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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months

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to being ghosts.

Chapter 3 - Treason Unordinary

Chapter Warnings: angst with a tiny sliver of fluff, mentions of death (fem!r) and executions, world-building. 5.1k+ words.

Your initial reaction upon entering Victor Vale’s safehouse outside of San Francisco was like an interruption. He, Sydney, Mitch, and Dol had grown comfortable in a domestic pattern on the run but made a sense of home wherever they went because of their unique bond. Then, when they decided to stay in one place and wait for you, there was an opportunity to settle into a routine, to be content and alone with one another, forgetting the world outside and all the changes everyone else went through.

When you walked in, it upset the domesticity, if only for a moment. As Victor learned to trust you, he kept Sydney at arm’s length, unwilling to let you get too close.

Now, you have fallen into the trap of alluring domesticity, too. Victor trusts you, Sydney feels safe beside you, and Mitch has been more help than you ever dreamed of having. The feeling of belonging, the sense that you finally found a place where you fit, living alongside other ghosts, threatens to blind you to your mission.

“What are you doing?” Victor asks.

“Mitch looked around online to see if I’d been reported missing or anything,” you answer softly.

“And?”

“There’s nothing. I’d bet that Daniels is lying to Smoak, pretending that he left me somewhere to protect me from your charms.”

Victor steps into your room, his brows raised as he repeats, “My charms?”

Sighing, you admit, “When Smoak told us about you for the first time, he said that Eli could charm women pretty easily, and he and Daniels warned me not to let you do the same to me. Smoak didn’t even know for sure what your powers were but told me not to let you get to me.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Was that a joke?” you ask excitedly. “Did Victor Vale just make a joke about using his charms to win me over?”

“No. Did Smoak say anything else? Something that could help us take the NWA and the charter down, for good?”

“Not really. He gave us assignments, and even then, we got the bare minimum. Finding you was a stroke of luck.”

“My name’s pronounced Mitch,” Mitch calls from across the hall. “And you’re welcome!”

“What do we do now?” Victor asks.

“Truthfully, I have no idea, Victor. I’ve been running on adrenaline, hope, and a half-cocked plan to get all of the EOs in one place.”

Victor looks over his shoulder before closing your door and walking to the foot of your bed.

“You’ve shared a lot,” he begins.

“It’s the least I can do, given everything you’re doing to help me and other EOs.”

Victor sighs, lowering to sit on your bed. “Do you still want to hear about midnight?”

Sitting up to lean toward Victor, you nod.

“Then I guess we should start at Lockland, where I met Eli Cardale…”

✯✯✯✯✯

Sitting on one end of the couch, with Sydney beside you and Victor on the other side of her, you feel like part of a family. It’s been years since you felt anything like this, and you wish this moment would last forever.

“How many doctors are in the NWA?” Victor asks. “I can’t imagine spending all that time and money on med school just to be forced into a genocidal army.”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “But don’t worry, you wouldn’t have been they’re type anyway.”

“As if I would have let them find me.”

“Why are we staying hidden?” Sydney interjects. “I understood at first, while you figured out what to do, but it’s been a while now, and we’re still completely alone. No more EOs, no plan to save the world, just… waiting.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of getting the world back, Syd,” you explain. “And I’m not just saying this because I don’t have a plan, which I don’t. But we should not go outside until we are prepared to deal with anything and everything that the NWA could throw at us. Daniels will be looking for Victor, and maybe for me, I don’t know. When or if he finds him, Smoak will call in backup, and with Victor gone, it’ll be open season for EOs.”

“You make it sound like Vic is keeping EOs safe,” Sydney murmurs.

“In a way, he is.”

“How so?” Victor asks, closing the book in his lap. “Most people don’t even know I exist.”

“Maybe not, but they know someone out there defeated EON, and that there is an EO important enough to keep most of the heat away from the ones that hide their powers or kept living like nothing changed.”

“How do they do that; live like nothing changed?”

“There’s no way to spot an EO just by looking at them,” Victor answers.

“Right,” you agree. “And people have accidents, brain tumors, loads of things that result in death, and then they get brought back. My first year as a cop, I died for nearly a minute before they brought me back, but nothing happened, and I kept doing my job.”

“You died?” Victor and Sydney ask together.

“Barely,” you reply playfully. “But my point is that finding EOs is harder than it seems. So as long as there’s someone like Victor, a known EO, for the NWA to focus on, the unknown EOs have some hope, a sense of safety they can rely on.”

“What about the ones your NWA friends are killing?” Sydney inquires.

“I hate that it’s happening, but there’s nothing I can do right now, Syd. When our time is right, we’re going to save as many as we can, but for now we need to focus on staying alive to create a plan to do that.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“Well, not everyone has atom bombs,” Victor mutters.

“Was that another joke?” you ask, turning toward him.

“No.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Vic, Dol needs a walk,” Sydney says, looking at the book you found between two rafters in the attic. “He’s asking for a change, so he wants you to take him.”

“You can raise the dead, not talk to animals,” Victor argues, reading the last unaltered page of his parents’ second book.

“You don’t know everything about me. I know my dog, and he wants you to take him outside.”

“I’ll go,” you offer, chuckling at their antics.

You open the door for Dol, and follow him outside into the California forest. The trees are thick and green, and the new lack of pollution and population did wonders for the wildlife and scenery. Dol barks as he circles a tree, and you smile as you watch him run around, using up the energy he stored sitting beside Sydney.

When Dol is finished, he runs back in the open front door. Enjoying the fresh air and feeling completely hidden, you look up toward the light coming through the trees. The New World Charter headquarters feels like one of the floating cities from an old sci-fi movie: sterile with overbearing leaders; here, you can take a deep breath and be in nature again.

“What’s it like where you’re from?” Victor asks, joining your side.

“It was beautiful. Being outside, patrolling, was one of my favorite parts of being a cop, too. There’s nothing like this.”

“And the rest of the world?”

“The beauty is still there, it’s just nothing like it was before. Vic… I’m scared that even if we succeed, if the EOs take out Smoak and the New World Charter is dissolved, that nothing will really change. People will still be scared of what’s different, and the peace will be short-lived before another dictator slides into the opening left by Smoak. We can’t fight this fight forever.”

“You need a break. Thinking about it, the world and the future, every minute of every day is going to drive you crazy.”

“Which is something you know well, right?”

“Very funny.”

Victor looks up, following your line of sight through the green treetops. He’s enjoying the domesticity nearly as much as you are, but he knows the safety won’t last forever.

“Care for a break from saving the world?”

Smiling as you look down, turning your attention to the NWA’s most wanted ExtraOrdinary, you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

“Syd has been asking to see San Francisco.”

“Shame she didn’t get to experience the crowds and the smell of the wharf when it was actually in use,” you muse.

“A real shame,” Victor agrees sarcastically. “Get your jacket, and I’ll get Syd. Getting some air may even do you some good; maybe you’ll have a plan by the time we get back.”

“You’re the nerd here,” you remind him as you follow him inside. “You start brainstorming and I’ll procrastinate until the night before the due date.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise considering how many lives hang in the balance. An entire race is completely reliant on your ability to find a weakness in the NWA.”

“Haven’t failed a project yet, of ye of little faith.”

“Sydney, get your jacket. We’re going to see San Francisco... what it looks like when it’s completely deserted.”

“I don’t get an invitation?” Mitch asks.

“Someone has to watch Dol,” Victor replies.

“Do you want to go?” you ask.

“Not a bit. Have fun. Bring me a t-shirt or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll look for one that says, ‘I survived the San Francisco evacuation’ or something.”

“Perfect.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where’s the bridge? No, wait, the wharf! Ooh, or should we go to the square first?” Sydney rambles as you walk through the woods.

“The square?” Victor asks, glancing at you.

“Ghirardelli Square. You’re going to hate it, so if we find any leftover product, Sydney and I should handle it,” you answer with a wink toward Sydney.

“I’m an EO, not an alien, I know what Ghirardelli is.”

“Guys, focus!” Sydney calls. “Where should we go first?”

“Where are we from the bridge? If we get to the bridge and enter San Francisco that way, we can hit everything within a few hours of walking,” you reply. “But, Syd… it’s not the San Francisco you saw on tv or anything. It’s a ghost town.”

“Good thing we’re ghosts, then,” Victor adds.

“You’re telling me there’s no George of the Jungle here now?” Sydney pouts.

“Never should have told her about that movie,” Victor says to himself.

“Syd, just- just be alert, okay? We’re here to have fun, take a break, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t other people here. This is The Stand or The Last of Us, not-“

“Planet of the Apes?” Victor offers.

“Not at all the direction I was going, but sure. My point is that there may be people here, people who are hiding for one reason or another, or just got left behind and couldn’t get anywhere alone.”

“I understand,” Sydney responds, several steps ahead of you.

“Hey,” Victor murmurs, tapping your arm. He pulls his hand away at the sting of your skin on his. “Relax. We’re going to be fine. Then, when we get back to the house, we come up with a plan to take the world back.”

“And you said this wasn’t a movie,” you say, smiling before jogging toward Sydney.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s huge!” Sydney exclaims when San Francisco comes into view.

The Golden Gate Bridge is beginning to become visible in the dissipating fog, and the dark metropolis laid out below it seems larger than life. Most people now live in NWC zones, which are big and overbearing in their own way but nothing like the wonders that San Francisco and the likes used to be. NWC zones are locked down, have strict curfews, and are packed with more people than used to be legal.

“Thank you, Vic,” you say as you continue walking toward the bridge. “I needed this, and Sydney did too.”

“We all did.”

“What are the chances we can actually find Mitch a souvenir?”

“In a city like this? I’d say pretty good; even picked over, there’s got to be a keychain or something around here.”

“So, this is what a first date with you was like?” you tease. “Walking around and talking about the mathematical likelihood of finding something worth doing?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Wait, Vic,” you say, grabbing the sleeve of his trench coat to stop him. “You didn’t go on dates? Are you kidding me?”

“Didn’t meet the right person, I suppose. At least not until-“

“Angie, right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Syd is halfway to Canada, though.”

You look up quickly, sighing as you see Sydney looking around a few paces ahead of you.

“Since the mathematical likelihood of me surviving this battle of ghosts and goblins,” you begin.

“Ghosts and what?” Victor repeats incredulously.

“Care to make this my last first date? I mean, my dating record isn’t stellar, but if I have to go out with one good date, I think this could be it.”

“Did you inhale a toxic fungus in the woods or something?”

“I already told Sydney this isn’t The Last of Us. Seriously, Vic, you said this little trip is supposed to be a break, a distraction from what we’re about to do, what we’re up against. So, what do you say?”

“You want to go on a date with me, an EO, and Sydney, an EO I found on the side of the road, in an abandoned city? I thought you said your dating record wasn’t stellar, but if the bar is this low it’s completely dismal.”

“Could’ve just said no, Vic,” you answer, chuckling as you move toward Sydney.

“I- life would have been a lot different if we had met in the old world,” Victor replies. “If this is what you want to remember if this doesn’t go our way, who am I to stop you from actually enjoying part of being a ghost?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Will you stop talking if I do?”

You nod, and Victor points his chin toward Sydney and the growing distance between you and her. Rushing up the hill, you catch up with her and walk beside her, smiling over your shoulder at Victor as you walk across the Golden Gate Bridge into the heart of San Francisco.

“Where to after we cross it?” Sydney asks.

“We’ll turn left onto Beach Street, which will take us straight to Ghirardelli and then Fisherman’s Wharf,” you answer. Victor raises his eyebrows, and you add, “I looked at a map of San Francisco for fourteen hours straight while I was trying to find you. If it’s on a map, I can probably get you there.”

