. Don’t we, baby?” You whine in affirmation to his question. Shamelessly rubbing your legs together when Bakugo hums in thought. He chuckles and you hear him sit down somewhere. It reminds you that this was a two-way street and you wanted so bad to drive him down with you.

“Katsuki, I tried so hard, you know,”

“Yea? Tell me about it. What did you think about?” You smile. Then you remember what you were thinking about and the expression drops. What if he thought you were too perverted? What if he hated what you got off on? “What’s wrong? Is it too much?”

“No, no.” You say hastily. “I think maybe I’ll be too much. I’m scared you’ll think I’m too dirty.”

“I promise there’s nothing that will scare me off, but if you’re nervous just take it slow.” His words reassure you and momentarily you wonder if this was truly happening. “It’s happening. Tell me, baby, what do you imagine when you miss me?” His tone was teasing, but there was a simmer beneath it. Beckoning you to give away your secrets.

“The office. I imagine giving you another report I’ve messed up, but instead of how kind you always are… I imagine you angry. That you need to get it through my head, what I’m supposed to do for you.” It suddenly strikes you as a cliche, something he might have watched a thousand times, but his groan clears away your doubt.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” He says, “So what? You imagine me taking you over my leg and spanking you?” You shake your head, even though he can’t see.

“No, no. I’m a little scared of spanking. Instead you have me kneel by your desk and… um… you have me focus on stroking and sucking your dick.” You clamp your hand over your mouth and close your eyes as regret consumes you. Embarrassment and worst of all, fear that this was the end. He says your name, it’s so hoarse you almost miss it.

“I’m so fuckin’ hard right now. I’d sell my soul for you to be here and do just that. Suck my cock while I hold your hair, milk me for all my cum, would that be alright?” Your hand slips back down, fingers circling your clit. You hear Bakugo’s breathing pick up and figure he’s lost all rationale as well.

“Yes, God, yes. I want you to cum down my throat or cum on my face. In my panties, so I can walk around and no one else knows what you’ve done to me.”

“Don’t talk like that or I’ll come right now.” You mewl at his desperate tone, imagine the way his muscles must be tensing up. You would love to ride his big thighs right now and tell him as much.

“Yea, you could do that all day. I wouldn’t give a fuck about work, all I want is you grinding on me. Would love to come back from a mission and get under your desk and have you grind your pussy on my face while you watch your shows. You’d let me, right, baby?” Your fingers work inside you, your hips buck involuntarily at the filthy image he’s given you.

“Yes, oh my god. I want to warm your cock, Katsuki. Just stay there while you take calls, hell-while you’re in meetings and everyone can see that I’m the one taking care of you.”

You hear him groan your name and desperate moans escape him as his orgasm crashes down as you seal away the image that could satiate him for life. You were his, he decided then. He wouldn’t hold back, he wouldn’t stop until you both had each other. In the throes of his own orgasm he hears your pants. Moans and sputtered out words that carried no real meaning.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it. Be my pretty girl and cum. You deserve it, you deserve everything.” And you listen, coming all over your fingers wishing it was him here.

“Two days and I’m coming straight to you. I want you so bad. Are you okay with that?”

“Hurry, please.”

Over the next two days you both keep in constant contact. He texted and called every spare moment. It wasn’t a drastic change, something you secretly feared, that he just wanted to sleep with you.

“And we can go to Viola’s for dinner on Saturday. What time works best for you?” He’d asked while in the car driving to his three o’clock debrief. He had every intention of letting you know how serious he was about your relationship. You hummed into the speaker and typed away at your desk. He flew home tomorrow and you couldn’t wait anymore.

When he arrived and drove to your apartment, you nearly cried from excitement and nerves. You wore a black silk slip dress and black underwear, knowing this way you would feel sexy and comfortable. Bakugo had barely knocked when you opened the door and threw yourself into his arms.

“I missed you. I missed you,” You say. Bakugo kissed your forehead and breathed you in.

“I don’t know if I can do another long mission.” He confesses as you pull him into your apartment and drop him onto the couch. You plop onto his lap and curl your fingers into the hair at the base of his scalp. Stroking and scratching in a hopefully soothing manner. Instead, you feel him beneath you.

“I would tell you to tell me everything, but I don’t think I have the patience for it.” You say, taking a shuddering breath after shifting and “accidently” grinding against him.

“Honestly, you already know everything that happened,” he says while tucking some hair away from your face. “If only you knew how hard it’s been to not leave early and come see you.” You smirk and lean down to whisper.

“I think I know exactly how hard it’s been.” Grinding against his cock while Bakugo’s hands find your hips, memorizing your movements. You cup his cheek and wait for him to lean toward you before sealing his lips. Both of you meet each other with eager movements. Bakugo explores your mouth, licking and savoring you. You took him in stride and sucked on his tongue, trying to siphon him into you and never leave. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. Pressing against his shirt, you shove it up and over his head, running your hands along his abs. You pause and trace his scars before leaning down and kissing each of them.

“You’re so strong.” Against you, he shivers and runs his hand along your spine, thumbing the hem of your dress. “So beautiful. I’m so happy I met you,” you say while taking off your slip dress. He pulls you back in, urgently and crashes his lips to yours. Now, you each try to communicate a feeling bigger than words. The feeling vibrates around you both, caging you in.

“So lucky I have you,” he murmurs as you both slow back down, not disturbing this cocoon you’ve built. “I never want another day where you’re not by my side.” He gives you a chaste kiss. “Not a day where you don’t update me on the Housewives.” You laugh as he gives you another small kiss.

“Are we going too fast? I mean I feel like you get me and I don’t want this to be a one time thing because it would really crush me, Katsuki. I really really like you.” He kisses your temple.

“Shut up. I’m so serious about you, it hurts sometimes to think about how much I–listen I might not know how to explain it yet. Just be my girlfriend?” He sounded unsure, but there was no reason. You kiss his face over and over again, chanting yes.

“Can you fuck me now?” You somehow make it sound innocent and Bakugo leans his head back with the knowledge that you were both the best thing in his life and the one who could destroy him.

“Yea, I can. Do you want to go to the bedroom?” He’s trying to hold it together, but you look up in contemplation and he wonders if he’s made a mistake. You think about whether getting up would ruin the mood or if going to the bedroom would be better because of space. Bakugo grabs your chin. “Baby. Bedroom? Yes or no.” You grow addicted to the simmer in his eyes.

“Yes,” You say, already in the air as he carries you, following as you point out the way. He lays you out on the mattress and begins unbuckling his pants, kissing you between the movements. He finally gets them off and you were both now in your underwear.

Out of respect he had never been in your bedroom. Bakugo looks around taking in the little trinkets and decorations you found meaningful. He eyes a few stuffed animals behind you, placed carefully against the pillows. You follow his eyesight and naturally gasp at his discovery.

“Let me put them away.” You move back and grab your bear, your bunny, and your fox.

“It’s okay. I’m not judging. It’s cute you still have them,” Bakugo says trying to calm you as you bring them over to your dresser. Setting them facing away.

“I know you’re not judging, but I can’t have them watching.” You walk back over, jumping on the bed and giggling as the warmth of the room grows out from between you both. Katsuki pulls you into him gently and holds you against him. Letting your bodies get acquainted and slowly tracing over the small scar on your arm, the stretch marks on your hips and thighs. Ghosting his fingers over your bra all with a content smile that you watch. Reaching back you unclip your bra and let it fall down your arms. Bakugo inhales sharply. It’s you who brings his hand to touch you and melts when he kneads the flesh. Pinches your nipples with his calloused hands, finding the right way to make you feel good.

“Katsuki, kiss me.” Always needy, but he loves it. Of course he obeys. Kissing you and then guiding you to lay beneath him. Leaving your lips for your jaw and then down your throat, making sure to leave a hickey because you’re his now. He kisses your breasts and your stomach all while you card a hand through his hair. Stopping at your underwear, he looks up in question. You shove them down, all too eager for Katsuki to do whatever he wants.

He touches you gently, a single finger slowly moving along your slit. Katsuki kisses you as you moan because he wants all of you. Everything you have to offer, he will be your willing acolyte. You reach for him, grabbing him closer. Taking his hand and guiding it to go faster. He gives you more, stroking your clit, moving in circles like you show him. You moan when he applies more pressure and then releases; a slow ebb as he builds the tide.

“I want you, Katsuki.” You whine and set a finger against the waistband of his underwear. “You made me wait a whole week. Can’t wait anymore.”

“Are you wet enough? Don’t want to hurt my pretty girl.” He kisses the side of your head in a sickeningly sweet way. An exaggerated kissing sound follows until you laugh and pull away.

“I’m so wet,” you say, exaggerating the seductive tone and laughing when he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I can feel it.” He dips his fingers inside of you, his other hand grazing your breasts and down your side. You stop laughing. “All for me, huh?”

“Well, I guess you deserve a reward for saving so many people.” Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms in a way that lets him know you’re still joking.

“Seeing you is the best reward.” He taps your nose.

“Sir, if you don’t get naked right now I will–”

“You’ll what?” He grins, leaning down to your ear. “If anything, I’ll give you another task at work. Hmm, didn’t you say something about crawling under my desk?” He takes off his underwear and your mouth goes dry. His dick was bigger than anything you’ve ever had before. It didn’t matter. A deep breath and you could take him. He lined himself up with you as you lay down curling your toes to relax every muscle. A slight prod, a tiny intrusion and then pain. Something too big trying to fit inside.

“Katsuki,” you moan, but it’s strained even to your ears. At the same time your hands clamp down on his shoulders. He pulls out.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”He caresses your cheek and angles you toward him, flinching when he sees your eyes teary.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would hurt.” You try to look away again, but Bakugo lays down beside you, pulling you to his chest. A dread creeps up on him, looks over his shoulder and whispers what he hadn’t stopped to consider before.

“Have you had sex before?” You can see him swallow, a crease form on his beautiful face.

“I have. They just weren’t as big.”

He should feel elated or proud. Some sort of satisfaction symptomatic of masculinity. He can’t. How could he when he has caused you pain? In this moment, he wanted everything to be gentle and loving just like you.