Victor shakes his head, and you fall into a comfortable silence as you walk. Sydney stops to look at Alcatraz, and you return to Victor’s side, smiling as you silently thank him for everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you walk out of Fisherman’s Wharf, with an ‘I <3 San Francisco’ keychain tucked in your pocket for Mitch, you ask Sydney what her favorite part was. Victor tries to listen to her answer but feels the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He slows, looking around but coming up empty. The city seems dead, and he hasn’t even seen an animal in the few hours you have spent in San Francisco. When you slow, though, Victor rushes toward you.

You feel it, too, but you recognize the eyes on you. They’re the same eyes you felt after faking EO deaths and the ones you missed after sending Rock away.

“Vic,” you whisper when he comes into view.

“I know. I can’t see anyone though,” Victor answers.

“What’s going on?” Sydney interjects, whispering to match your volume.

“Get her out of here, Vic,” you demand, moving your hand to the gun on your waistband.

“We’re not leaving you!” Sydney replies.

“Syd, this is my part of the fight. It doesn’t have to be yours. Vic.”

Victor nods, grabbing Sydney’s shoulders and steering her away from you. They disappear around a corner, out of sight, and you take a deep breath as you accept that you may never see them again. Tapping the keychain in your pocket, you hope Mitch can forgive you for not giving his souvenir to him.

“I got Vic and Syd back,” you remind yourself softly.

Turning slowly, you stop abruptly when someone steps out of the shadows. He says your name, and you immediately come to terms with dying in San Francisco. Sydney and Victor are safe and can create a plan to save the world, so you succeeded in helping one person.

“Daniels,” you reply. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Not like I’ve been looking for you and the monsters you are so comfortable around,” he says darkly.

“What do you want, Daniels? You will never find Victor Vale, and he will take every single one of you out to protect himself and the other EOs.”

“I’d like to see him try. But, I’m not here for him right now. I’m sure you sent him away, running like a hamster on a wheel, stalled in one place.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“Why’d you leave the Army to join a team of dictators, Brian?”

Daniels chuckles, pulling his gun from its holster before leveling it on you. “You are guilty of treason, punishable by execution at the order of the New World Agency.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for, Brian Daniels, retired U.S. Army Ranger-“

“Stop!” Daniels screams.

Smiling, you know you’re under his skin, getting to him by showing him that you know more about him than he knows about you. While he’s distracted by your comments, you pull your gun, holding it between your legs and the crate before you.

“You are under arrest,” Daniels yells.

“I’d like a lawyer,” you reply sarcastically.

Daniels steps toward you, and you lower as you hear footsteps in an alley. Victor is still close, and he needs help getting out unnoticed.

“Go!” you yell as you begin shooting.

Giving cover fire, you keep Daniels distracted as Victor and Sydney disappear into the shadows, where they feel most comfortable. Daniels ducks out of sight, and when the last shot’s echo dies away, he begins laughing.

“You’re a stupid, stupid girl!” he yells. “And you can’t take us!”

You don’t ask, but you wonder who ‘us’ is. Before you can think much about it, several NWA helicopters begin circling. When ropes drop from the helicopters and soldiers descend into San Francisco, you move backward toward an alley opening. If you can keep the army before you, you have an escape route and a chance of surviving. Your chances will never be good again, but the idea that you can run helps keep your hopes up, if only for a moment. Remembering that Victor and Sydney have a head start and plan to leave rips your hope away again. You’re alone, one woman with a half-empty ammo magazine against an army of trained killers.

Pushing your back against a wall, unwilling to be taken out from the back, you smile. You saved one, and that was always the goal. Knowing that Sydney is the one you saved and you were lucky enough to spend time with her, get to know her, and care for her makes what happens next easier.

A soldier rushes toward you, and you fire a single shot, watching as he crumples to the ground. His body armor should have protected him; yes, he would’ve fallen from the velocity of the bullet, but he shouldn’t have folded in pain like that. Raising slowly, you hear a few pained screams and rush to look out over Daniels’ reinforcements.

Every single soldier is on the ground. Most are unconscious, but others are screaming or crying, clearly in pain. You know what causes pain like this, but you also know that he could have done it from a distance if he saw them lower from the helicopter.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We can’t leave her, Vic!” Sydney argues as he pushes her into an alley.

“We’re not, Syd, I promise. But we need to regroup, I need a plan. If we run out there blind, we’ll all get killed.”

“Just hurt him, Vic! He’s going to kill her if you don’t!”

Your voice is barely audible, but Victor catches your taunt, “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for?”

“He wouldn’t have come alone. He’s misogynistic, not blind. Daniels knows what she’s capable of, just as well as we do.”

“He’s hiding something?” Sydney clarifies.

“A big something, presumably.”

Victor begins to speak, but his words are drowned out by helicopters overhead.

“There’s his backup,” he hums to himself.

Sydney pulls Victor’s sleeve, pointing to the end of the alley. A soldier is approaching, and as Victor turns the pain dial, a bullet makes contact with his chest plate. Victor hides his smile, glad you’re not going down without a fight.

Rushing to the end of the alley, Victor extends his pain radius, turning the dial as high as it goes with no warning. Men scream, though most of them lose consciousness before the pain registers.

“Where is she?” Sydney whispers.

Victor weighs his options quickly before pushing the dial again and yelling your name.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Victor yells your name, you don’t hesitate to turn away from the NWA troops and rush to him and Sydney. You run into him, wrapping your arms around him as you hug him tightly.

“Yeah, yeah, glad you’re okay, too, but we need to go,” he replies, awkwardly patting your back.

You nod as you pull back, taking Sydney’s hand and running behind Victor. As you near the bridge, you call Victor’s name.

“We’re going to be visible the entire way across. Those helos are coming back,” you remind him.

“Then tell me what to do,” he replies. “Take a chance and go the fastest route, or stay here longer to find another way?”

“Can you do what you did back there to the helo pilots?”

“Of course, I can.”

“Then let’s go.”

You pull Sydney with you, apologizing as you run across the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog has rolled back in, and Alcatraz looks far more menacing than it did a few hours ago when you came into the city.

“Are you okay?” Sydney asks between short breaths.

“I’m fine,” you promise. “And I’m sorry I brought you into that.”

“That’s on me,” Victor adds, running ahead of you. “But now we have an idea of what we’re up against!”

“Vic died after using his powers for a while,” Sydney tells you. “I was worried it would happen again.”

“That hasn’t happened in months!”

“But it could? Vic, you can’t use your powers if it puts your life at stake!” you argue.

“It’s already at stake! I’ll die if I don’t, but I might die if I do. Besides, I came back every time.”

“That’s not comforting!”

When you reach the tree line, entering the forest, you slow, still moving but taking the chance to catch your breath.

“You didn’t tell me that, Victor,” you say. “I never would have asked for your help.”

“I’m not incapable of fighting for myself and Sydney and Mitch,” he replies, his voice dark and even, not unlike the night you met. “And clearly I can save you at a moment’s notice.”

“That is not the problem!”

“Then what is?”

“I can’t let you die fighting my fight!”

Your chest is heaving, partly from the exertion of running miles without a break and partly from your anger at Victor. He should have told you so that you could find a way to work around it. If he dies trying to save you, then you lose an EO regardless. Worse, you lose an EO that you care about.

“It’s my fight, too.”

“Move, Vic.”

“We’re not done.”

“We’re not moving and there are people hunting us! Move!”

Victor clenches his jaw before breaking into another run. Sydney runs behind him, and you bring up the rear of your team of misfits. Part of you wants to get them to safety and leave, but you know you can’t do this without Victor Vale, not the fight against the New World or living life after. You need Victor far more than he needs you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mitch,” Victor says as he walks in. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“What happened to you three?” Mitch asks, his eyes wide as he looks you over.

“Got into a fight for this,” you reply, passing him the keychain.

“I- thank you?”

“Daniels found me. He brought an army to bring me in for treason, but Victor saved me.”

“You saved me first,” Victor grumbles, clearly mad at you.

Mitch raises his brows, silently asking what you did. You shake your head before entering the room you’ve grown comfortable in. All your stuff fits in a backpack you found in a nearby storage shed. Once you’re packed, you sit at the foot of the bed and consider running.

Victor opens your door, steps inside, and closes it again.

“Do you knock?” you ask softly.

“I want you to tell me what that was back there. If you don’t trust me, there’s no reason for you to stay and keep putting Sydney and Mitch in danger.”

“Trust? You want to talk about trust, Victor? When you told me how your powers work, you might have mentioned ‘oh, and sometimes I die for a few minutes after using them.’ Was I just supposed to find out when you collapsed in the middle of saving someone?”

“I didn’t tell you because it’s getting better. Sydney found a fix.”

“A temporary fix from the sound of things.”

“Why does it matter? If it is fixed long enough to survive this war, it doesn’t matter. Either I die fighting or I survive and we find a better option after. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“I understand perfectly, Victor.”

“This is a weird way to thank me for saving your life.”

“I am thankful for that. But if saving my life is going to cost you yours…” You stand from the bed and step toward Victor, only a few inches between your chests. “Then let me die.”

Victor’s eyes remain on yours, pale, intense, and unblinking. “The question was about you.”

“What?” you ask, blinking at the sudden change in topic.

“That night that you asked if I’d use my powers on a good person for a better reason. You were asking if I’d let you die, or kill you, to win this fight against the New World.”

Licking your lips, you avoid replying.

“I apologize for not telling you. But if you want complete transparency from me, I’m going to need the same in return.”

“Vic?” Sydney calls from the hallway. “We’re ready.”

“And we’re ghosts again,” you hum, turning to pick up your backpack. “Thanks for the date, Victor. Sorry I ruined it.”

“Still the best date I’ve been on in a while,” he murmurs.

“And you said my dating record is dismal.”

Victor shakes his head as he opens the door for you. He’s grown attached to the domesticity, though he’d refuse to admit it. As he closes the door, separating himself from one of the few things that brought him comfort, Victor sighs.

You can tell that this fight will weigh on him, and worrying about you, Mitch, and Sydney will wear him down before the fight even begins. Laying a hand between his shoulder blades, you ask him to hang back with you.

“I need you to know that I appreciate you for saving me, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” you explain quietly, walking behind Sydney, Dol, and Mitch.

“You expect me to just stand by and watch you die? That’s not going to happen,” he argues.

“Vic, I’m a soldier. I made my peace with dying a long time ago.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Victor snaps. “I’m not going to let another innocent person die for this EO debate. I have lost friends and enemies alike, and I refuse to lose another.”

“Friend or enemy?”

Victor glances over his shoulder at you. “Equal.”

“Sounds like a friend to me.”

Victor sighs, internally glad that your personality is returning. He’s sure that you were worried, most likely about Sydney.

Boise. The sudden thought is unwelcome, and clearly not yours.

“Vic, if I told you we needed to go to Boise, what would you say?” you ask.

“I’d ask how you came up with Boise, Idaho.”

“What if I told you a ghost told me?”

Victor puts an arm out to stop you. “Is there a voice in your head? One that tells you where to go?”

“You have it too?”

Victor looks between your eyes and the crease between your brows.

“I thought it was just my intuition or something,” you murmur.

“My turn to ask a hypothetical,” Victor says. “If you noticed a pattern, that the voice was leading you into dangerous situations that somehow turned out alright… would you think they were related?”

“Are you asking me if I think the ghost is leading us where we need to be to win this fight? Putting us in trouble to get out of more trouble?”

“If I was?”

“Vic, I’m with you in this. Drop the hypotheticals and say what you want to say.”

“Whatever this voice is – a ghost, a shared intuition, common mission, however you want to define it – it is helping us. I don’t think our question should be about what it is though.”

“You want to know why.”

“You don’t?”

“That voice has led me straight to you, away from a life that I hated, so I- I guess I trust it. For now, at least. But, yeah, I’d like to know why. You’re forgetting a big one, though.”

“Being?”

“Vic, who is it?”

Sydney yells your name, and you tap Victor’s shoulder before passing him to talk to Sydney. Mitch trades spots with you, moving to Victor’s side.

“I told you that she was trustworthy,” Mitch says.

“You did. One of these days I’ll start trusting you, too,” Victor answers.

“Vic, this isn’t going to be easy. The pain and sacrifice we’ve experienced is only a fraction of what lies ahead of us.”

“I can accept that. I can accept a lot of things, but I refuse to let anything happen to the four of you.”

“And she wants you to?”

“I don’t know what she wants. Besides the old world and freedom for EOs.”

“I’ve got an idea of what she wants,” Mitch teases.

“That you won’t share, right?”

“Right.”

As Sydney talks, you realize that the life you lost in the transition to the New World made way for this one. While it isn’t perfect, you like where you are. Being by Victor’s side, with Sydney, Dol, and Mitch, it’s good, even if it isn’t safe. When the fight is over, though, what happens then?

#to being ghosts.#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious ve schwab #vicious

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polkadotbikini · 2 years

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11.14.22

last night was our third date. or, maybe, our second-and-a-half date. i don’t know what constitutes as a date, or if he would categorize sitting in my car and talking while i eat mcdonald’s for dinner at 11:00 pm as a date. i don’t even think that he’s thinking about it.

perhaps he is. he is the one that asked to hug me on our first date, and to hold my hand on our second, and blurted out an eager “i want to kiss you so badly” on our third (or whatever it was).

we sat and spoke to one another in my front seat for a little over two hours. he told me about his friends at home, and how he’s thinking of transferring schools next year, and how he’s glad that his sports season is over because now he can hang out more often. he sat and stared at my eyes and my neck and my lips the whole time. i did the same, but i’m trying to convince myself that i was subtle enough so that he didn’t notice. i don’t mind if he did, though. i hope that he did. i think that i communicate better without words sometimes, anyway.

i picked him up from a park and ride close to his campus, because we’re both students of the environment and we understand the value of carpooling. also, because he smoked a bowl thirty minutes before he asked if i was free.

when i dropped him off to his car again, after trying and failing several times to find an open gas station to aid my dangerously low tank, he kissed me once more and gingerly asked if, although “unglamorous,” i’d like to join him in his car for a little bit.

his face was close to mine and his hair was messy and i could smell his cologne. i felt a familiar tingle in my throat, one that i recognize as the word “yes,” but instead said no—i used a lame excuse, “it’s really late, i’ve got a long drive home,” but truthfully, i was just nervous. i wish i could explain to him why, but unfortunately assault is probably, like, an eleventh date conversation.

he thanked me for letting him tag along after he got back home (and called back to an earlier-exchanged piece of information by wishing me luck walking back to my building in the cold wearing crocs without socks underneath them). i told him i’d see him later this week.

and i will. and maybe i’ll accompany him in the backseat of his acura then. and if i don’t anytime soon, i’m really okay with that.

#journal #diary #writeblr #prose

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ilici · 3 years

Text

brat.

Summary: Y/N is purposely breaking the rules in Manburg to get President Schlatt’s attention.

NSFW MINORS DNI.

Warnings: Overstimulation.

Word Count: 1730

Y/N groaned as she felt herself being pushed onto the ground, grunting as she lifted her hand up to block the bright sun from her vision. “What the hell Fundy?” She groaned, as Fundy just laughed at her, “Ha ha very funny.” She said getting up dusting herself off, “Now what the fuck was that for?” She asked him, glaring while Fundy pointed over to his now empty chest. “You stole from me.” He stated and Y/N rolled her eyes, “You say that as if you never steal from me.” She grumbled and Fundy just shrugged with a small smirk toying on his lips.

“You better watch it or I will shave off your fur in your sleep.” She threatened and Fundy gasped, throwing an apple at her, Y/N quickly ducked and glared, “Stop trying to injure me you asshole!” She said offendedly, while Fundy snickered. “You just love bothering me, don’t you?” She accused, while Fundy put his hands up in defense, “You’re the one breaking all the rules so you can get dicked down by our president.” He muttered, Y/N’s jaw dropped and she picked the apple up chucking it at him. “You fucking bitch, get back here you rodent!” Y/N yelled chasing after Fundy who bolted out of his den.

Trying to grab his swishing tail, Fundy yelped, picking up speed, “Get your ass over here Fundy!” Y/N yelled, pulling out her bow, aiming it at him. Fundy turned and his eyes widened, “You wouldn’t.” He said shocked and Y/N smirked, “Watch me.” She dared, before she could release the arrow that was laced with poison she felt a hand grip her shoulder rather harshly. Wincing she froze and Fundy looked between the two before he took this chance as an escape. “Y/N L/N you are breaking another goddamn rule.” His voice rasped in her ear as he whispered to her, Y/N felt a shiver go down her spine at his tone.

“Oh hey President Schlatt.” Y/N said too scared to look over at him, her words only made his grip on her shoulder tighten. “This is the 7th rule you have broken, you know damn well you aren’t allowed to have weapons in Manburg.” He told her, using his grip on her shoulder to his advantage as he swung her around so she could finally look at him. Finally, Y/N slowly looked up and made eye contact with Shclatt, who looked like he was about to murder someone; and that someone was herself. Quickly popping her bow into her inventory she innocently smiled.

“What weapon?” She piped, while Schlatt hardened his stare at her, she flinched at the intense stare but nonetheless she maintained eye contact. “Run three laps around Manburg then meet me in my office straight after.” He demanded and Y/N whined, “But I’ve run every time, is there not any other punishment?” She asked not wanting to run, Schlatt scoffed and dug his nails into her shoulder, “You could help Tubbo with his bee’s as they are escaping.” He said and Y/N’s face drowned of color, “Oh wait. That’s right you’re deathly allergic, now fucking get your ass running.” He yelled and Y/N grudgingly walked away.

As she was walking away she couldn’t help but smirk, “Just thought I’d let you know, you have a chipped horn.” She said pointing to the horn she chipped two days prior. Schlatt started walking towards her ready to beat her, but before he could grasp her she ran off laughing. Letting out a string of curses, Schlatt watched her silhouette disappear into the distance. “You are so in for it.” Y/N shrieked at the sudden voice before she calmed down seeing as Fundy was now trotting beside her in his fox form, “Don’t scare me like that you fucker.” She said kicking at his small form gently.

Hopping away from her kicks, Fundy laughed before transforming back, keeping up with her light jog, “You were eavesdropping weren’t you?” She asked him, side glancing Fundy hummed, “Possibly.” He said before he grabbed something from his pocket. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Schlatt’s pocket watch dangling in between his paws. “Fundy! Did you seriously pickpocket him?” She whisper-yelled while Fundy simply shook his head, “No. But you did.” He said, handing her the pocket-watch in a rush before transforming into a small fox and wandering away.

Furrowing her eyebrows, “What do yo-“ “Y/N!” She heard Schlatt's voice boom and she flinched looking at Fundy with fury and fear as she was holding his pocket watch. Turning around to face him, she hid the watch behind her, “Yes?” She asked and Schlatt glared, “I lost my pocketwatch and I could’ve sworn I saw you just holding it and talking to yourself.” He said, and Y/N stammered, “No sir, I wasn’t talking to myself I was talking to that fox there who actually stole your pocket watch.” She said pointing to Fundy who acted like an actual fox. Fundy just looked up at Schlatt with curiosity on how he would react to what Y/N was saying.

Schlatt just chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow. “A fox?” He asked and looked down at Fundy, who only squeaked and ran behind a bush shaking his head. He looked back at Y/N who scratched the back of her neck. “Yes.” She said nodding, “Now tell my why a fucking fox would steal something of mine that was personally on me just moments ago.” He reasoned, and Y/N internally groaned knowing she couldn’t give out Fundy’s secret. “Well foxes are known to be mischievous.” She said waving her hands around to emphasize her reasoning. “Y/N.” Schlatt said slowly, “What’s that in your hand?” He asked and Y/N gulped before she slowly looked down, “That is uh.. my watch?” She said, trying to sound like it was actually hers.

Schlatt looked at her with an amused look before he grabbed her by her shirt, “In my office Y/N.” He demanded, and Y/N sighed before she slowly started walking towards his office. “Faster, I know your little ass can go faster than that.” He yelled at her, and she started jogging to the building while Schlatt smirked watching her. Y/N entered the office and tried to catch her breath, “Fuck you Schlatt.” She mumbled, hating the thought of exercising. “I plan on it.” She heard a raspy voice speak up behind her, and the slam of a door. Her blood ran cold, “Shit.” She whispered, and froze once she heard the door lock. “Bend over my desk now.” He growled out, and Y/N obeyed not wanting her punishment to get worse.

“You know for such a rule breaker you are, I shouldn’t even lay a fucking finger on you.” He said coming up behind her, and slapping her ass harshly. Y/N held back a scream, “Shut up.” She groaned out, and Schlatt raised an eyebrow before slapping her ass once more. “Want to say that again?” He said, and Y/N shook her head and Schlatt chuckled, “That’s what I thought.” He said, and Y/N whimpered once she felt him grinding himself against her ass. “You’re gonna regret breaking all those rules.” He told her and Y/N just whined, “You just wanted to fuck me. Don’t think I didn’t hear what Fundy said.” He leaned down whispering in her ear. Y/N shivered and gasped when she felt her pants being tugged down. “Look at you already soaking wet.” He teased, rubbing her through her underwear.

Y/N held back the moan that bubbled in her throat, and leaned her head against the desk. Feeling her underwear pool around her ankles along with her pants, she bit her bottom lip once she felt one of his fingers tease her entrance. “Please don’t tease.” She whined out, and Schlatt just rolled his eyes before he entered a finger into her. Gripping the desk, she let out a small moan and Schlatt smirked at this. “Be louder.” He demanded and Y/N shook her head too shyly and Schlatt scoffed, taking his belt off and stripping off his pants and boxers. “Then I guess I’ll have to get it out of you.” He said, while Y/N looked back her eyes widening at how huge he was.

“I don’t think you will fit.” She said truthfully, and Schlatt rolled his eyes, “Who cares? You were the one breaking all the rules for this.” He reminded her and she groaned, “Fucking hell.” She breathed once she felt the tip enter, closing her eyes tightly as he finally bottomed out. Sclatt waited for her to adjust and give a signal for him to continue. Finally, she nodded her head, and Schlatt pulled out only to ram back into her. Y/N let out a load moan before she arched her back, “Fuck!” She moaned out as Schlatt continued slamming into her. Schlatt gripped her hips tightly, digging his nails into her purposely leaving bruises.

“I’m close.” She moaned out, and Schlatt looked at her shocked, “Already? How touch deprived are you?” He asked, and Y/N just whimpered in response. Chuckling darkly, he groaned when he felt her cum on his dick, and clenched around him. Y/N moaned loudly as Schlatt kept his pace, ramming into her. “Stop!” Y/N yelled out growing overly sensitive, Schlatt on the other hand wasn’t close nor did he plan on stopping. “This is your punishment, now take it.” He growled out, and Y/N soon started babbling out incoherent words, as she felt another wave of pleasure hit her. She came for the second time, and Schlatt smirked seeing how sensitive and fucked out she was. “Such a good girl.” He said, before he himself finally reached his high. Y/n felt him cum inside of her and she panted once he pulled out, her legs buckling and she quickly held onto the desk so she wouldn’t fall. Schlatt walked out and came back with a wet rag cleaning her up. “Next time you want to fuck, just tell me.” He whispered to her, and Y/N looked up at him with glazed over eyes nodding her head.