“Do we need to stop? I don’t want to hurt you. We can watch a movie or talk.” Bakugo leans his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you as close as you can be. Brushing away your worries.

“I think I have some lube somewhere.” You mean to get up, but he holds on.

“Can I eat you out?” He sits up when you nod. A calculating look on his face. You knew it well, his determination and though he’d never admit it, his perfectionism. He kisses your thighs, groaning when you curl your fingers through his hair. Katsuki tries to take his time and worship your body the way you deserve, but it had been seven long days and you were the only thing pushing him to come back home as quickly as possible.

A slow lick along your slit and he’s in heaven. Once more and then one more time, savoring this moment that he’s gotten off to countless times. He holds your thighs open and sucks in earnest. From your opening to your clit, he takes whatever his lips touch. Listening as your pants turn into breathy whine and moans. Feeling your body shudder and your clit harden against him. He shifts your thighs over his shoulders, pulls your hips closer for a better angle. He works a finger inside you, smirking at you covering your face.

“Don’t hide from me, Angel.” He goes back to working you open, patient as your walls adjust to the intrusions. You touch your breasts and get more stimulation, slowly becoming more desperate that Katsuki wasn’t inside of you yet.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out, “I know this isn’t what you imagined.” The grip on your hip falters. He pauses his movements and watches you, disbelief shining in his eyes.

“It’s better than anything I could imagine.” Again, determination seizes him. “You’re better than anything…It kills me when you’re so hard on yourself.” He brings his body up and kisses your lips, smiling and nuzzling your cheek. “I don’t want the perfect girl you think you need to be. I want you as you are. Is that clear?” He playfully taps your forehead.

“Even when I mess up documents?”

“Especially then.” He kisses you deeply and you return it. Rocking into him and allowing yourself to relax in his strong hold. With three fingers sated inside, he goes back down and sucks on your clit. Pressure building in your core, you rode it up to your high. Falling over the edge, knowing Katsuki had a hold on you.

It’s no longer a want, but a need. As soon as Bakugo angles his cock after using the lube you had and you lean into him. He sinks in slowly, still a stretch for you, but easier than before.

“Take your time, baby. Breathe for me.” You listen to his soothing words. His hips meet yours and a sudden wave of emotions overwhelm you. Every fear of not being what he wanted, how much you talk, the mistakes you make, dissolved. He’s never been mean. Never undermined you or been condescending. Even now, when others in the past have gotten annoyed with how much prep you needed, he’s beside you, unhurried.

Katsuki begins rocking his hips slowly. Responding when you kiss him and keep him close to your chest.

“I’m so happy I work for you.” You let your emotions go. “I’m so happy you’re so nice to me. So happy, Tsuki, so, so happy…” It’s now that Katsuki realizes he was well and truly fucked. How will he ever let go of you? How will he ever go a day without hearing your voice?

“Me too, baby. Fuck, you’re so good to me.” His hips speed up, all while he watches your face for the slightest hint of discomfort. More, he can’t hold back and pounds into you. Fucks himself dumb while watching you dazed and blissed out. A stray tear leaking out and he feels his cock twitch.

“I’m close, baby.” He whimpers against your neck. Kissing your neck, marking it up. You wrap your legs around his waist, trapping him. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, but Bakugo follows as your pussy clenches around him. You both pant hard, your heartbeat thrums against your throat. It takes you a long time to come down and realize Bakugo’s been watching you. He caresses your cheek.

“Let’s stay home tomorrow,” he says, and kisses your nose.

“If you say so,” you pull him in for another kiss.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #sali writes

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je5hko · 1 year

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Trevor Phillips Headcanons

i decided on adding gifs to headcanons to make it look more “tumblr-ish”, or cooler. I dont fucking know. take the headcanons!!!!!!!

TW!! angst, drugs,

smut-ish?

He has LOOOOTS of scars from acne or even rash. He hates the feeling of bumps on his skin or whatever. The scratch scars are from drugs too, when he’s intoxicated he scratches him self so bad that he bleeds.

Even though he never showers, our sweet maniac likes the feeling of smooth skin, although he hates the texture of all kinds of shampoos, he thinks they’re too liquidy, so he uses the soap bar instead.

Absolutely hates texting. Its too tiring for him to read all the messages and emails he gets, he prefers calling.

Loves playing with his balls and pubes. Not even in a sexual way. He does it for pure fun. He would play with em even if theres someone in the room. Thats why he gets kicked out of buses.

He RARELY uses any sort of social transport. When he does, its because he’s tired and desperate for transport.

Whenever he sees parents spending time with their children, he sobs. His crying gets even worse when its a mother and son activity.

As a teen, he would draw himself with fictional characters having an orgy. Although he never told anyone about it. Its his dirty little secret

Hes scared of getting better, he convinced himself that he deserves every kind of pain he gets. Physical, mental, doesn’t matter.

My man is KING at Just Dance. No one could ever beat him at it.

He once took a picture of Michael shirtless, now he masturbates to his tits EVERY SINGLE TIME.

He either beats the shit out of Ron when he’s sad, or cuddles with him. Though, he has to be really intoxicated to hug him, so mostly he beats him. Such a cutie am i right?

His love language is physical touch and acts of service FOR SURE. Don’t change my mind.

Even though he knows Michael isn’t really dead, he still misses him. He misses Michael TOWNLEY.

He actually cries really often, has lots of breakdowns durning the day. He’s mostly not ashamed of expressing his feelings, although he hates the idea of him being weak. He would bang his head against the wall when he feels like crying in public.

Sometimes he asked the strippers at Vanilla Unicorn to just cuddle with him. He really needs a hug goddamnit.

Would kiss Michael on the forehead after a successful heist. (Sometimes on the lips)

OKAY THATS ALL FOR NOW!!! LET ME KNOW IF YALL WANT A MICHAEL VERSION!!

i swear im gonna start posting more often 😭❤️ I LOVE YALL!!!

#grand theft auto v #gta fanart #gta v headcannon #michael de santa #t/m #trevor phillips #trikey #gta san andreas #headcanon #gta 5 #michael desanta

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luna-andra · 28 days

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The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Year One*

Summary: A little insight

Word count: 2k words

Author's note: I have returned! 🎉 if you're new to this story, you can read Chapter 1 here. Filler chapters will be marked with an * sign from here on out.

Ch 8 is posted!

Content: slow burn, fluff, retired au Ghost x OC, mentions of mental health, violence, eventual smut

Andra let out a sigh of relief as she read the email she received during her morning shift at the café. Her work visa had been approved for renewal. It was weighing on her for the past couple of weeks, stressing her to think she had submitted her documents too close to the deadline. Her current visa wasn’t due to expire until the end of the month, but now it wasn’t a cause for concern.

She didn’t have to plan for the possibility of returning to Texas anymore, so she closed out the tabs in her browser on her phone for apartments in her old area with a satisfied grin and a “good fucking riddance” to herself in the break room. The rest of her shift went smoothly with renowned happiness, having her smiling wider than she was before going on break.

Andra didn’t have many people to share the good news with, but her managers would have to suffice, and will be notified under the pretense of business.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry, her manager at her evening job, said with milquetoast optimism, “Won’t have to look for a new bartender for a whole ‘nether year, then.”

“Guess I’ll still be a thorn in your side for a while longer, Henry.”

He chortled at that. Andra got his dry humor now that she had been working for him for long enough. She swore he hated the shadow that followed behind her every step, muttering snide and sarcastic remarks any time she had questions on some of the items on the menu. It was when she quipped back about him being a pain in the ass and he smiled to himself did she start to feel less of an outsider to her new environment.

Andra had a run-in with a few of the locals that weren’t too keen on an American serving them. It was expected, a sobering reminder when she built her new life in the quaint village. Six months later and she has become their favorite American bartender, some of them checked in on how she’s coming along with her fixer-upper of a farmhouse out in the boonies.

“It’s comin’.” Andra drawled a little more than her baseline accent. “I got the paint for the living room, got the tarp laid down, and she should have a fresh coat of paint on her in the next few days.” She finished pouring a pint of cider and placed it down on the dampened coaster.

“Any plans for the farmland?” Mister Wade asked a few barstools down the counter.

Andra paid close attention to the whiskey she was pouring into the glass before answering. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it, I’m not much of a green thumb gal.”

She got a grunt of disapproval for that one. “These lands are fertile if ye treat em right. Even if it’s veg that yer growin’ for yourself, give it a go.”

The idea of starting her own little garden of produce and fruits brought a smile to her face. Now that she can actually think of long-term decisions, Andra might just consider the suggestion. “I’ll think on it, Mister Wade.”

“Call me Dean.” He raised his pint of cider before taking a generous swig.

“I’ll take these for you.” Warm hands took the collection of pint glasses from Andra’s hold.

Henry’s son, Sean, was the most welcoming and helpful when she started working at the pub. With Andra picking up the evening shifts, it gave Sean time to start college classes. When she had first walked in to Henry’s establishment, Andra could sense the rejection on the tip of his tongue as she was explaining her qualifications. Sean thankfully swooped in before Henry could say no, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.

She learned quickly his friendliness and warm smiles were an attempt to win her affections. It was difficult to ignore a good looking guy like Sean; ocean blue eyes, short, slicked back blonde hair, and fairly taller than Andra. He was too sweet of a guy. Sean deserved a woman with a clean background, someone that didn’t attract trouble.

“We should celebrate your prolonged stay.” Sean suggested with that stunning smile.

Andra could already feel Henry’s hardened stare before she looked to him. Sean might be unaware of what transpired back in the states, but Henry knew. They exchanged a subtle look of agreement before Andra returned her attention to Sean. “That’s nice of you to think of me Sean. I’m just really busy with my morning job as well, you know? And I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your studies. The sentiment is appreciated, though.”

He gave her a defeated grin. “Perhaps some other time, then. When we’re both not so busy.”

Henry turned away from their chatter and Andra let out a sigh. She was thankful that Sean took her rejections on the chin, and even more thankful for Henry feeling like one heavy discussion between the two of them was enough to get the message across.