#jschlatt smut #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #mcyt #mcyt smut #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #dreamsmp

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yuzukult · 3 years

Text

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she��s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

#ficscafe #nct fanfic #johnny x reader #johnny fanfic #johnny suh #johnny nct #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfic #suh johnny #gyukultfics #idk what else to tag #hopefully this does well :|

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mercy-burning · 4 years

Text

Heatwave

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: The air conditioning is out at the BAU, so things get very hot—in more ways than one. Category: Smut 18+ (penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie / minor breeding kink, sex in an elevator) Warnings: Sex, language (As always, if there’s anything I missed, please let me know what I should include in warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST

***

"Oh, fuck, that's it!"

The exclamation nearly knocked Spencer off his feet. He would know her voice anywhere, so he didn't have to look to know that it was Y/N, but he looked anyway, sure enough spotting her on the opposite end of the bullpen, sorting through files at her desk.

If Hotch was any closer, he would have given her a warning look to signal his distaste for her swearing in the office, but his door was shut while he talked with someone so it never came.

"Wha—what did you find?" Spencer got out after clearing his throat to compose himself. It was bad enough he had already been distracted by her before, thinking about what it would be like to feel her hands weaved through his hair as she kissed him, but then she had to say that sentence of all things, slightly enhancing the fantasy.

It also didn't help that the air conditioning in the building was currently out, and in the middle of August. So when he looked up, he saw a low-cut, baby pink tank top with lace detailing on the hem, and a pulled-up hairdo that perfectly exposed her neck, which was currently glistening in a thin sheen of sweat. The way she leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed under a loose, knee-length floral skirt as she mulled over her file was giving him too many bad ideas, and it was a wonder he hadn't been caught or called out yet—everyone could always tell when he was thinking or off in his own world.

"Oh," Y/N said, briefly craning her head to meet his eyes. It took everything he had not to shudder when their gazes finally met. "I just misplaced one of my files, that's all. I was afraid I'd lost it. But it's right here," she said with a nervous laugh. "I didn't... bother you did I?"

"Oh! N—no, you didn't bother me at all, I... I was just wondering, that's all. I—I'm glad you found your file." He hated that he stumbled over his words, but when she looked at him like that, that sickeningly sweet kindness in her eyes that never wavered when she talked to him, he couldn't help it. She was easily the most intimidatingly angelic presence he'd ever met, in every capacity possible.

Even as she quickly frowned and shifted slightly in her chair, her eyes didn't lose that sparkle. But it was still evident that she was uncomfortable, so Spencer spoke again. "Are you okay?"

She set the file down on her desk and sat up straighter, bringing her back up off the chair as she uncrossed her legs. "Yeah, I'm fine, it's just the heat. I hate it. I'm definitely more of a cold, rainy day-type of girl, I guess."

Odd, considering you're just about the warmest soul I've ever met, he thought. Even as she talked about her distaste for the heat, she kept her voice light and her eyes kind.

"Hmm," is all he said, shortly and barely loud enough for her to hear.

The rest of the day seemed to pass by rather quickly, which Spencer was thankful for; the longer the day moved forward, the hotter it got, and it proved to be more distracting than he wanted to admit.

But soon he would be able to go home and take a cold shower, for one thing to cool off, but for another to relieve some of this feeling Y/N had been making him feel. He tried really hard throughout the day not to look at her, but he always found himself drawn to her anyway, and each time it happened he thought of dirtier and dirtier things, scenarios that he was positive could only happen in his wildest dreams.

But as usual, things didn't seem to work in his favor today. Just as he and Y/N were about to get onto the elevator, Hotch walked by, calling to them. "Sorry to ask you guys of this, but could you stay another hour or two? There are more files I need to get sorted, and I know it's hot, so I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but it would be helpful if I had an extra set of hands."

Two more hours at most, he could manage that, right? And at least he'd have more files to keep him occupied, something to focus on.

Hotch sent them to the file room with a list of the files he needed, and then it was just the two of them, stepping onto the elevator and sealing their fate.

It wasn't four seconds after the elevator started moving that it stopped and the lights inside dimmed red.

"Wait, what's happening?" Y/N asked, slightly panicked.

Spencer was just as puzzled. "I... I'm not sure. Maybe it has something to do with the heat?"

About a minute passed before she sighed, shoving her phone in her bag. "Yeah. Just got a text from Garcia, the power in the building shut down so they could fix the air conditioning. It's gonna take like a half hour."

"A—A half hour? Really?" He tried not to show how nervous it made him, but truthfully he didn't think it would work.

Y/N sighed. "Yeah... It's... fine, though, I mean, maybe someone will try to get us out."

"But we're in between two floors..."

Another sigh. "And it's hot as hell in here. Great... So much for going home early."

Spencer snuck a glance over at her, almost immediately regretting it when he looked her over. Under the deep red glow of the emergency lights, she looked absolutely sinful. Her bag was dropped on the ground and she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and pushing up her breasts. Her head was leaned back and her eyes closed as she took deep breaths, no doubt trying to stay as calm as one could be in this situation. He noticed every breath she took, her chest rising and falling and her skin glowing. And in that moment he embarrassingly felt something stir in his lower stomach, only made worse by the fact that it was, as she'd phrased it, 'hot as hell' in the elevator. He was hot and practically squirming as he stood there, ogling Y/N like she was the only woman he'd ever seen before.

As if it couldn't get any worse, she opened her eyes quickly and caught him staring at her chest. He didn't seem to notice because, well, his eyes were elsewhere, so she closed them once more and smirked to herself for the briefest of seconds, an idea striking her brain like a match.

She brought her arms to slowly un-cross and stretch outwards to her sides, arching her back and puffing out her chest as she gripped the rail of the elevator. The moment she opened her eyes, she saw that Spencer's head was directed pointedly to the floor. She smiled a little, keeping her arms stretched out across the rail as she took him in.

The first thing she took notice of was how his hair stuck to his face, wavy and damp with sweat. His fingers tapped against his legs, and that's what she looked at the longest. Every time his middle finger tapped the outside of his thigh, she imagined that he was doing it to her clit, and she could practically feel it throb to the slow, steady beat of his finger. Her hands gripped the rail tighter and she crossed her legs, contemplating whether or not she should take advantage of this moment to finally do something about this tension she'd been feeling between them for the past year and a half.

The truth is, she'd always had a crush on him since they started working together. But when she started her job at the BAU, he was... a little odd. Every time she would join in conversation, he'd made it a point to look almost inconvenienced by her presence. At first she had to wonder if maybe he just didn't like her. And if that was the case, she didn't want to make it worse by asking him about it, so she left it alone. But then she noticed how he was like that with everyone, and then over time he seemed to get better. Eventually he warmed up to her and the two of them became fast friends. He'd quickly transformed from a guy who always seemed annoyed with everyone and into the adorably shy, brilliant man everyone had told her he was when she first got the job.

Now there had been almost two years' worth of a different kind of tension between them, and in this moment in the elevator, Y/N wanted to do something about it. Or at least try.

She thought for a moment, trying to find the best way to bring it up. Should she be straightforward? You know, flat-out tell him that she's liked him for a long time and wanted to kiss his face off? Or did she want to have more fun with it? Because she admittedly loved seeing him get flustered every time he noticed her noticing him staring at her, but if he really didn't feel the same way, she didn't want to come on too strong and ruin this thing they'd built.

Ultimately, Y/N decided to try a little of both.

She cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Hey, Spence?"

When he looked up at her, his stomach flipped again. Fuck, she was just so breathtaking, her arms spread and her legs crossed like she was the queen of the elevator and he was trespassing just by being there. Her chin was tilted upwards, exposing more of her neck, and it almost made him fall over. "Y—Yeah?" he stammered quietly, trying and failing to sound calm.

"What should we do to pass the time? I'm bored."

If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn he she was suggesting they— No. There was no way. He'd been a total jerk to her when they first met, and even though they were much friendlier now, Spencer wasn't sure she could ever want to do anything like that with him.

Right?

"Um... I—I don't know. Your phone works, doesn't it? Do you, um... Do you have anything you could do there?"

She shrugged, tilting her head to the side. "Battery's almost dead, and I want to save it in case something happens and we get stuck in here for longer than thirty minutes... I was thinking, actually... We haven't really gotten to know each other that well, and maybe would play... like 20 Questions or something."

"Oh..." He swallowed, shifting on his feet and blinking. "Well, um... W—what do you want to know?"

"Hmm... Favorite color?" She knew it was purple, but she wanted to hear him talk. Get him comfortable.

"Purple. What's yours?"

She leaned forward off the rail a little, and Spencer swallowed again, suddenly feeling a burst of warmth through his body.

"Light pink," Y/N said softly, "like so light that it's almost white."

He glanced down at her chest again, only for a moment to take in her shirt, which he'd remembered was the same color.

She continued. "What's your favorite snack food?"

"Pretzels."

"Me, too. Hmm... Favorite candle scent?"

"Peppermint."

"Spearmint. Favorite Star Wars movie?"

"Return of the Jedi."

"A New Hope. Favorite sex position?"

"Doggy."

She didn't say another word.

He wasn't even aware of the situation until about five seconds later, when she raised an eyebrow at him and his whole world came crumbling down.

As he visibly struggled to find words, Y/N only continued in conversation. "That surprises me. I would have thought you'd be more of a cowgirl guy."

If the way her voice sounded when she talked to him was the handle, then the way her eyes bore into his own was the blade, both of them coming together to create the weapon that would be his ultimate demise. The only thing missing was that twist of the blade, the one that would make sure he was gone for good, and the moment she leaned completely off the railing and took a small step towards him, he realized that final ingredient was her touch. If she touched him, he was done for.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what mine is? That's how the game works."

There's no way she wasn't flirting with him... Right? He was never good at picking up on those kinds of things, but she was being so obvious about it, stepping closer and closer to him with her chest puffed out and her head tilted to the side to reveal her neck. She was inviting him in, right? Especially after asking him to ask her that question.

That question...

Right.

"Um..." Spencer swallowed before speaking, his voice barely discernible. "What's... y—your favorite sex position?"

"Doggy. Especially standing up," she said with what was most definitely a flirty smile. "Looks like you and I have quite a bit in common."

"Y—yeah, I guess we... do..."

By now she had him backed against the other side of the elevator, and as soon as he felt his back hit the rail, he swallowed again, bringing his hand up to the collar of his shirt to relieve some of the heat he was feeling.

It didn't work, unsurprisingly.

"Look, if... If I'm overstepping, you should tell me. But I've liked you for a long time, and I feel like I'd be dumb to waste the perfect opportunity to tell you... So... The elevator probably won't be fixed for another twenty minutes at least, and since we're already on the subject... Maybe we should find another way to pass the time?"

Spencer noticed that she was careful not to actually touch him unless he gave her the go-ahead, and if anything it made him want her even more. She was giving him an out, and he knew that if he told her 'no', she wouldn't push it.

But here she was, in all her beautiful, radiant glory, practically inviting him to indulge in some of his biggest fantasies, and he would have to be brain-dead to pass that up. Even if he was a little nervous.

He tried to give her permission in a way that didn't make himself come off as some obsessed admirer, a shaky, breathy laugh exhaling from his throat before he spoke. "Well, it's already hot as hell in here, so... What's a little more heat?"