-----

Payday came around and Andra made sure to get her loan payment from her dad paid right away before anything else. She always made sure to send a message to him just to let him know that it was done, paying double the minimum monthly payment to get it taken care of as soon as possible. Immediately after sending the message, there was an automated reply that pulled up in the messenger.

Message failed.

She paused in her tracks, stopping by the door of her used truck. She tried sending the same message, but the same message failed response came back.

Her heart constricted in her chest. Dad… blocked me?

The rest of the day, it plagued her mind. She desperately wanted to know what was going on back home. It’s not like they were on bad terms, he pulled out that loan to make sure it would cover the costs of her visa and passport, and even though he said not to worry about paying him back, Andra wasn’t accepting that answer.

Unless mom found out…

She closed her eyes and let out a deflated sigh. Of course, mom had to be behind this. She must have discovered the loan somehow, whether it be by snooping through dad’s emails or bank statements, a rogue letter from the loan company showing up in the mail that she happened to get her hands on. And she must have got access to the one source of communication she had with her dad and nixed it.

Tears clouded her vision, the ache in her chest deepening. Andra wondered when was the last time dad tried reaching out to her. Did he think she had blocked him? She looked over their messages to see what the last thing was she told him.

Lol thanks

A month ago.

A message she wished she had put more thought into, unsure of when the next time she would be able to tell her father that she loves him.

She could reach out to Ivan or Orion, but she didn’t want to run the risk of setting off mom. Ivan was graduating in June and was getting on that bus as soon as he could to go off to basic training.

Graduation…

Andra wasn’t going to be there for it. She already knew that she wasn’t going to be able to afford a plane ticket and a hotel to be there to see him walk the stage, but it felt heavier now that she couldn’t talk to dad about it.

All of a sudden, the elation she felt about her renewed visa turned to ash as she realized, she really was alone out here. In a country that still hasn’t truly become a place she could call home.

The drive to the farmhouse was silent. Her hands were shaky as she held the steering wheel, a little firmer than usual. She used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away the rogue tears slipping. A silver truck was turning down her road just a few feet ahead and took another turn into the first dirt path. She was familiar with the vehicle of the one other person living off of the shared road, despite never introducing herself or running into the other person.

She was almost certain that they preferred privacy along with being blissfully unaware of her existence out here.

Fine by her.

Her brakes screeched as she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a black and brown puppy meandering across the street. Andra opened the door and stepped out of the truck, approaching the puppy with caution.

“What are you doing out here all alone, sweet baby?”

The puppy’s ears perked up and it happily trotted to Andra, and she crouched down to meet the curious animal. It was so friendly, so sweet. Andra giggled at the onslaught of licks and kisses the puppy gave her, and she picked up the puppy with care.

“Thank you, thank you!” Her voice squeaked as she scratched the puppy’s bare neck. No collar, nothing to indicate that she has an owner. Andra walked around the front of the truck to see if there were any others. No litter, no mother, no other dogs in sight.

Her smile faltered. “Were you left out here, sweetie?”

The puppy’s hot breath fanned her face as it continued its demonstration of affection. Completely oblivious to the redundant question Andra had asked. Maybe the puppy belonged to her neighbor? She got back into her truck with the pup on her lap and turned around in her own driveway to go back in the opposite direction. By the time she arrived and turned into her neighbor’s path, the silver truck was gone.

Well, damn.

Andra had no indication if the pup was indoor trained or not, so she started dispersing patches of old newspaper throughout the spaces of the house.

“Good think I didn’t throw those out, huh.” Andra said out loud to the puppy.

The newspaper was stacked inside the barn that came with the house, along with a mountain of other items, junk, and farm equipment that she couldn’t find time to sift through. She was hoping once she was able to quit one of her jobs, she would have more time to spend on making her house a home.

Andra didn’t see any fleas jumping or crawling around the puppy’s fur, but she wasn’t taking any chances and started filling the kitchen sink with lukewarm water, tossing in some oats to soak in the little bath.

If anyone was nearby, they would think Andra was torturing the animal. “I know, sweet girl, it’s gotta be done.” Her soothing words were futile, the puppy only stopped wailing and whining once she was out of water and being dried off with a soft towel.

She cuddled her new friend on the couch while she looked up the nearest vet clinic to make sure she was okay and whether or not she had been microchipped.

It was already late in the evening, so this would be an adventure for tomorrow.

Her eyes were growing heavy while Andra cleaned the remaining water from her ears. The bath had drained any energy the puppy had left for the night. Got herself ready for bed, and allowed the pup to lay on the empty side of the bed on top of a small nest of towels.

-----

“She has no owner.” The vet technician came back into the tiny room Andra and the pup waited in. “Would you consider adopting her?”

The doe-eyed pup directed her attention back onto Andra, as if she understood what was being asked. A grin escaped Andra. What are the chances of a beautiful, pure-bred German shepherd showing up at such a down-trodden time? It couldn’t have been coincidence. The universe had sent her to Andra, she felt it in her heart.

“Yeah, I’ll take her home with me.” Andra finally answered and rubbed her new pet’s head.

Andra started immediately on the forms to get the pup prepared for vaccination and everything else. The pen hovered over the spot where the dog’s name would be written as she thought cautiously.

Sammy.

-----

See you next week for the next chapter! 🖤

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty mw 2 #ghost x oc #Retired au #john soap mactavish #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic

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striderepiphany · 1 year

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My favorite reddie fics masterpost

I have an absolutely insane number of reddie fics saved in my bookmarks for how recently I joined this fandom so I decided to share my absolute favorites with you. Please give these authors some love and let me know which ones are you've read and enjoyed!

the year of the goat and your kid back by derryfacts2

1 chapter, 14,838 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: The day you get the most important email of your life, there’s a new black skidmark on the wall of the stairwell, and you know exactly whose fault it is. “Margaret,” you intone to the harried, wild-haired woman in the lobby. She sighs at you as she tries to jimmy her mail key loose. “I know.” It wouldn’t even be that bad if the kid would just skateboard outside. Or get good at skateboarding. Either of those things. Maggie’s a nice lady, though, and she’s had “trying my best” scribbled all over her since they moved into 6B maybe eight years ago. So you try not to be a dick, even if her son is a gold-standard pain in the ass. He’s good for three things: smells, noise, and reminding you how big Eddie must be by now.

The first It fic I read that made me go "holy shit, this is fantastic" and remains one of my all-timers (hence why its first in this list). Really fun and unique outsider POV from Eddie's estranged gay dad, and tells a very sweet story mostly through dialogue. Young adult Eddie and Richie are very cute.

i think the clock is slow by derryfacts2 (again)

3 chapters, 15,815 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: So there was that reason that work wasn’t boring, too. There was Richie’s soppy campaign of making cow eyes at the back of Eddie’s head as he passed, gently pressing Betty for details about his personal life (“I don’t think he has one. He had this awful fiancé a few years ago, but we’re all glad that’s over”), and chasing the incomparable high of a quiet, muttered “Thanks, Rich” whenever Richie picks something up for him from the copier.

Richie is a wannabe stand-up comic daylighting as the receptionist at Eddie's office. Eddie is a tightly-wound corporate asshole. They are both disasters. Or: five times Richie watched Eddie and one that Eddie watched him back.

I really enjoy workplace dramas and this one satisfied the itch so well. So many good scenes and dialogue, this author characterizes them in a way that really works for me. The perfect read-in-an-afternoon fic.

listen to my heart (can you hear it sing?) by vampirerising

12 chapters, 137,708 words, Major Character Death. Summary: "You need to wake up now,” Stan says softly. “This isn’t real.”

“I know, but I can’t,” Richie sobs. “I don’t want to be here.” Not again. Never again. It is dead, why is It still haunting him?

Stan fixes him with one of those looks of his, the one where he can see his every thought as if it were written on his face. “That’s not true, Trashmouth.”

Alternatively: We all know Richie gets caught in the Deadlights, but do we really know what happens after?

(Deadlights, timelines, Stan’s ghostly meddling—oh, my.)

This one is fucking weird in a way that I absolutely adore. Kind of like a sci-fi novel in that it requires you to pay attention to figure out what the fuck is going on but its so good and worth it. The MCD is Stan, not Eddie, and the last couple chapters are actually a very normal domestic Eddie lives AU. One of the first reddie artworks I made was fanart for a scene from this fic that I really enjoy.

a strange sense of familiarity by Katranga

21 chapters, 103,571 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "So Eddie, what brings you to the bar tonight?" Richie asked. "Gonna rebound from the divorce? Pick up a hot young twenty-something to feel young again?” “Fuck you,” Eddie said, jutting his chin forward. “What a terrible way to ruin the mood.” “I’m sorry, all my moods are poorly cultivated. What mood were you looking for?” A nervous lump grew in Eddie's throat. He threw back his drink to get rid of it.

Hand wrapped around the glass he’d just slammed back onto the bar, he said, “The mood that gets me leaving with a schlubby forty-something.”

Pre-chapter two, Eddie and Richie meet and don't remember each other, but have an instant connection anyway...

This one is just... so fucking good. Decently long without ever feeling like it's dragging. Part 1 is them developing their totally-casual-I-swear relationship, which blows up right when Mike calls them back to Derry. Part 2 is them navigating both killing a nightmare clown demon and the awkwardness between them. Also everybody lives! So that's nice.

change partners by avacadomoon (with podfic available)

1 chapter, 30,453 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "Rich," Eddie says heavily. Meaningfully, and Richie holds his breath, both afraid and hopeful that Eddie is about to say something really sappy, like I always knew and it didn't matter to me, or you know I support you no matter what. Eddie takes a deep breath before he speaks, and Richie closes his eyes, braced for it. "I didn't look at your dick pics."

"Well hey, Eds, thanks," Richie says, laughing incredulously. "Thanks for that."

I LOVE THIS ONE SOOO FUCKING MUCH. I urge you to consider this as a rec for this author as well, as they have a bunch of other reddie fics I think are fantastic. I have a weakness for any reddie fic that lets them be just a little mean to each other. As a treat. (Also the podfic is very well done, you should check that out too.)

check raise by avacodomoon

1 chapter, 15,061 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "Eddie, not a fan of stand up comedy, not a fan of his beer," Rich says, leaning back on one elbow and squinting at him, like he's lining him up in a camera lens frame, "but what is he doing drinking alone?"