At first he regretted saying it, scared it was stupid and most definitely a mood-killer, but the way she practically lunged at him completely washed away all the worries written in the sand. And when her body pressed firmly against his, her lips coming to capture his in the most burning kiss he'd ever had, the waves crashed even stronger, loud with searing desire as warm as the August sun.

Immediately he brought his hands to cradle her face, loving the way he almost engulfed her with their size. He moved his lips against hers eagerly as her hands worked at unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. She only got the first few done before pulling away, and despite the heat, Spencer felt cold without her pressed up against him.

It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but when she suddenly turned them both around and bent forward, leaning out to grab the rail, he felt warm again.

She turned her head around to look at him with a smile through a bit bottom lip as she reached one of her hands under her skirt and slowly pulled her panties down. Almost as soon as they hit the floor, pooling around her ankles, she lifted the skirt up and revealed herself to him, slowly running her fingers through her pussy.

"It's all yours, Doctor Reid," she said lowly, spreading her legs as far as they could go with her panties still confining her ankles.

He hadn't even realized he'd undone his pants until they were at his feet and his dick was in his hand. How had she managed to have that great of an affect on him?

He promptly decided he didn't care how, as he stepped forward and brought himself up to her ass and ran the head of his cock through her pussy, briefly meeting her fingers as he did so. "Are you sure?" he asked. Because once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He already lost his mind just being in her presence, but being this close to her, fucking her in a broken elevator would surely hinder his ability to think about anything rationally, let alone at all.

"Fuck me, please," she all but begged, pushing herself back a little to encourage him. Either that or she was just desperate, though there was a good chance it was both.

In any case, that was all he needed, the trigger that set him off, and within seconds he was plunged deep inside her, the both of them softly moaning out at how it felt.

Spencer set a steady pace, his hands firmly gripping her waist as she pushed back to meet his every move. Each thrust forward was another twist of the blade that sealed his fate, only made more brutal by the pure filth that dripped from Y/N's lips, a symphony of long, drawn out moans and curses that sounded just as loving as they did pornographic.

When she bent forward even more, so much that he could see her hands outstretched on the rail, it gave him the deepest angle he could possibly be at, and she clenched herself around him, calling out his name.

"Fuck, Y/N, keep doing that," Spencer breathed out, shutting his eyes at the sensation.

He could hear her laugh a little. "That feel good, baby? Huh, you like when my pussy clings to you?"

Each word was fuel that quickened his pace inside of her, and joined with the way his hands were wrapped around her, the very tips of his fingers felt her stomach bulge at every snap of his hips. He spread his right hand across her lower stomach to feel it, groaning out as he did.

He didn't even realize he'd said his next words out loud, but after she groaned out and clenched around him tighter, he knew she'd heard and liked what he was saying.

"God, I wanna cum inside you so fucking bad..."

She turned her head again to see him as best as she could, doing the most to come off as desperate as she felt. "Fuck, Spence, do it, please, I want your cum inside me, please..."

A few more quick thrusts inside of her was enough to make her cum, her mouth open in a silent scream as she stopped moving back against him and just let him pound into her. He followed closely behind, brokenly moaning out her name as he stilled and pulsated inside of her.

"Ohh, that's it," she said to him with wonder as she stayed clamped tightly around him, trying to get every last drop. "Fuck, that feels so fucking good..."

In a moment of blind lust at her words, Spencer pulled out just until only the tip was inside, before quickly and deeply fucking into her once more, holding himself inside for about five seconds as she cried out. He repeated that so many times he couldn't keep count. Or maybe it was only two times, and he was just to drunk on her to notice. However long he did it for, they both relished in the feeling before they were both overstimulated and out of breath.

While any other time he would have loved to see his cum drip down her legs, since they were at work he decided to lift her panties up instead, relishing in the way she whimpered when they were on all the way. He made sure to pull them up tight, so she could feel his cum soak them as she stood upwards.

He scrambled to put his pants back on as she caught her breath, leaning against the wall of the elevator with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. He watched her intently as her hand drifted under her skirt and rubbed herself through her underwear, letting out whimpers and ragged breaths upon feeling what he'd done to her. The sweat that had just started to form on her body earlier due to the heat was now dripping down her neck and over her chest, and he was once again mesmerized by her.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered aloud. Of course he'd meant to say it to himself in his head, but he wasn't thinking straight. She'd utterly wrecked him.

Y/N opened her eyes and smiled, taking him in as well. His hair was wild, all over the place and just as sexy as she'd found it before. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, no thanks to her, revealing a glistening chest and making her pussy throb once more, knowing what they'd just done and how... hot the whole situation was, for lack of a better term.

As if she needed a reminder, more of his cum seeped into the fabric of her underwear, warm and ever present, which made her bite her lip and sigh. "Yep... Doggy is definitely my favorite position."

"Especially standing up," he added, a small smile adorning his lips.

They laughed as the elevator lights came back on, and the weight of what they'd just done came crashing down as with it.

Y/N shuffled to the other side of the elevator to grab her back, almost gasping at the way his cum felt in her panties when she moved. She was afraid it would come out, but there was nothing she could do to stop it except for hope.

The two of them were quiet when the door opened and Garcia met them in the lobby.

"Oh, thank God! I feel so bad I didn't warn you in time before you got stuck in th— Your faces are all red, geez! Was it really that hot in there?"

Thankfully the heatwave gave them both an alibi.

"Y—Yeah," Spencer said with a nod, stepping out of the elevator. "That's twice now I've been stuck in an elevator, and I really wish it would stop happening."

The girls laughed as the three of them made their way to cooler air.

Spencer and Y/N fell in step behind their friend and shared a knowing look as the approached the file room.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction

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suicidalslasher · 4 years

Text

𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠 ➤ 𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙. & 𝑠𝑡𝑢 𝑚.

In which the reader comes home, completely broken-hearted and her two friends, Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, come in to put a smile on her face and show her how much they love her.

WARNINGS: This is a smut but not well written, lol. It’s mainly just oral, both receiving and giving. (male and female.) Also, if you squeeze your eyes really tight, you may get a glimpse of slight foreshadowing in which Billy and Stu killed the guy that broke the reader’s heart but blink and you might miss it. Anyways. Enjoy.

(Y/N) lied upon a soft feather mattress, cocooning herself in the silk sheets. A sad sigh surpassing her lips as the realization settles in, hitting her like a ton of bricks, like a cold bucket of water was thrown on her. She's alone. The room feels empty. Wait, no, scratch that.

It is empty. It's dark and cold and lonesome. As many blankets that surround her and although she has many draped around her body, her skin still somehow prickles with goosebumps and she's shivering.

Though, she knows it's not because she's cold. She isn't shaking because of that. Not really. Before she could stop herself, her eyes start to glisten with tears, the corner of her eyes pooling with water and slowly but surely, they slide down her skin, wetting her cheeks. Goddammit. God fucking dammit, she thinks, reaching over and grabbing the duvet comforter, she slides it over her head. Broken, silent sobs then proceed to escape past her lips, although she oh so desperately tries to hold them back. She fails miserably. Then, out of nowhere, she hears a little knock, followed by another. Rolling over to lay on her stomach, (Y/N) buries her face into the nearest pillow, causing mascara tears to soak and stain the cushion as she continues to cry and sob. Before she realizes it or even can acknowledge it, the window to her bedroom is being pulled up and her friends, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, step inside her bedroom. "(Y/N)?" (Y/N) is quick to flip around upon hearing her name, her heart hammering wildly against her chest.

"S-Stu? Billy? What the Hell are you guys doing here?" She relaxes, having seen her friends standing by her bedroom window rather than the man everybody was fearing lately in Woodsboro.

A masked man with a dark cloak and a spine-chilling voice. She was lucky she hadn't heard what he sounded like, she had enough nightmares as is. It was hard to say whether or not it was a man behind the mask but regardless, whatever sex the person was, they were crazy, inside and out. End of story. (Y/N) makes a mental note, reminding herself to lock her window next time and to keep track of that before she gets comfortable and goes to bed. Especially with what was happening everywhere in Woodsboro. "We wanted to make sure you were okay." Billy said, walking over to the girl as he sat down next to her, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. Stu followed, nodding happily as he shows a few VHS tapes, gesturing them over to (Y/N).

"We brought movies to watch and snacks, too!" He exclaimed as he then pulled out a small plastic bag, dumping out the items onto her bed.

There was chips and candy and they were all her favorite flavors and brands, too. (Y/N) felt the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes again at the sweet gesture her friends were sharing with her. "Oh... c'mon, don't be such a cry baby." Stu snickered but he wrapped his arms around (Y/N) and pulled her into a side hug, Billy following right behind, hugging her from her right.

"We love you, we've got your back, always, okay?" "What Stu said. Besides, this world doesn’t deserve an angel like you, (Y/N).” "Mhm." Stu nodded. "I really liked him, that's all..... I should've known it was a set up to get back with his ex." (Y/N) said with a sniffle, running a hand over her face as she tries to rid herself of any left over makeup, especially getting rid of the mascara, although, if she were positive, that and her eyeliner were most likely now resting on the pillow she had cried into rather than on her face. "Well, he's a fucking idiot." Billy growled. "He doesn't see how perfect you are, (Y/N)." "Billy and I see that, though." Stu said, taking his hand off from her shoulder as he now rests his hand on her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze. It made (Y/N)'s breath hitch in her throat and she bites on her lower lip, nervously.

What were they doing....? She thinks. “We would do anything for you. Absolutely anything.” Billy said. "We'd do anything just to see you happy, just to see you smile..." Stu continued. "You deserve nothing but the best, deserve nothing but happiness." "So, please... (Y/N)... let us give you that. Let us show you how beautiful and loved you really are. We love you.... we love you so much-" "We love you so much we'd kill for you." Billy looks over at Stu, giving him a questioning glare and (Y/N) goes to ask what that stare meant but her words are loss and any train of thought she had left the building once she feels both hands of Billy and Stu's on her thighs.

One on her left, the other on her right. "So.... no movies then?" (Y/N) asked jokingly. Her heart, like earlier, was pounding so loud she swore both boys could hear it against her chest. Her body was trembling as it had done earlier but now, it wasn't from sadness or feeling broken but rather hot and bothered.

She did always have an attraction to Billy and Stu, she'd be a liar to say she didn't. "We can watch them later. Right now, we want to see those legs of yours sprawled out, give us a view of that pretty pussy." (Y/N) whined softly but she obeyed, and while she did, Billy grunted while Stu spoke softly, "Such a good girl for us. You're our good girl, aren't you, sweetheart?" (Y/N) nodded as she stretched her legs on either side of her. All she was wearing was a thin gown, one that matched her sheets, being the fact both were silk.

"Oh.... so pretty, so beautiful." Stu purred, licking his lips, his eyes growing darker while Billy's did the same. "Naughty though.... aren't you, baby? Not wearing any panties." Billy chuckled as he stood up, feet landing on the carpeted floor with a soft thud as he walks over to (Y/N), undoing his jeans and the belt that had been neatly placed in the hoops of the pants.

"Is it okay if you suck me off, darling? You want to be a good girl, don't you?" (Y/N) says nothing, she's unable to speak. It was as if a cat had captured her tongue and ran off with it, and she couldn't get it back from the creature. She feels paralyzed, too. Everything feels as if it's going by too fast.