"I was alone, and now I'm not," Eddie says. "Some prick sat down next to me and started yapping."

"Ah, unpleasant to talk to," Rich concludes. "Explains a lot."

I know I meant the last rec as a blanket rec for all this author's works but I'm including this one specifically because it has a twist ending that is well-foreshadowed and it slapped my dick clean off.

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives by IfItHollers

11 chapters, 107,947 words, Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings. Summary: In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

Definitely NOT your average Eddie lives AU. Drama! Mild peril! Psychic abilities! The ghost of Stanley Uris collect calling from beyond the grave via Richie Tozier's vocal chords! Fun and freaky and weird. Three things that make any fic a Josh favorite.

I'm going to stop there because I'm sleepy but let me know if you want more! Like I said I've got like 70 of these lovingly tucked in my bookmarks and I'm happy to share with the class.

#reddie #fic recs #it sk #it 2019 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

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squishyneet · 2 months

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♥*♡ SUNLIT DAYS ∞:｡ itachi uchiha *. * ·

tw: heavy school-related trauma, emotional abuse/neglect, mentions of chronic illness

Itachi is twelve years old. It's midnight and he scrambles to finish handwriting his essay for history class. He reads it over one last time before tucking it away in his backpack to bring to school tomorrow. He sleeps peacefully knowing it's been taken care of.

"Itachi! Get in here!"

Itachi's heart skips a beat and he nearly stumbles as he walks into the kitchen after coming home from school.

"Yes, father?" he whispers, head low and trying to avoid eye contact.

"What's this about you not turning in an essay!?"

"I turned it in, father."

"Was it late?"

"I had written it and forgot to turn it in." That was the same lie he told the teacher when he handed it to her.

Fugaku sighs loudly. "Don't forget again." is all he says before leaving the kitchen.

"Yes, sir." Itachi mumbles, more to himself than anyone else.

Itachi is fifteen years old and is sitting at his desk expectantly, attempting to calm his breathing and focus on the assignments in front of him.

"Itachi!" Mikoto barged into her son's room. "Explain to me why I got an email from your teacher saying you have 40 missing assignments!?"

Itachi turns to face his mother in his seat and remains silent.

"How the hell did this happen, huh!?"

Itachi still says nothing.

Mikoto breathes heavily and runs a hand through her hair. "You are going to sit there and do every single one of them. This door is going to stay open, and you are not going to sleep until it's done!"

"Yes, ma'am . . ." Itachi mutters, angry but obedient.

Itachi is sixteen years old and he is sitting in his father's office, looking back and forth between the window and his handwritten notes for history. He's not allowed to work anywhere else for the time being. He's got the same song on repeat in his headphones but presses pause when he sees Sasuke walk by.

"Nii-san, what are you up to?"

Itachi looks up and pulls down his headphones. "Working, Sasuke."

"Do you wanna go get something to eat?" Sasuke asks excitedly.

"I don't have time, Sasuke."

"You used to have time . . . hngh." Sasuke leaves the office, feeling dejected.

Itachi is seventeen years old and he's got graph papers sprawled out on his bedroom floor as he attempts to design a house as fast as he can.

"Itachi."

"What, Shisui? I'm busy."

Shisui leans in the doorway trying to come off as approachable as possible. "I hear you've been having a hard time in school."

" . . . You're a little too late, Shisui." Itachi remarks, still staring at his paper.

"Itachi, just tell me what happened," Shisui pleads breathily.

"You know what happened, I don't do my homework."

"I mean, what did they say to you?"

"It doesn't matt-"

"It matters to me!"

Itachi sighs and releases the papers in his hand. His lip starts to quiver and his brow furrows as he stays silent.

Shisui swiftly joins him on the floor, embracing him in a hug. "Let me help you, okay?"

A single tear falls while Itachi relaxes into Shisui's body.

Itachi is nineteen years old and he's got himself mostly under control while he's in college.

He tries to avoid speaking with his parents and being home as much as possible, electing to spend time with Shisui and Obito instead. He's got more free time nowadays.

"How's it going, 'Tachi?" Obito nagged. "School treating you good?"

Ever since he got a new job, he's been acting like a third parent, not to Itachi's disliking.

"Yeah, school's fine," Itachi responded, gazing up at the sunlit clouds hovering above where they were waiting for their food to arrive.

"You feeling okay?"

"I haven't been feeling too well, actually," Itachi said, squinting at Obito. "I've been having some weird pains all over my body and I can't sleep. I feel tired and I can't focus during the day, too."

"You should go to the doctor. Maybe it's just a vitamin deficiency or something," Obito reassured him.

"Maybe, but I don't think I would have a deficiency."

"I know we have some relatives that have symptoms like those. Hope you're not getting sick."

"Yeah, me too."

#please tell me the ending makes sense to yall #itachi uchiha #shisui uchiha #obito uchiha #fugaku uchiha #mikoto uchiha #uchiha clan #itachi uchiha fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #naruto #naruto shippuden #anime #manga #sunlit days #let me know if i should explain the ending

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thefrontofmymind · 11 months

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Proof Positive 3

a/n: wtf??? i'm updating something 2 days in a row?? this is so unlike me

series masterlist

The morning after, you got out of bed around the time you always did and you got ready for work. With a gentle whisper to a half-awake Ross that you were leaving, you were out the door.

You tried not to think about it, you hid it in a cupboard in your mind but that didn’t mean it was banging on the locked door. It must’ve been expectant mothers day on the tube because you counted no less than five pregnant women sitting in your carriage. Well, six, actually.

You kept laser focus on your work all day, even through the nausea and exhaustion. It wasn’t until you looked at your schedule did you realise that the tour that you’d been painstakingly organising every little detail of would begin in a mere two weeks. Ross would be leaving in two weeks. Twelve days to be exact. It gave you a jolt; you needed to act, and quickly. You booked an appointment with your GP for the day after tomorrow. You googled what to do, what to say to her, what she’ll say to you. You wanted as much control as you could get.

She would probably ask for either a blood test or a urine sample and she would test you herself. And then she would explain all the options you had. You knew it was early days, it was still an embryo, it didn’t even have a heart, it’d barely grown a brain. It had no thoughts and no pain receptors, it made you feel a little better. It wasn’t a baby yet.

You got a text from Ross at around 4 PM, ‘had to go back to mine to get some clothes, youre free to come over?’. You typed out a quick reply, ‘sounds good. see you soon xx’.

You placed your phone onto your desk and finished writing an email to some venue manager who had questions about the band’s rider. Another ping erupted from your phone, you took a quick glance at the new message from Ross; ‘how are you feeling?’, you didn’t know how you felt, so you didn’t answer.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As you entered Ross’ flat, using the key he gave you a year ago when he moved in, you heard…talking. More than one person. In the living room was Ross, along with Adam and Carly. Like a switch that flipped, you were bright and happy–you couldn’t let them know what was happening.

A chorus of surprised greetings, questions on why you’ve shown up at Ross’ flat.

“She just can’t resist my cooking…” Ross joked. You didn’t fail to notice the inflection he had, you just prayed that Carly and Adam missed it.

There was some chatter between the boys–something technical with a song they were in the process of recording–and between you and Carly. You were telling her all about the tour, you could pretty much whip up any detail for the next ten months from the top of your head. And she had many questions about where her fiance was going, and when. You got to thinking…There was very well the possibility that things regarding the tour would have to change. In about eight months or so yours and Ross’ lives could change drastically.

Ross slowly made his way to the kitchen, prepping ingredients for a stir fry. The couple got the hint, making a polite exit and telling you both to enjoy yourselves–whatever that meant.

You silently watched Ross cooking, sipping on the glass of squash you made yourself. He kept stealing glances at you, you pretended to be oblivious.

It felt like your bubble burst. The bliss you felt, this honeymoon stage, it was all over. Everything had been so natural before–the kisses, the casual touches, the pillowtalk–but now it was all just so forced.

You picked at the food on your plate, you didn’t want to tell him the smell of it made you nauseous. You told him about your day at work, how the final plans for the tour were going.

“So we’re just not talking about it?” He asked after yet another story from you about a rude venue manager or a misunderstanding with your travel agent over the band and crew’s visas.

“I made a doctor’s appointment for Friday…she’ll tell me if it’s…real,” you answered.

“You wanna go alone?”

“You wanna come with me?” It was a genuine question.

“I told you I’m here for you,” he said. “However you want me, I’ll be there.”

You were looking right into his eyes, and he was looking in yours. At the unwavering eye contact you were comforted, you knew there was a shred of falsehood in his words.

“It’s at three in the afternoon…” You told him. “You could meet me there?”

“I’ll pick you up from the office.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The waiting room smelled like bleach. Like the linoleum floors had been scrubbed recently. The loudest sound was emitting from the small TV anchored to the wall in front of you and Ross–some daytime soap opera with characters you couldn’t understand the relations of, no matter how hard you tried.

Sitting across from you was a young guy, probably around 25 or so, cradling a little girl who was drifting in and out of sleep. She was tiny, a toddler still with the chunky limbs of a baby, and a mess atop her head of golden ringlets that probably hadn’t been brushed that day.

As the doctor called your name, you immediately jumped up. You didn’t see the large form next to you rise with you.

“Do you want me…” Ross trailed off from his seat, gesturing towards the corridor you were about to walk down.

“Please.”

Once you and Ross sat down in her office and got comfortable, she began to speak in a light and friendly tone. “So what brings you in?”

“Well…” you started. “I…my period was late so I took one of those early detection tests and it was positive.”

“A pregnancy test?”

You nodded.

“Okay.” She began to type out some notes on her computer. “Is your cycle regular?”

“To a tee, I’ve never been even a day late before.”

“So how many days?”

“Four.”

“And how long has it been since your last period?”

You thought for a second. “About a month?”

“Right.” She finished typing and turned back towards you. “I’ll get you to do a test here if that’s alright. I’m guessing this is the…father?”

“Yes, right, this is Ross,” you said. They exchanged a polite greeting.

The doctor handed you a small plastic jar. “Bathroom is just down to the left, you can’t miss it.”

About 10 minutes later the results were ready. Instinctively you grabbed Ross’ hand as your doctor looked at the much more clinical looking test.

“Two lines…which means it’s positive,” she said. Your brain began to tick into overtime, it was like time slowed almost to a stop.

In that moment, knowing it was real, you felt a sense of comfort. You didn’t know how, but somehow you got the sense that you could do it, and it would all be alright, you could make it work. A warmth spread through your abdomen–though that was just your mind. You became aware of the hand you were holding in a vice-like grip. Ross was with you, you wouldn’t be alone, you could very well have a family with the man next to you. You could be there for each other through all this, you were a team.

“Oh my god…” was all you could say, a soft smile spreading across your face. You looked at Ross, mirroring your smile.

“I should talk to you about options,” your doctor said after a minute of letting you bask in the happiness.

“I want to keep it,” you said instantly.

You smiled at Ross again, he raised his eyebrows–silently asking “really?”–you nodded.

“Well then,” she laughed. “I’ll give you the name of a good OB, he’s the one who delivered my two girls…” She was messily writing on a notepad. “And this is a good brand of prenatal vitamins.” She opened a drawer of her desk and retrieved a pamphlet. “And here’s just some guidelines for the early stages, what not to eat, symptoms you might have, all that.”

“Thanks,” you said after she handed you the bundle of information.

“I’d suggest booking within the next week, you might just be far enough along for a proper ultrasound.”

You didn’t say another word until you were out of the building and walking to the closest tube station, to the line that would take you right to Ross’. “A baby…”

“I know,” he chuckled.

“Are you okay with this all? Sorry…I didn’t know what my answer would be in there…”

“Listen to me.” He stopped walking, taking your hand in both of his and fiddling with your fingers. “There is no one else I would rather do this with.”

“Out of everyone in the entire world?” You laughed.

“No one else.”

“Not even Waugh?”

“Don’t tell him that I pick you…” He said in a hushed tone, to which you couldn’t help burst out laughing.

You couldn’t describe the joy you were feeling. The bubble of bliss was back for you both.

That night you slept easy, in the arms of the father of your baby, the three of you together–at least for now.

#ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fic

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ae-azile · 3 months

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Progression - Chapter 20 Preview

Arm: I'm taking the day off. Sorry. Good luck with the meeting and the dinner later, because I am not attending it either.

Once Kinn looks at the message, it forces him to do a double take at his phone screen. He can (almost) ignore the fact that Douglas is talking to Porsche.

Almost.

The abrupt text really isn't like Arm. He rarely takes days off, likely because he is the most knowledgeable in all aspects of their security. There was no question on who would be replacing Chan. They asked Arm as soon as he began organizing the reconstruction and clean up. Tankhun had thrown a fit, and Arm initially said no because he thought it meant being removed from Tankhun’s team. It took a lot of incentives and adjustments to get him to agree, including letting him stay on Khun’s security team and becoming the co-head of it with Pol, which admittedly made sense since Arm was now the most seasoned out of Khun's guards and Pol was the most frequently scheduled with him. But Kinn has never seen Arm argue so much prior to that, although emotions were running high. While Arm never said as much, he is sure Pete’s abrupt departure upset him. Pa faking his death and getting so many people hurt or killed probably pissed him off more. Since he respects Arm and they could NOT lose more staff, Arm got pretty much every incentive he asked for. He probably knew he had the upperhand. Kinn is relatively sure Khun strongly encouraged Arm to play his hand that way, although Khun never admitted that. When Kinn mentioned Arm suddenly being a pain about it, Khun just smirked.

Despite all of that, Kinn eventually respected Arm more for the out-of-character stubbornness he showed. But he hasn't experienced a defiant Arm since.

At least until now.

Kinn: This is sort of sudden, considering you left the conference room without a word. Is everything okay?

Arm: My preference is to not lie to you about this, so no. It's not okay. I sent the email file with the security upgrade plans and presentation if you wish to present it anyway.

Kinn: We can reschedule the presentation. The guests will be here all week.

Arm: I will let you know if I feel like I can do it without significant decisions and adjustments being made.

What the fuck? Why is Arm being an asshole right now? Since there is no active discussion going on and people are just socializing, he takes the time to step away to call him instead. He is actually grateful that Tankhun decided Arm and Pol would keep their phones, even if it was technically special treatment. He's probably right. They are in the know about Namphueng, and Arm is the head of security and surveillance. After everything he has done, he deserves his phone.

But Arm sends his call to voicemail.

That. Fucker.

Kinn: This is unprofessional. Call me.

Arm: I am getting your brother out of the compound. That is more important right now. I apologize for the lack of notice. We should be back late tonight. Pol is staying with Nam and Phoenix. If you feel reprimanding me is called for, you can do so when we get back if you are still up. Or you can do it first thing in the morning. Up to you.

Kinn grips his phone tightly in his hand, then lets out a steadying breath. If Pa saw these messages, he would require a punishment. He may say it calmly, or even chuckle about Arm’s sudden audacity, but he would still require it.

He would punish Arm for having his phone without prior authorization too, but Kinn has long decided to let that drop.

The thought of punishing Arm leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He has spent a lot of time with him the last few months, and he is the one who tracked down Kim. Not only does Kinn respect him, but he has also felt like a good and very reliable friend as of late. The anxiety brought on by the thought of spending the day in close proximity to Douglas actually lessened because he knew he would have people he trusted there. Mainly Porsche, but Arm was in second place, since Arm has been a friend. That's what he thought, at least.

So more than anything, he feels hurt.

Kinn: I really don't want to do that. Are you upset with me about something? You are being very short with me, so if you are and want to discuss some things, we can do that tonight or tomorrow. If I did anything to piss you off, I apologize.

Kinn: I can't think of anything recent, but please let me know if I did.

Kinn: Can you let me know what it is?

Arm: I have no issues with you. I am sorry if I came off that way. My sudden absence has nothing to do with you, but I need some time to cool off. It's personal, but I will let you know if I am able to talk about it soon. I need to leave for the day, and I want to work on some things tonight when I get back. I will let you know if we can talk about this in the morning. Sorry again.

Just as Kinn trying to figure out a way to get Arm to call him so he can get a slightly better idea of what's going on, he gets a text from Khun.

Khun: Leave Arm be. Please. It's my fault he's so worked up. He's protective of me. You know that. We are going on a day trip so we can both get our minds off it.

Kinn: Off of what?

Khun: If I say, then I am failing to get my mind off of it, aren't I? 🙄 Arm is trying his best though. He even called Pete to see if he wanted to go on the day trip with us! But Pete is already out of town with Vegas and Macau. 😒 I would be more hurt, but he said he would rather be with us. Some family drama is going on back in Sisaket. He said his grandma was fine, so it is probably his annoying and abusive estranged father getting arrested for assault or drugs. 😡😤 His grandma HATES his father, so she won't help her ex son-in-law when he gets in trouble with the law. If Vegas truly loves Pete as much as his Instagram implies, he should slaughter him for everyone’s sake.

Kinn knows Khun is trying to distract him from the topic at hand. It's glaringly obvious, even if Khun is telling the truth and genuinely wants Vegas to kill Pete’s father. The thing is, it sort of works. Bringing up Vegas tends to distract Kinn from whatever he was talking about. It doesn't distract him in a good way, but it distracts him.

But that frustration is quelled by the relief of seeing emojis in Khun’s text. The first one didn't have any, and that is usually a sign Khun is anxious and not doing well, as strange of a sign that is.

Kinn: Can you please convince Arm to meet with me tomorrow morning?

Khun takes longer to answer than Kinn likes, but he does get back to him.

Khun: We’ll see.

Whatever.

“Is everything okay?” Porsche asks when Kinn walks in. Kinn doesn't nod, shake his head, or provide any peace of mind. He just opens his texts with Arm and hands his phone over to Porsche.

“What has gotten into him?” Porsche asks, “This isn't like him.”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He's your friend.”

Porsche glances at him, “He's becoming yours too. This might be a good sign, at least in some ways. He feels more comfortable being defiant with you.”

“Is defiance something he frequently displays outside of work?”

“Not really,” Porsche says, “But he has a strong sass streak when he's feeling annoyed.”

Kinn huffs at that, “Still shouldn't have left.”

“Oh, come on,” Porsche says quietly, “Maybe something personal happened and he needs some time. It's not the greatest timing, but he's done so much for everyone. I doubt he would just take off without a legitimate reason. Besides, all these men are longtime allies, right? The mutual business connections are beneficial for everyone? There probably isn't a reason to prepare for a significant threat. Right?”

As Kinn looks away and chooses not to answer that, he locks eyes with Douglas. The older man is staring right back at him with a smirk on his face.

#armkhun fic #kimchay fic #kimchay fanfic #kinnporsche fanfic #progression spoilers #progression preview #chapter 20 preview

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the-hidden-writer · 3 months

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Lost in Translation

An Alan Wake 2 oneshot. Spoilers for Alan Wake 2!

Summary: After the events of the game, Saga casually asks Casey if he can he can speak Finnish. His response leaves her unsettled.

Words: 1,913 AO3 Link: [Here!]

Lost in Translation

They’d been working in their shared office for nearly four hours. Sorting files, sending emails, tying up loose ends on various older cases, etc. The admin part of the job that nobody tells you about.

Personally, Saga didn’t mind it at all. She actually found it quite therapeutic, as she did similar activities mentally all the time. It felt nice to get to handle physical papers and get to type visual notes. She felt as if she was in her element.

Her partner, on the other hand, was very vocal in his opinion that it was dull as hell.

Saga would often crack jokes or ask random questions to help lighten the mood. Many times they would lead into much longer conversations in which she’d end up learning a weird and wonderful fact about her partner.

This time, she waited until he’d finished typing away at his computer and had stood up to go and refill his coffee (just to ensure she wasn’t disturbing him) before blurting out the first thing that came into her head.