What an odd day.... she thinks. She didn't expect this to happen, not now, not ever. But she wasn't angry at it or the outcome of tonight's misfortune. It was just crazy how fast the night changes. "Baby? I asked you a question... If you know what’s good for you, you better answer me.” "Y-yes." (Y/N) stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "I'd love to suck you off, please, may I?" "Oh!" Stu chirped, giggling as he shook his head from side to side, a wicked grin playing out across his lips. "She's got manners, fuck - we really found the perfect girl, haven't we, Billy?" "Mhm." Billy said, pressing his cock to her lips. "Open up, sweetie. Let's see how pretty you look with a mouth full of cock." While (Y/N) parts her lips open, and as Billy pushes himself in her wet and warm mouth, (Y/N) feels heat against her clit and before she can put two and two together, Stu's devouring her pussy with his tongue and she squeaks, bucking her hips up into his touch. "Fuck! She tastes incredible. Can't believe I haven't gotten to you sooner." Stu said before pressing his face back in between her thighs, licking and lapping her cunt with his tongue, making her tremble and shake.

(Also makes her almost choke and gag on Billy's cock as he presses his cock further down her throat.) Above, Billy nodded as he rocked his hips back and forth, eyes half-lidded, not quite shut but not all the way open either, as he grunts out an answer; "She's good with her mouth too, Stu." He said.

"Not sure I can last long, sweetheart..." He warned and right as the words slip from his lips, it didn't take less than a second until (Y/N)'s mouth is being filled with Billy's creamy, white load.

"Oh.... fuck!" He grunts, pulling back as he drops down next to her on the bed.

"Go on, baby. Cum for Stu. You wanna be good for him too, don't you? Go on and cum.... cum all over his tongue, beautiful. I'm sure he'll love the taste of your juices, exploding into his mouth." And fuckfuckfuck.....

FUCK~!!

"O-Oh!" (Y/N) mewls, bucking her hips into his mouth once more as the sweet release of her orgasm floods out of her and into Stu's mouth. Happily, Stu licks every drop up, pulling back with a very much pleased and satisficed smile.

"Both her and her pussy are so sweet." Stu complimented, now crawling up onto the bed and resting beside her, tucking his face into her neck as he presses a few ghostly kisses on her skin. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

"And what about me?" Billy said with a playful pout.

"I love you too, Billy Loomis." (Y/N) admitted, grinning as she scooted a few inches over, patting the empty spot next to her. "Sleep with us?"

Billy smiled in reply as he plopped down next to his now lovers, curling up in (Y/N)'s side and kissing the other side of her neck, the way Stu had done previously.

"I'll treat you to a good time too, tomorrow," (Y/N whispered, mainly to Stu but she turned and repeated the sentence to Billy as well. The boys look at each other with a smirk, giving one a knowingly glance before they turned back to (Y/N).

"Sounds like a plan, baby." The smile she wore across her lips falls into a frown and the boys are quick to sit up, having seen the smile turn upside down. "Baby, are you okay?" "Yeah." "Babe....don't you lie to us." "I'm not." She answers truthfully. "But.... this- I mean, us three, it's real, right?" She gestures in the air with a wave of her hand. "You won't play with my feelings and hurt me-" "Baby." Billy's voice is rough and cold, and his grip on her is far from affectionate and soft. "We'd kill for you, remember?" "We love you so much, (Y/N) you have no idea to what limits we'd go to prove that to you.” She didn't understand why the two kept repeating that very first sentence but she didn't question it, didn't think anything of it. She smiled and nodded, rubbing at her eyes now tiredly.

"I love you both, too. Now... before I get too tired, can we watch those movies you rented?" Billy laughed softly as Stu scrambled up and on his feet, grabbing the candy and the films that had fallen on the bed off of the floor and goes to set the VHS player up, clicking the TV on with a push of a button.

"You're gonna love these, (Y/N)! It's a new horror movie that came out!" "As long as it's not a slasher with a mask like the one that's hanging around in Woodsboro, I'm fine with anything. Whenever that monster goes away, I'll be fine and more than happy to watch slasher films again... just not now." She says with a laugh. "Don't worry, baby. With us around, you’ll be safe and sound. We’ll protect you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’) and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And -

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar.

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him.

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned.

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is!

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does?

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.”

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat.

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different.

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth.

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation.

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more.

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #best friend!harry styles #loose ankles #lol #one of my fav things ive written #i got carried away during the smut.... sorry

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

assistant ~ roman godfrey;hemlock grove

word count: 1471

request?: no

description: when you start a new job as the assistant of a huge company, the ceo takes an interest in you

pairing: roman godfrey x female!reader

warnings: swearing, harassing remarks

masterlist (one, two)

“And here is the main floor,” said the lady giving me a tour of Godfrey Industries. “This is where you’ll be doing most of your work, but it’s good to know the building in case Mr. Godfrey ever asks you to get something for him.”

“What’s he like?” I asked her. It was the first time my future employer had been mentioned and I had yet to meet him.

She paused a moment before turning to face me. She was suddenly the most serious she had been all day. “He can be a little short tempered sometimes. He has gone off on some of his employees sometimes. If he ever does to you, do not hesitate to come to me for it, alright?”

That sounded reassuring.

I followed her towards Mr. Godfrey’s office, my heart hammering against my chest.

“Mr. Godfrey?” she said as she knocked at the door. “Your new assistant is here.”

“Bring her in.”

She opened the door and nodded for me to go in first. I hoped neither one of them would see how bad my hands were shaking.

I was shocked to see how young he was. Of course, I knew Mr. Godfrey was no more than 21 years old and took over the family business right out of high school, but I didn’t expect someone so young and handsome to be sat behind that desk.

His blue eyes lifted from whatever he was writing and landed on me. I shuffled under his gaze, wondering what was running through his mind as he looked at me.

“Mr. Godfrey, this is (Y/F/N),” she introduced. “She’ll be working as your new assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Godfrey,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible.

“Please, we’re basically the same age,” he said. “Call me Roman. Is it alright if I address you by your first name, too?”

I was so stunned that I could barley get my words out. “Y-Yes, that’s-that’s okay.”

He smiled at me and I felt like my whole body would melt into the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you (Y/N). I can’t wait to work together.”

~~~~~~

The first few days were nothing exciting, mainly running a few errands for Roman. We were rarely ever alone together, which I was a little disappointed by. I knew it was wrong to have these sort of thoughts about my boss, but I couldn’t help it. He was so handsome and charming.

I was at my desk secretly scrolling through my phone when the intercom chimed, signaling Roman was about to speak.

“(Y/N), can you bring the papers regarding the mill in for me?”

“Right away Roman.”

I grabbed the file labelled Godfrey Industries Mill and brought it down to the conference room where I knew Roman was in a meeting.

The moment I walked in I froze again. There were so many official looking business men sat around the table, now they were all looking at me. I smiled awkwardly before crossing the room to pass the file to Roman.

“Thank you (Y/N),” he said as he took it.

“New assistant, Roman?” one of the men asked.

“Yeah, she just started,” Roman responded, barley regarding the man who spoke.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Roman glared briefly at him before saying, “(Y/N), these are some of my business partners.”

I smiled at them and shuffled uncomfortably when I noticed how they were looking at me. I had heard the jokes about business men and their assistants, but I never believed them. That would be a massive HR issue, right?

But the way these men were looking at me...I wanted to shrink behind Roman for protection.

“I bet you're having a fantastic time with her,” another man commented. “You’ve broken her in already, right Rom?”

“The innocent ones are always the best in the sack,” another added.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes as they all laughed. I was willing myself to move, but I was stuck in place.

The sound of Roman’s hands slamming down on the desk caused me to jump as he stood from his seat. His face was blood red and he looked ready to explode.

“Get the fuck out,” he hissed.

“What?” one of the men questioned.

“I said get the fuck out! All of you!” For good measure, he threw the file at the first man who spoke, narrowly avoiding his face. “Forget the fucking mill deal, forget any fucking deal. I’m not doing business with you disgusting excuse for men anymore!”

They were all shocked, but knew better than to fight against Roman. They all left, grumbling to themselves and calling Roman a handful of names.

We were left alone. Roman sat back down, running his hands through his hair.

“Do..do you want me to...?” I started, gesturing towards the papers that had scattered from the thrown file.

“No,” he responded, his voice softer now. “I’ll take care of it. You take a break, a prolonged one if you need.”

I nodded and quickly left the room, hoping all the business men had left the building entirely as I raced for the nearest bathroom to hide for a while.

~~~~~~

I was on my own in the lobby area when a cup of coffee and a picture perfect sprinkled donut was placed in front of me. I looked up from my computer to see Roman sipping from his own cup, his breathtaking eyes gazing down at me.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave,” he said. “I didn’t check before I got both of those for you.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, taking the cup and the donut. “I still had some stuff I needed to do, I couldn’t go home early.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to.”

I took a sip of my coffee, not wanting to respond. Truthfully, I had thrown myself so heavily into my work to keep the disgusting words said by Roman’s business partners out of my head.

I had never been spoken to in such a way before. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I’d been spoken to in such a way, but it still made me feel dirty and wrong when I thought about it. Like I was nothing more than some eye candy for business men who were old enough to be my father (except for Roman).

Roman continued to lean against the desk, looking down at me as I diverted my attention back to my computer.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said. “Those fuckers are a little too...stereotypical.”

I shook my head, trying to downplay my feelings on the situation. “It’s alright. I appreciate you standing up for me, but I’m sorry if it ruins your business relations or whatever.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I could give less of a fuck. They're all assholes anyways. They only use me for money and power for their bullshit projects. And what they did to you was far from alright. It was wrong, and I hope you know I’m not going to tolerate you being treated like that. Not now, not ever.”

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee, unsure as to what else to say. I was shocked that the situation had made Roman so angry. I mean, I was glad people treating me so poorly made him upset and he wasn’t about to sweep this under the rug, but to cut business ties just for me? I was still trying to figure that part out.

Silence fell over us again and I wondered how long Roman would be stood there watching me. Not that I really minded. This was the first time we had been alone.

“Listen,” he said, “this may be incredibly inappropriate to ask, but I’d love to take you out for dinner some time.”

I looked up at him in shock. “Like...like a date?”

“Or a work dinner, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

I didn’t have to think about my answer, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager, so I thought for a moment before responding, “I’d like that.”

Roman smiled back at me. “Okay. You know my schedule, you can pick a time and a date that’s best for you.”

He turned to leave before pausing and turning back to me. “Just to be clear, are you saying you’d like it as a date or as a work dinner.”

I smiled smugly at him and responded, “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, amused, before walking back to his office. When I was sure he was gone, I did a quick dance of excitement in my chair before turning my full attention back to my work.

#Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #hemlock grove #hemlock grove imagine #netflix #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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utopianvoices · 4 years

Text

past, present, future → b.chan

synopsis: Your best friend drags you to his high school reunion against your will, and never have you encountered such chaos. Alternatively, you go on the journey of making more friends, and a potential lover.

genre: high school acquaintances to lovers au; fluff, one second of angst

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 14.4k

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, kinda dialogue heavy (oops)

note: i am BACK with this mess of a fic. it took me too long to finish this, and i apologise for any shitty writing :3 thanks to my little babie @curanonemu for making sure i finished this and supporting me as usual muAH. new formatting on posts too weeeee (new year, new me fsdhfgs jk no)!! also, synopsis kinda sucks i’m sorry :P hope y’all enjoy! x

You did not want to go for your high school reunion dinner.

High school is a time for many that is either the best, or worst time of their lives. Forever friends are found there and painstakingly embarrassing memories are made in run down buildings with people you care about. Except, you didn’t have any such attachments.

Those three years were nothing but a filler for you as you studied, helped out in the library, and hung out with one person you called your best friend.