“Casey, do you speak Finnish?”

A simple, innocent question- or at least, she’d intended it to be. But with the way Casey’s demeanor changed in an instant, freezing mid-step and a near-miss of dropping his beloved coffee mug, it was as if she'd caught a deer in headlights. A deer that would not normally turn his head slowly to stare at her with wide, haunted eyes.

There were a few tense seconds with only Casey’s heavy breathing filling her ears. She didn’t need to go to her Mind Place to instantly know that something was wrong.

“No… I don’t.” Casey’s reply was terse and strained, like he was having to force the words out of his mouth. There was also an element of uncertainty to his voice, as if he didn’t have total conviction in his answer. His hardened gaze shifted to look directly into her eyes, filling her with concern. “Why’d you ask?”

Why did she ask?

It was actually a question that had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since Bright Falls. She’d been enveloped in the whirlwind of the horror story at the time, tunnel vision to save Logan and Casey dictating her every move and helping her through the madness. There was so much going on around her but so much of it was quickly forgotten in an attempt to keep pushing forward. Her family came first, magic lakes and Wake’s inner demons be damned.

Yet there was one sight, spotted briefly in the basement of the nursing home, that she just couldn’t shake from her psyche. Gory images of her partner (whether it was actually him didn’t matter, he looked like him enough to chill Saga to her core) terrified and in tremendous pain while being dragged and stabbed by cultists, bathed in light as red as the blood spewing from his lips.

And the film was Finnish.

But she’d been alone in witnessing that. Casey wasn’t there, Casey couldn’t have seen what she had. A part of her had been satisfied with the assumption that it was just weird Dark Place trickery or something Wake had written in. Either way, it wasn’t real. She’d just been curious about the language.

Based on Casey’s reaction though, it clearly must mean something to him. Or maybe he had some other strange connection to Finland that he’d never told her about and it was all a coincidence.

…Yeah, Saga couldn’t convince herself that could even be a possibility.

Just in case, she put on a smile and tried to backpedal. “I don’t know, I just thought of it now.”

Still frozen in place, Casey threw her a pointed look and she could hear the unspoken dry words delivered through it. Don’t bullshit me, Anderson. We both know we’re way past that.

A small sigh of defeat escaped her lips. It had been worth a shot.

“I was thinking about Bright Falls,” she admitted reluctantly, the way Casey’s head dropped not lost on her. “With all the Nordic stuff going on there, I just wondered…”

She couldn't bring herself to tell him the whole truth. Not yet, at least.

“Yeah… I figured it’d be something to do with that.” He seemed to accept that answer at least and he finally finished crossing the room to refill his mug.

Saga offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bring it up.”

Waiting by the machine, he turned back to her and gave her one of his rare, small smiles in return. A soft little expression that Saga always treasured. “Nah, you're good. Just… caught me off-guard, that's all.”

That should have been it. She should have dropped it, should have accepted his convincing attempt at brushing it off for what it was. But she knew her partner better than anyone. She knew Casey, which is why she knew that such smiles were reserved for when something meant a lot to him, either positive or negative.

And judging by the way her skin prickled at his words, she had a feeling it was probably negative in this case. She felt the urge to enter her Mind Place and deduce what was troubling him. There was clearly more to this than meets the eye.

It sometimes slipped her mind that Casey could read her just as well as she could read him. Some of her concern must have shown on her face, because he started to elaborate unprompted. Saga had an inkling that it was in the hope that she wouldn't profile him if he offered the information himself.

“Look, it's uh… I don't really get it myself, so I don’t know what to tell you.” He gently set down his coffee mug on the table.

“Bright Falls?” Saga prompted. The easy answer to any horror or confusion.

To her surprise, Casey shook his head. “I’m not sure? It’s weird, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. It’s not even worth talking about.”

He was dancing around the point, opening up without opening up. Now Saga desperately wanted to profile him in her Mind Place, but knew that it would be painfully obvious to her partner if she did it mid-conversation. She continued to suppress the urge.

“I won’t push if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, “but just know that your Christmas invitation will be officially revoked if I find out you’re bottling things up again.”

He let out a sound that was half a scoff and half a chuckle, and Saga herself relaxed a little upon hearing it. A small victory in diffusing the situation.

“Didn’t think you’d stoop so low, Anderson.” Casey said dryly.

She doubled down with a hint of a grin. “Yeah, well then you’d better be honest with me because I am not bluffing.”

Another huff. “Fine.”

He walked toward her and settled down on the opposite site of the desk. He then took a long sip of coffee before making an even longer sigh.

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“Try me.”

His gaze shifted to stare into his mug. Saga watched intently as his brows furrowed, lost in his own thoughts. “I, uh… think I’ve had dreams… in Finnish or something.”

That was not what she was expecting. A smile tugged at her lips at being so taken aback.

“Saga.” Casey said with utmost seriousness, his tone causing her to actually crack up.

“Sorry! I’m sorry-” she quickly composed herself- “I just didn’t expect to hear that.”

That prompted an eyebrow raise from Casey. “What were you expecting to hear?”

“Not that.” Saga replied casually, hoping he wouldn’t pry further. Having strange dreams seemed much tamer than some of the possibilities she’d been imagining after seeing that movie. “What sort of dreams?”

He cast her a suspicious look but luckily accepted her attempt to brush it off. He shrugged. “Don’t really remember.”

The obvious lie lingered heavily in the space between them.

Casey then cleared his throat and stretched his fingers before beginning to use the computer again. “Well there you go, now you know.”

Oh, Saga could see what he was doing. He’d mimicked her casual tone of voice. He hadn’t pried when she clearly had more to say and now expected her to do the same.

She desperately wanted more information, but he seemed to be pretty adamant on leaving it at that. If only because she didn’t want to risk revealing something about that movie if he didn’t know about it already, she decided to leave it be.

(In the conversation, at least.)

Once she was certain that Casey was engrossed in his work again, she entered the Mind Place.

Even though it was mostly behind them now, Saga had still kept various files open from the Bright Falls incident. The whole thing didn’t sit well with her and didn’t feel as though it had concluded in a way she was satisfied with. She half expected Alan Wake to knock at the door at any moment.

Moving over to the desk with profiles, she noticed Casey’s was already there waiting for her. She picked it up and studied it carefully.

What have you been seeing, Casey?

Instantly, a chill shook her body as it was spiked with a sudden anxiety. Casey’s voice echoed in her head. Saga shuddered where she sat. Not because of the fear that didn’t belong to her, but because the visions of her partner became more bloodied with each insight.

Not me. Not in those books. Not in my sleep. Just a nightmare. Not Wake, not Koskela. They aren’t sadists. My heart won’t stop pounding in my chest. Feels good. That feels bad. I try to speak and foreign words come out. I can’t understand it, but I know the words are mine. A bright light. A dark room. A friendly janitor. Those damn cultists. The fuck have you done to me, Wake? I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m

Saga snapped out of her Mind Place, horrified. She quickly glanced over at her partner. Casey was still busy typing, none the wiser. Releasing a shaking breath, she leaned back in her chair.

So Casey had seen that movie. Or had dreamt about it. Had he dreamt about the movie or dreamt about the events? It wasn’t a memory or a vision, was it?

So much for it just being a part of her imagination.

“Casey?” she blurted out.

He peered out from behind the monitor. “Hmm?”

He seemed fine, either unaware or simply unbothered by the subconscious thoughts Saga had seen. She suddenly thought against bringing it up. How would she go about telling him what she’d seen if he wasn’t outwardly showing his troubles? Tell him that she’d peered into his private thoughts?

Frustrated that he was bottling things up after all, she sighed. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“If you’re sure.”

She wasn’t sure, but couldn’t do anything about it. It would remain as a note under his file in her brain for the foreseeable future, only to be reopened during their Christmas get-together later that year.

After a big lunch and a lot of laughs, Casey had fallen asleep on their couch. She’d been placing a blanket over him when he began to mumble something. She paused, before realizing he was still asleep. That’s when it felt as if her own heart stopped in her chest.

The words were distinctly foreign.

The words were distinctly Finnish.

Thanks for reading!

#alan wake 2 #alan wake #fic #fanfic #saga anderson #alex casey #aleksi kesä #yöton yö #lost in translation

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ravennm84 · 2 years

Text

Demonic Justice

So, I was on a Buffy the Vampire Slayer binge and thought to myself, What would happen if someone made a wish to a justice demon to go after Lila? More specifically, her past victims? And this is what I ended up with!! A little dark, but still filled with salty goodness. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

As a justice demon, Remios considered himself to be more than fair, preferring to hear and see many different perspectives before passing judgment. Most of the other justice demons considered him to be too soft or slow in his work, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was the right people receiving justice and the rest getting the punishment they deserve. More than a few of his fellow demons would end up doling out justice willy-nilly and some jackass with a vendetta against an ex-girlfriend, who broke up with him for cheating, would end up getting the poor girl fileted from the inside out. Remios, however, never had to worry about the wrong person being punished. He always got the right ones.

There were also times when he felt souls cry so strongly, they were impossible to ignore. Today, for example, he was sensing the anguished cries of multiple souls, seemingly in the same area. Remios had put on his human face before teleporting to the area without being seen, and approached the group of teenagers that were huddled together and crying by the street. There were three of them, two girls and a boy, and their souls in such pain that it made him flinch to be so close to them.

It took some time and an offered bag of cookies, but they began venting to Remios, who had introduced himself as Remy, what was bothering them. Apparently, it was a photo in a magazine that had set them off.

“We just can’t believe such a horrible person got to be a model after ruining our lives,” Maria, a girl in her late teens, said as she gripped the magazine so hard that the pages tore.

“Do you mind if I ask what she did?” Remios asked, using a slight amount of his power to make them more willing to spill everything.

“What hasn’t that bitch done,” Terance growled in disgust. “She sexually harassed me, tried to get me to date her because my family has money. When I told her I wasn’t interested, she told everyone that I was harassing her! She got me expelled and taken to the police for questioning, it ruined me at school even though we had proof that it was the other way around. My family had to move to keep people from beating me up every day.”

Beatrix clutched at the two crutches that were laid across the bench beside her. “She tried to ruin my reputation at school, too. It almost worked, but our teacher believed me instead of her and kept giving her detention. When the teacher told Lila that if she did one more thing against me, she would get suspended, I got pushed down the stairs. I was in a coma for over a week, broke a lot of bones, and I still can’t walk without crutches. My parents and the school tried to get ahold of her parents, but the phone number and email they had were defunct. The school never found where she transferred to.”

Maria’s eyes were full of hate and tears as she continued to glare at the magazine in her hands. “She bullied my sister for months; at school, on the internet, she convinced our parents that she was the bully. People were throwing stones through our windows. Jennifer came home covered in bruises at least a dozen times. But the worst…�� Her breath shuttered as she threw the magazine onto the street. “Someone had posted online that Jennifer was a prostitute and wanted to have ‘fun’. A group of boys from her school cornered her in the locker room and…” Maria broke down in sobs as Beatrix rubbed the older girl’s back in soothing circles. It was a few minutes before she was able to gather herself enough to continue.

“It wasn’t until then that my parents actually tried to do something… but it was too late. My poor little baby sister couldn’t take anymore and killed herself. That… that thing masquerading as a teenage girl ruined our lives and who knows how many others.”

“At least twelve, if we go by the group chat.” Terance muttered, before looking at Remios. “That’s how we met. Maria set up the group chat as a sort of support group/warning system for others. Lila’s done everything from stealing from people, getting people expelled because they tried outing her for lying. One girl, Katy, almost committed suicide before she found our chat and we were barely able to talk her down.”

“And now that thing is a model for a famous fashion designer,” Beatrix groused. “All her dreams are coming true and all the people she hurt have to deal with the fact that all we can do is try and fail to make her pay for what she’s done.”

Remios just looked on in shock. If these three were telling him the truth about this girl, then she would be the youngest person he’d even punished. He had gone after sociopaths before, that was nothing new, but those were normally in their mid-thirties or older. Just to make sure, he asked them to show him the chat so he could see the stories for himself. Sure enough, there were dozens of different members of the chat. Some were Lila’s victims, others were friends/related to former victims, and there were still others that had tried to tell people at Lila’s schools the type of person she was, only to be ridiculed and bullied for their efforts.

No one had known where she disappeared to after her last school in Florence, where she had brought her classmates a batch of cookies, knowing full-well that one of her classmates was allergic to coconut and served them to her. The girl had recently discovered that Lila was a liar and decided to give her a chance to confess on her own. If Amelia hadn’t had an epi-pen with her, she would have died. By the time her mother had found out what had happened and tried to contact Lila’s parents, the family had moved on and the contact numbers and emails on file were defunct, just like all of her previous schools.

With so many different stories from people all over, and the fact the souls of the three people he was speaking with were in so much pain that he wasn’t sure how much longer he could be around them, he knew what he had to do. It was time for him to wield the power of the wish. He just had to know what they wished for.

“This girl, Lila, really does sound like a rotten person. I bet you all wish something or someone would do something to take her down a peg or 30.” Remios prompted.

Terance nodded. “More than anything, I wish all of her lies were exposed so everyone will see exactly what a disgusting, vile, and corrupt psychopath she really is.”

Beatrix’s hand absently ran over her crutches again as she spoke. “I wish she understood the pain that she’d caused the people she targeted, both emotionally and physically.”

Maria was wiping away the remaining tears from her eyes before looking up longingly at the sky. “I want her to pay for what she did to my sister and everyone else. But I don’t want it so bad that she dies, I want her to live with the consequences of what she’s done. And I wish I could see her face when it all happens. That way I know that what she did to Jennifer, she won’t be able to do to anyone else.”

The three of them were all looking to the street or the sky at that moment. No one saw his human mask melt away to reveal his true demonic face. All they heard was the word “Done,” whispered in their ears before the man that the three of them swore they had been speaking to, vanished as if he was never there.

~oOo~

It started with emails to a few celebrities from lawyers that they didn’t remember retaining.

Jagged Stone and his manager Penny received a call from their lawyer that the lawsuit against the girl that accused him of reckless endangerment, copyright, slander, and accusations of pedophilia was ready for his signiture. The rock star had been confused at first, not remembering having anything like that in the works, but a look through the paperwork and he was glad that it was being resolved. When he recognized the name as the girl that was also harassing his honorary niece, he had the lawyer draw up a restraining order and lawsuit on her behalf, to be implemented as soon as he had her parents permission.

Clara Nightingale received a similar call from her lawyer, pertaining to copyright, slander, and theft of art that she was being accused of from a girl she’d never met, but the name was familiar. Once she realized that it was the girl that Marinette had been venting about after the girl had accused her of stealing her design ideas, Clara had the lawyer add theft on Marinette’s behalf. There was no way she was going to let the girl that inspired such good will and a few new songs suffer from some no talent wannabe.

There were over a dozen other celebrities that suddenly found themselves signing lawsuits to be delivered to the teenager and her parents later that afternoon. Most didn’t even remember wanting or filing the lawsuits, but agreed wholeheartedly after reading the charges that were being brought against the girl. There was everything from slander, copyright infringement, and liability; to theft, harassment, and impersonation for pretending to be dating/related to a celebrity and making them foot the bill for whatever restaurant or store she went to.

Another lawyer, M. Fontaine had a completed class-action lawsuit on his desk that morning; full of testimonies, video, digital, and physical evidence against Lila Rossi for what she had done to her former classmates. This included the wrongful death of Jennifer Cartia, the attempted murders of Amelia Rostiere and Beatrix Devoux, the sexual harassment of Terence Armounte, as well as bullying, harassment, slander, destruction of property, and theft of 17 other former classmates. There were also notes about Miss Rossi’s current school, that there was a student that was accused of being a bully to Rossi and had nearly been expelled. This girl was likely another victim and he had interviews set up with her and other students that day. He wasn’t sure how he had almost forgotten about the interviews, he could have sworn that he was looking forward to nailing this girl’s lying tongue to the wall. Gathering up his paperwork, he began making his way to the Francoise Dupont School.

~oOo~

Greta Rossi had just barely sat down at her desk at 7:15am sharp. She had always taken pride in her punctuality. It surprised her when her phone rang, normally the office didn't receive phone calls for another hour, but answered all the same. “Hello, this is Greta Rossi.”

“Oh, Mme. Rossi, it’s wonderful to speak with you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her brow creased for a moment. “What do you mean? You called me. Who is this?”

“I apologize, but my phone rang and you answered, I could have sworn that you called me. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. This is M. Damocles, Principal of Francoise Dupont.”

“Is everything okay with Lila? Has there been another akuma attack?”

“Lila is fine and there are currently no akuma. But while I have you on the line. I would like to discuss a few things with you. I am in need of the note for her absence from school for those months you and she were away in Achu for diplomatic work. I’ll also need the doctor’s notes pertaining to Lila’s medical needs and instructions on dealing with her accommodations. Specifically her lying disease, as I would hate to have another misunderstanding like we had a few months ago.”

There was a pause on both ends while Greta processed what M. Damocles just told her. “Exactly what ‘misunderstanding’ are you referring to? I didn’t receive any call or email about anything happening. Did my email get deleted or something after you were akumatized for all those months and the school was damaged? And what diplomatic work in Achu? We haven’t left Paris since we moved here.”

Another pause… The two confused, and soon angry, adults agreed that Mme. and M. Rossi needed to come in right away to discuss what her daughter had been saying and hash out the truth of the matter.

It was 8am as she was grabbing her purse, there was a knock on her office door and she was met with numerous men and women in power suits and carrying briefcases. After introducing themselves as lawyers representing multiple different parties, Greta was handed lawsuit after lawsuit that she, her husband, and Lila were going to have to answer for in the coming weeks. They then informed her that they would also be delivering the lawsuits to Lila herself, but wanted to make sure that Greta was informed first, as she was the adult and Lila had proven a tendency to lie.

The more Greta read, the angrier she got. It was only through sheer will that she kept calm so that she wouldn’t attract an akuma while she called her husband and informed him what their daughter had been up to and that they had a standing appointment at the school for that day. He told her that he would meet her there within the hour. By 10am, she was sure that any freedom Lila had would be stripped away.

~oOo~

Lila had a feeling that today would be different. She wasn’t sure how, but she had a few ideas in mind to do with Adrien, Maribrat, and possibly getting her classmates to do her work for the rest of the term. She'd bought a box of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies from a bakery near her apartment the day before and put them in a tin from home, ready to tell everyone that she made them herself.

She had just stepped on campus, already half way through the school day. Not that it mattered since her "mother" had already emailed the school to let them know that she had a doctor's appointment and would be coming in after lunch. If that meant she would have to miss a test she hadn't studied for, oh well. She was a little surprised to see Mme. Bustier waiting for her at the door with a somber look on her face. "Lila, you're needed in the principal's office. Something has come up with your parents."

A little surprised by the grave tone in the teacher's voice, Lila rushed up the stairs to the office. She took the time to knock, attempting to keep the image of an obedient, but worried girl. But in reality, she was annoyed that whatever happened was interrupting her plans for the day. Still, she plastered her best scared/concerned expression on her face when she heard Damocles call for her to enter.

Her eyes hardly found him sitting tall behind his desk before she noticed her parents standing to one side, looking absolutely furious. Lila was contemplating just turning around and sprinting away, knowing full-well that it would be hard to work things to her advantage if they'd had any time to talk before she arrived.

Before she could decide, her father marched forward to move her away from the door and stand in front of it, firmly blocking her exit. Ciro Rossi, a naval commander turned diplomat, was a force to be reckoned with when he was angry. Lila was fortunate, and skilled enough, to never have that anger directed at her. But now, it felt like every experience she had avoided had accumulated and was now directed at her all at once.

Her mother… she had never seen that expression on her mother's face before. She was the type that was open and loving, always with a smile on her face. Going on and on about how much she loves Lila, whatever that really meant. But now, her face seemed completely devoid of any readable thought or emotion besides anger. Which was very bad for Lila, if she couldn't read the emotions of her parents, it was harder to manipulate them.