And on top of it all, it wasn’t even a high school reunion dinner meant for you.

The night the bomb is dropped on you, Changbin walks into the living room of the apartment you both share just outside the grounds of your university, and goes straight to the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal because cooking and Changbin did not get along well. The apartment was way cheaper than the dorms your school provided, and it definitely did not have any nosy RAs who were just out there to torture students for their own viewing pleasure.

On top of all that, you could live with your best friend and not some random stranger who might very much as well be a psychotic killer. Perhaps, Changbin could have some questionable habits, like talking to himself in a baby voice while looking in the mirror, but nothing that threatened your life.

You hear Changbin’s phone ringing from the kitchen as you aimlessly flip through the shows available on Netflix, deciding which new show you should watch and commit to, when your best friend’s boisterous laughter fills your ears. Used to the noise, you roll your eyes before increasing the volume of the TV, finally deciding to rewatch Sherlock.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re about to solve the known mystery together with Benedict Cumberbatch when Changbin walks in front of the TV, automatically eliciting a whine from you as you crane your neck left and right to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What the fuck, Bin?” You finally yell, frowning at the boy in front of you. Realising that he probably wanted something, considering the fact that he wasn’t moving till you asked him, you switch the TV off and settle back into the sofa, throwing him a death glare. “What do you want from me, pest?”

Something’s definitely amiss when you see Changbin shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, a guilty smile ever-present on his face.

“Whatever it is, my answer is no,” you say distantly, leaning back into the sofa with crossed arms. “So give it up.”

“Oh c’mon Y/n! At least hear me out?” Changbin cries out loudly, dropping onto his knees with clasped hands.

Heaving out a sigh, you slowly unfold your arms and lean forward, eyebrows raised as you nod at the poor boy in front of you. “I’ll hear you out. But don’t expect me to say yes.”

“Um...” Changbin starts, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find the right words. “So my high school friends are having a reunion dinner next week and I told them I’d go, but I also said I’d bring you along and they were too happy and so now I think you’ll have to come with me but-”

“Woah woah woah, a high school reunion party? Absolutely not.”

It’s not like you had anything against his friends. You did have brief interactions with a few of them in high school and you knew they were pretty decent lads, but there was no way you were following Changbin to what was meant to be a friends’ gathering.

“But why not!” Changbin whines, waddling over to you on his knees. “It’ll be really fun!”

“Yeah, fun for you,” you deadpan, staring at your pitiful best friend who has now resorted to throwing you puppy eyes. “They’re your friends after all, not mine.”

“That’s right. But they could be. Don’t you think it’s time you start finding more friends who are not me?”

Changbin’s once pitiful eyes held something other than desperation at that moment; they held concern.

It was true that you had no other friend other than Changbin. You knew lots of people, sure, but you wouldn’t call them your friends. With no friends to your name other than that one, it also wasn’t hard to guess that you never dated too. But all that mattered is that you were fine with it, right?

“You know that I don’t need any other friends. You’re more than enough for me. Truthfully, I don’t think I could deal with another Changbin in my life.”

Your words incite chuckles from Changbin, but that doesn’t stray him from his original goal.

“How about this,” he starts, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor because his knees were starting to hurt way too much. “You come to the reunion with me, and the moment you feel uncomfortable, we both can leave no questions asked. Deal?”

As tempting as that sounded, you knew it was not fair to cut Changbin’s precious time with his friends just because you did not want to hang out with new people. “That’s not fair to you.”

Shaking his head, Changbin stares at you, the fire in his eyes clearly visible, and you know that he had made up his mind. “I don’t care. It’s either you follow me and we can leave whenever, or I don’t go at all.”

There was no turning back now. You knew that in the end, what Changbin wants, he gets.

You sigh numbly before nodding your head in defeat, dreading the day that was to come where you had to leave the comfort of your apartment.

With no warning, you’re engulfed in a tight hug by a nuisance chanting “thank you” a million times. You ease into the hug, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a light squeeze, before pulling back to see that he had a smile similar to the one on your face.

“I guess you’re right about me needing more friends. I can’t be annoying you for the rest of my life, right?”

ii.

You’re once again reminded why you don’t go for social gatherings as you take in the various clothes strewn all over your room.

“Hey- Woah, what happened here?” Changbin asks, bewildered at the sight in front of him. “It looks like a hurricane hit your room or something.”

“Yes, it’s called Hurricane Y/n Is Screwed,” you reply sarcastically, before sinking down into your bed in defeat. Looking up at your best friend, you decide to give it a shot and put on your most pitiful face. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes, you really have to go,” Changbin replies without sparing you another glance, as he sifts through the heap of clothes on your bed. “And get that ugly look off your face, please. It makes me want to barf.”

Flipping your best friend off, you manoeuvre yourself such that you’re facing Changbin, and look upon him in curiosity.

After what felt like forever, pieces of clothing are thrown at you, along with a reminder that you had three hours before you had to leave.

“Three?!” You screech, causing Changbin to wince and cover his ears. “You should’ve told me earlier so that I have more time!”

“What are you so loud for, you damn pterodactyl? And three hours is more than enough. We’re just going to a cheap restaurant a few blocks away because we’re all broke college students.”

Huffing at your insolent best friend, you grab the clothes he threw at you and make your way to the bathroom, not bothering to contemplate his decision because you knew he had pretty good taste in fashion. In fact, half the clothes you had in your wardrobe were bought with him as your advisor, so you’re really in no position to criticise his choices.

You stare at your reflection and let out a nervous breath; you weren’t used to meeting new people, and there was no way you were going to be able to handle a hoard of newly turned adults. The last thing you wanted was to cut Changbin’s time short with his friends, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you make a promise to yourself that you’ll get through the night by whatever means. Even if it meant hours of torture.

Changbin, with absolutely no urgency, is sitting on the couch watching the fourth Harry Potter movie, when you walk into the living room, makeup half done and still dressed in your stay-at-home clothes. Boys, you think.

“I think I need to know who and how many people will be there,” you finalise, watching Changbin pick up the remote and pausing the movie at exactly when Cedric dies; poor chap. “ So that I can, you know, mentally prepare myself.”

“You really don’t, but okay. There’ll be nine of us, including you. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix from the dance team, Jeongin and Seungmin from the baseball team, Chan from the swimming team, soccer team, and honours board, and Jisung who was pretty much useless like me.”

“Wow.”

“In my defense, you’ve seen all of these dudes at least once,” Changbin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, they’re all really nice and fun so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Says you,” you mutter under your breath, before returning to your room to prepare for your doom.

iii.

The sign of the restaurant flickers periodically as you stand in the middle of the street with Changbin by your side. People brush past you as they hurry to meet their friends and families in the various restaurants lining the street, excitement evident in their steps.

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door. Immediately, a gush of warm air welcomes you, causing you to let out a content sigh.

“Hey Changbin!” A loud voice calls out from behind you, and the both of you turn in your place. The sight in front of you gives you equal amounts of anxiety and fear, as you wonder how you were going to handle the table of one, two, three… seven boys, including the embarrassment standing beside you, who was now busy doing some sort of weird wave in favour of a greeting.

“Changbin, please,” you plead, burying your face in your hands as you willed for someone to transport you back to your apartment so that you didn’t have to face reality and stand next to your shameless friend.

Chuckling sheepishly, your best friend finally stops, patting your back before walking towards the table at the back of the restaurant. “Oops sorry. Let’s go meet the rest!”

Here goes nothing.

Reaching the almost-filled table, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to see if you could remember anyone currently seated in front of you.

“Guys! This is Y/n, my best friend,”—at this, a few complaints erupt from around the table—”Gosh, fine. My other best friend.”

Immediately, at least three people shout their greetings your way.

“Hi Y/n! Nice to meet you!”

“Yo~ Changbin’s told us lots about you.”

“Y/n, sit beside me!”

Exasperated, your eyes flit around the table, trying your best to smile at all of them (which honestly turns out to look more like a pained grimace). Luckily, there was one seemingly sane person present.

“Shut up, everyone.” A boy with blue hair and sharp eyes shushes everyone. “Hi Y/n, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Jeongin.”

At this, the once quiet table is back to chaos as complaints are directed towards Jeongin for sneakily introducing himself first. Taking advantage of the mess, Changbin guides you towards the empty seats and finally settles the both of you down. Now all the seats were filled, except for one empty seat left beside you.

You’re about to ask Chanbgin about the empty chair, but before you can, he claps his hands, attracting everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone will take turns introducing themselves. Seungmin, you start.”

The sandy haired boy seated on the right of Changbin waves both his hands while bouncing in his seat, reminding you of a puppy. “I’m Seungmin!”

Next is Jeongin, who just gives you a small smile.

Beside him, you see a blonde haired boy, what is up with the hair colours, who just smiles brightly, eyes shining brightly and freckles visible. “Hello, I’m Felix. It’s great to meet you!”

Taken aback by the deep voice, which was a total contrast to his cute appearance, you’re unable to hide the shock from your face. This triggers a bout of chuckles from the table; it was probably common for people to display similar reactions when meeting Felix.

Before pretty boy (that’s what you decided to remember him as) could introduce himself, the black haired boy resembling a squirrel interrupts him. “I’m Jisung!”

You recognise him as the one who shouted when you and Changbin entered the restaurant, and you’re about to acknowledge him when you’re cut off.

“Oi Han, it was my turn to introduce myself! Who allowed you to skip the line?”

“I do what I want,” was Jisung’s response, and pretty boy looked like he was one push away from murder.

Just as you’re sure that you were about to witness a murder, Changbin chides the two boys and breaks up the petty argument. “Just introduce yourselves without any nonsense, please.”

“I’m Hyunjin,” pretty boy mutters sulkily, giving Jisung a death stare. “And I can dance better than Jisung.”

“You motherf-”

“And I’m Minho,” the last person introduces himself, successfully cutting off Jisung’s profanity mid-word. “Sorry, don’t mind those two. They’re like Tom and Jerry.”

Smiling weakly, you muster up the courage to introduce yourself to the four pairs of eyes staring at you. Hyunjin and Jisung were busy having a staredown, while Changbin was eyeing the meat sizzling on the grill. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Changbin’s friend. It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for having me here.”

And just like that, everyone is back to their own conversations, with Changbin piling the perfectly done meat onto his plate. You take in a deep breath and look around the table at the happy faces.

This isn’t so bad, you thought, a little chaotic, but otherwise entertaining.

“They’re overwhelming huh?”

Any effort to mask your bewilderment vanishes as you catch the knowing look on Minho’s face. A guilty smile blooms on your face and you nod your head. “Just a little.”

“I get that,” he starts, but soon enough, there’s a content smile on his face that shows his love for his friends. “But at the end of the day, I know that these monkeys will be there for me no matter what, so I guess it makes it all worth it.”

Smiling softly at his words, you almost coo at the light blush dusting Minho’s face as reality catches up to him.

“Ahem anyway. How’s living with Changbin?” He clears his throat before changing the topic, instinctively putting some meat on your plate before helping himself, earning a grateful smile from you.

“It’s not too bad,” you start, feeling Changbin’s gaze on you after having overheard Minho’s question. “Except sometimes, he talks to himself in the mirror and it’s pretty scarring.”

“Y/n!” Changbin whines as Minho guffaws beside you, nodding his head to your answer, clearly having witnessed that side of Changbin before. “Wait till Chan comes. At least he’ll support me.”

At the unfamiliar name, you furrow your brows and the name in the form of a question tumbles out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Chan?”

“He’s not here yet,” Minho addresses your confusion, having heard your little slip up. “He had to oversee the training for the upcoming soccer match, being the captain and all, and apparently he had a tutoring session after. He should be here soon though.”