Still she had to try. "Mama, Papa, is everything alri-"

"Sit down," her father said sternly behind her. She looked back at him, doing her best to appear small, vulnerable, and scared. "Now."

She did as she was told. "What’s going-"

"Shut up," her mother harshly interrupted her, surprising Lila into silence. "You will not speak unless asked a direct question. Every interruption or attempt to lie will see you more harshly punished. Are we clear?"

Unable to help herself, she visibly winced before nodding. They knew that she had lied, but which ones did they know about? Probably the ones having to do with school and attendance. Worst case scenario, she'll be expelled and have to start over at a new school. Not the worst thing, since her classmates were a bunch of idiot sheep and didn't have much to offer anymore.

"First thing's first, the school never closed. You lied to us and the school about your attendance," her mother said matter-of-factly. "That's called truancy. The Board of Governors has already been notified, it will go on your permanent record, and your father and I will be forced to pay a fine for believing your lies. That fine will be paid for from your allowance."

She automatically jumped up to protest, but her father firmly grabbed her shoulder and pushed her down into the chair again. One hard glare from him had Lila biting her tongue as she glowered in her seat.

"Secondly, we have been informed of your 'diseases and disabilities' that you have told the school about and the fake doctors' notes you gave them. Do you realize that each one of those is a possible fraud and forgery charge? Because either you knew and didn't care, or you're an idiot and didn't realize the trouble you could get in."

Lila scowled at her mother for the insult. She hadn't meant to and averted her eyes back down to the floor, but it was too late.

"Ah, so you did know and didn't care. After everything we've been told, I'm not surprised."

"We could also add that she didn't think she would be caught." Ciro stated behind her, his voice making her quake slightly. "After all, she has forged our signatures, faked our contact information, and assaulted other classmates at her past schools. Why wouldn't she think she'd be able to do it again?"

"But I haven't, I swear!" Jumping from her seat in a panic, she looked from one adult to another while trying to figure out what to do. There was no way they could know about her past schools and classmates. None of those places had their numbers or forwarding address. She'd made sure that none of them were able to contact her parents. They had to be bluffing!

As if the gods heard her thoughts and wanted to torment her, there was a knock at the office door followed by a tidal wave of lawyers. They greeted Greta with a nod before each of them served Lila with lawsuits. A lawsuit and restraining order from Jagged Stone. Another lawsuit and a cease and desist from Clara Nightingale. Bruce Wayne had sent a lawsuit for slander and theft, how could he have known about the times she had sent tabs to him, claiming she was dating his son?

Lawsuit after lawsuit were being dropped into her lap as the lawyers filed in and back out of the office. She hadn't even realized that she had sat back down, likely from the shock. This can't be happening! How did all these people find out about me?

Lila hadn't even realized that she had zoned out for a couple minutes until a stern voice cleared his throat. She looked up from the towering pile of envelopes to face yet another intimidating man in a power suit… and was backed up by a couple of police officers.

"Are you Lila Rossi?" She dumbly nodded before the man looked towards her mother and father. "M. and Mme. Rossi, thank you for allowing me to finish my other interviews before speaking with you formally."

"Of course, M. Fontaine. Now, if you would please tell us about the charges you plan to file? You said it was in relation to Lila’s past schools and classmates?" Ciro asked in a resigned voice. Their daughter already had 14 lawsuits handed over to them in one afternoon. What was one more?

The man nodded to the two officers before approaching Ciro and Greta. "Yes, I'll be leading the class action lawsuit against your daughter." As he said this, the officers had stood Lila up and proceeded to arrest her while giving her miranda rights. This seemed to wake Lila from her shock as she began thrashing and screaming. Fontaine ignored this as he spoke to her parents. "I represent Lila’s past and current victims of bullying, harassment, sexual harrasment, and slander; as well as two charges of attempted murder and the wrongful death of one of her classmates."

Hearing that, Greta nearly collapsed but was kept standing by her husband. Ciro's expression turned hard as he glared. Luckily for M. Fontaine, he was pretty sure that look was for daughter rather than him.

Speaking of, the three of them were startled when there was a sudden *tang* of metal striking flesh. They turned towards Lila and the officers just in time to see the teenager strike the second officer in the face with the tin of cookies that burst open from the force. The handcuffs were hanging from her right wrist and her expression reminded Fontaine of a rabid badger, something that would attack anyone and anything that got too close.

The class bell rang a moment later and the girl sprinted out the door in the hopes of blending in with her classmates so she could escape the school, find an akuma, and use its power to make everyone forget about today. She didn't count on the police officers recovering as quickly as they did to follow her out, along with her parents, the principal, or that last lawyer. But it wasn't over yet, the dark purple wings of the approaching akuma proved it. A good jump in the air and the butterfly was trapped in her fist.

"Just you wait, once I've got my powers I'll make every one of you suffer for even thinking of challenging-"

*BUZZZZZZ*

Lila’s entire body went ramrod stiff as the two prongs of an officer's stun gun made contact. The akuma got crushed in the girl's grip in addition to the 1,200 volts coursing through the insect and her. Unable to control her body, nothing could stop her from tipping sideways and tumbling down the stairs.

The officer that had shot her was nearly in a panic as the girl fell. All he'd been able to think about was that this girl they were arresting for multiple counts of attempted murder was about to willingly akumatize herself, risking the lives of everyone in the school. Who knew what kind of powers she would have gotten. He had done what was necessary to protect the students, his partner, and himself in a situation that he hadn’t thought possible. Still, she should have fallen forward and away from the stairs, not towards them. Now they had to worry about being accused of using excessive force on the arrest.

~oOo~

It had become one of the biggest trials in Europe since the Nuremberg Trials. Lila Rossi had been found guilty of aiding known terrorist Hawkmoth, the wrongful death of Jennifer Cartia, the attempted murders of Amelia Rostiere and Beatrix Devoux, the sexual harassment of Terence Armounte and Adrien Agreste, and numerous other charges.

She'd lost every charge and lawsuit brought against her. Lila didn't know how they had found all the evidence or how they traced it back to her, but they did. It made whatever defense her lawyer attempted seem pathetic.

Lila claimed that Terance harassed her? They had audio and video of her harassing and threatening him. She says that she had nothing to do with Beatrix’s accident? The seven eye witnesses and DNA evidence from the fingernail that broke off in Beatrix’s hair says otherwise. Lila is currently being bullied and was injured by her classmate, Marinette? CCTV footage of Lila faking her injury and planting evidence in Marinette's locker proves it's the other way around. Claims that she and Jennifer were friends and would never hurt or bully her? There were literally stacks of printed texts, emails, and social media posts that were time stamped and traced back to Lila’s accounts. Including the post that had resulted in Jennifer being assaulted, which had Lila being charged for the crime, just like the boys that hurt Jennifer.

Her lawyer refused to let her take the stand in her defense. Both because of her tendency to lie and the fact that she was on a constant supply of pain killers that made her loopy. The fall had left her unable to walk due to shattered vertebrae, but the nerves were still able to transmit pain and had been doing so to an impressive degree. Lila had hoped for a bit of sympathy from the jury. She was just a teenager, who was now paralyzed from the waist down as a result of her fall down the stairs when she was tazed. They ignored her pain and focused on the pattern of behavior, saying that if she hadn’t been discovered, she'd have continued to escalate.

At the very least, she hoped that the stupid police officer that paralyzed her would have been fired and forced to apologize to her. But NO, the officer had gotten a freaking award for stopping her willing akumatization. Stating that he had made a difficult decision in an unpredictable situation, likely saving hundreds of lives, most of them school students.

When the judge had finally come to a decision, she cried real tears for the first time since the doctors said she'd never walk again. He sentenced her to the maximum penalty as permitted by law. Lila Rossi was to serve 182 years in prison for all her crimes. The possibility of parole had been completely revoked once it had been proven, via video evidence, that the day of her arrest wasn't the first time she had been willing to be akumatized.

When the verdict had been read, she had wanted to launch herself at her past victims, the people that had testified against her. Not that it would have worked. Between her injury and the four officers that surrounded her at all times, she never had the chance. Worst she could do was throw her cup of water at the crowd when they cheered at her verdict.

Lila just couldn't believe everything that happened. All of her lies had been exposed on international television and all over the internet. She was in constant pain from her injuries and would never walk again. But worse of all, the humiliation from being exposed would never leave her. She was constantly monitored to make sure she would serve her sentence…and not end it abruptly due to selfish actions. No, this was Lila Rossi's life until she died of old age in a cramped, disgusting prison cell.

She never once noticed the nondescript man that had attended every day of her trial, despite the proceedings being closed to the public for her safety. The man had seriously given Marinette and Adrien the willys, and their kwamis had warned them to steer clear of him, but there were no incidents. He wasn’t a witness or one of her past victims. He never took the stand. All he did was sit to watch the trial. When the verdict was read, he watched three of the people up front: Terance, Maria, and Beatrix. As they cried tears of relief and joy, the man gave a smile and nod. Then it was like he was never there.

**Bonus**

Gabriel Agreste slowly came around as he propped himself up on the floor. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of thousands of bees buzzing under his skin after Rossi grabbed his akuma. Very unpleasant.

After transforming and returning to his office, he was greeted by Natalie, who held out her tablet with a video cued up. It showed a news clip about an "unnamed student" being arrested for willingly accepting an akuma while in the process of being arrested for other heinous crimes. Although force had been used and the student had been taken to the hospital for her injuries, witnesses state that the actions of the police officer saved their lives.

Gabriel handed the tablet back to his assistant. "Be ready to prepare a statement to the press about canceling Lila Rossi's contract. Including that we were unaware that she forged her parents signatures and, due to her obsession with Adrien, we will be filling a restraining order as well. We don't know what kind of diplomatic pull her parents have, the little weasel may get out on bail."

A little while later, Adrien came rushing through the mansion doors. He demanded to see his father, saying that there was a big incident at school that he had to tell him about.

Gabriel hummed. "That will work."

Tag List:

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#lila salt #lila bashing #lila lies #mlbjustice #lila karma #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #miraculous justice

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