That explains the empty chair beside you.

“Oh, he needs to get tutored after training?” You ask, feeling bad for the unknown boy. Having to absorb information after physical activities is torture. You couldn’t even focus after 40 minutes of gym. “That’s rough.”

At your assumption, a cat-like smirk spreads across Minho’s face. “Oh no, darling. He tutors after his training.”

There’s no way you’re to be blamed for the first thought that pops into your head after discovering that said Chan was responsible and smart. You’ve seen people struggling with just one extracurricular, and begging teachers for extra credits because of poor time management.

So, it’s really not your fault that the first words that enter your head is, that’s hot.

Just then, the bell situated above the door rings, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. You’re not bothered by it, until Felix’s deep voice fills your ear.

“Chan!”

It’s almost comical how slowly you turn towards the sound, blush threatening to fill your cheeks at your first impression of Chan, without even meeting him. And as Giovanni Torriano has once said:

Talk of the Devil, and he's presently at your elbow.

Your eyes follow the figure of the devilishly breathtaking boy walking towards your table. He’s still dressed in what you assume was his soccer jersey, black hair tousled from the wind and practice. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of that inappropriate thought and opt to stare at the bowl of radish that looked the most interesting to you.

“Hey guys!” Chan smiles widely at the group of friends, as a few of them immediately get up from their seats to greet him with their usual bro hug. He sets his things down beside Minho, and is taking his seat when he spots you. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looks around the table, silently asking for an explanation as to what a stranger was doing at their usual table.

You realise his staring and try to introduce yourself, but you find yourself unable to form sentences as the reality of who Chan was hits you.

The star swimmer of your high school’s swimming team, and the top student of every single year. He was the epitome of popular. Everyone knew his name, and apparently he had never missed one day of lessons or training. On top of that, he used to regularly tutor in the library.

“Oh, this is my friend Y/n!” Changbin pipes up, slinging an arm around you. “Same high school as us, and my roommate now.”

At this, the confusion clouding Chan’s hazel eyes clears up, and he turns to face you, extending a hand. “The one who used to carry thick books everywhere and helped out in the library right? I’m Chan!”

Being the complete opposite of your best friend, you’re sure no one has ever noticed you in the library. You blend in perfectly with the shadows and shelves, and you didn’t usually help the students out, opting to arrange the books in the storeroom—the one small thing you could do to help out the aged librarian who brought you mouth-watering brownies every Thursday.

The thick books, in your defense, was your attempt at trying to finish the Harry Potter series whenever you had the spare time. You never had to explain yourself because you never expected anyone to notice. Especially not the most popular guy in school who had a million other friends.

But there he was, in all his glory, eyes crinkled into crescents as he waits for you to shake his hand, seemingly remembering you when nobody else did.

A small nudge to your side from Changbin breaks you out of your reverie and you grab his hand, silently noting how soft they were. “Nice to meet you.”

Smiling at you, he gently shakes your hand before turning to the other boys, immediately making jokes and laughing along.

“What was that about?” Changbin whispers harshly, eyeing you and Chan suspiciously.

“What was what?”

“Chan remembering you! You’ve never even met before.”

Looking at your best friend, you shrug before reaching out for another piece of meat. “Beats me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to interrogate you more, when he’s successfully cut off by Seungmin.

“Y/n! Tell us more about yourself! I’m bored of hearing about these idiots.”

Jeers sound from around the table as you let out a nervous chuckle, aware of how everyone’s attention was on you. “Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself for extra confirmation.

Yea!” Seungmin replies, nodding vigorously. “What are you doing now, and how was high school for you, and just everything!”

Noting your hesitation, Changbin is about to step in to save you, but your hand on his thigh stops him. Looking at you curiously, he realises from your expression that you’re finally about to do what he had been nagging at you to do since day one of becoming your friend.

iv.

‘Is it possible for a stomach to burst from too much laughing?’ is what runs through your head as tears stream down your face from laughing uncontrollably at another joke Jisung was saying.

“Wait, I remember Changbin telling me that people used to refer to you as Baby Photos when you all played at the school shows,” you ask after you had recovered from your laughing fit, curiosity piquing. “What’s that all about?”

At the mention of the familiar name, the boys let out groans and Hyunjin starts hitting Jisung. “It’s all Jisung’s fault!”

“Basically, he somehow got ahold of all our baby photos and submitted it to the administration on behalf of us,” Changbin explains, rolling his eyes at the memory. “So if you see our yearbook, all eight of us have our baby photos instead of the actual photo we were supposed to submit.”

How is that even possible?!

“We still don’t know how he managed to do that.” Chan answers your unasked question, shaking his head fondly at the ridiculous memory.

At this, Jisung pipes up. “Everything is possible when you’re charming and handsome. You lot won’t be able to relate!”

And you finally agree that the beating Jisung gets after was well deserved.

“Restaurant’s closing in ten!”

The owner of the restaurant, a nice old lady who had a soft spot for the boys, calls out from the back. She had already let all of you stay past her usually closing time, and even gave you some free side dishes, together with a loving chide about how the boys don’t come and visit her anymore.

The screech of the chairs fill the place as everyone gets up, stomach and heart full from the meal and company. You smile to yourself, glad that you let yourself be convinced to follow Changbin because you had one of the best days in your life.

“Did you have fun today?” Your best friend asks with a smug smile, already knowing the answer.

“Shut up,” is all you can say—a clear sign that you were admitting defeat. “It was okay.”

“That wounds me,” someone speaks up from behind you, having heard your conversation with Changbin. You whip around to see Chan clutching his heart and wearing an exaggerated hurt face. “I thought we had a connection.”

“I-you, no, that’s not-what” you splutter, horrified at the thought of Changbin’s, and now apparently your, friends thinking that you didn’t have a good time with them. There was no way you could let them think as such when they had made you feel so comfortable, and have so much fun.

Your stuttering and horrified expression does it, and Chan bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry, it was a joke. But your face!”

The guilt and regret is replaced with relief and irritation, and you smack his arm out of habit, something you always did to Changbin when he was being a pain in the ass. But as soon as you do it, you’re once again filled with regret because Oh my God it’s only been two hours, you’re not supposed to just smack people.

“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Chan cuts you off, adding in a low tier insult to make you feel a bit better about your reflexes. “We’re friends now; all of us.”

Friend to friends. Now that’s an upgrade.

You’re about to say something, when you’re cut off by Changbin screeching unceremoniously as he glances at the time displayed on his lockscreen (it’s a picture of the two of you making ugly faces—he refused to change it).

“Shit, we’re going to miss the last bus that leaves from here!” He almost shouts, grabbing his and your things. “Adios bitchachos!”

A snicker or two echoes through the empty restaurant at Changbin’s farewell, together with requests of bringing you the next time they meet.

“Make sure Y/n comes for the next dinner! Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not!”

Jisung earns himself a string of vulgarities from Changbin for that, as he guffaws and hi-fives Hyunjin.

You’re barely able to say your farewell to the boys with Changbin dragging you out of the restaurant, but you manage to shout out a few words while waving. “Thank you for today! See you soon!”

The bus arrives just as you reach the bus stop, and Changbin all but collapses on one of the empty seats from the running you both did.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re foul.” You’re staring at your best friend in disgust when he starts questioning you about the dinner, nausea forgotten.

“So…” he starts, pivoting in his seat to face you, cheek leaning against his hand which rested on the seat in front of him. “For someone who was dead set on not coming, you sure looked like you had lots of fun.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you turn to face Changbin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me making more friends?”

“Of course, of course~” he drawls, smirk ever-present on his face. “And who do we have to thank for that?”

“And you ask me why I don’t listen to you or ask you for favours.” Turning your attention back to your phone, you open up Temple Run in hopes of keeping yourself occupied for the bus ride back; but Changbin had other plans.

Whining, he snatches your phone from your hands and slips it into his pocket. “Y/n! Tell me everything!”

“What do you want to know?!” you ask, exasperated. “You were there literally the whole time.”

“Yes I know, but I want to know what you think of all my friends!” Changbin claps his hands in excitement, leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, our friends now.”

You can’t help but sigh as you prepare for the long bus ride ahead—but somehow, you don’t miss the sudden warmth enveloping you as you recalled the past few hours.

“First of all, Jisung and Hyunjin are hilarious, it’s like…”

Two weeks later, and you’re knee deep in shit. Not literally, of course, but you might as well be.

It’s the infamous hell month in your university, where every student (regardless of major) has a shit ton of assignments and tests to complete, and the library is open 24 hours for poor souls like yourself.

It’s two in the morning when you’re working on your second essay of the day. There are crumpled balls of paper all over your desk and surrounding your bin, courtesy of your pathetic aim.

“You’re cleaning everything up later,” Changbin speaks up from across the dining table you both were sharing to get work done, tapping away on his equipment as he works on some new beat. “I don’t expect every ball to go in, but to miss everything? That’s some serious talent.”

“Shut your mouth, Seo.” Flipping your best friend off, you finally push yourself away from the table, stretching a bit before making your way to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of ramen in hopes of satiating the beast growling in your stomach.

As you open each shelf, you slowly come to the realisation that you were completely out of snacks and food. Even the single frozen bag of peas and empty ice cream tub stares back at you in pity as you scan the fridge.

Taking a breath to calm yourself, you slowly turn around to face your unsuspecting, so-called, best friend. Walking towards him, you knock the table a few times to get his attention.

He notices your presence, and removes his headphones to look at you quizzically, his full attention on your blank face.

“When were you going to tell me that you had consumed every single food item we have?”

It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his face, as his eyes dart all around the room, skillfully avoiding you. If it were any other situation, you would’ve definitely laughed while falling onto the floor. But this wasn’t any other situation.

This was war.

And honestly, it would have been a war that you would’ve definitely won—if not for the loud sound your stomach just produced.

Narrowing your eyes at the accused seated a few feet away from you, you walk over to the countertop with your wallet, eyes not leaving Changbin for a second.

“I will deal with you when I am back from the convenience store.”

And with the sight of Changbin gulping imprinted in your mind, you slam your apartment door behind you and make your way grumpily to the 24-hour convenience store located seven minutes away.

vi.

The electronic chime sounds throughout the store as the part-timer throws you a friendly greeting from the counter. “Welcome!”

Reciprocating with a smile of your own, you take slow steps towards the shelf with the various assorted packets of ramen, and your hand automatically reaches for your favourite one. Just as it comes into contact with the plastic, you can feel yourself salivating and your stomach growls in appreciation. It’s a myth, you think. There’s no way food like carrots and asparagus is what gets students through school. The only saving grace you have during this period is packets of ramen and chocolate milk. Countless numbers of assignments and tests are already torturous enough; healthy, tasteless food on top of that? No, thanks.

Clutching the ramen packet in your hands like it was the treasure of your life, you walk towards the milk section to complete your meal with your favourite carton of chocolate milk. There was something about the combination of milk that combats the spice from the ramen, and you’re about to drop onto your knees right there and then to worship the people who invented ramen and chocolate milk, when you see the last carton being taken away right in front of your eyes.

Without any second thoughts, you rush towards the person and grab their arm, already getting ready to pull out the sob story of how you absolutely need the chocolate milk to survive. Surprised by the sudden contact, the man holding the carton whips his head towards you, eyes wide.

There’s a fleeting sense of familiarity that passes through you when you see the hazel peeking out from above the mask that covered the rest of his face, but you’re too preoccupied to dwell on the thought. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg, you’re cut off by an all too familiar voice.

“Y/n?”

Huh?

You stare at each other for a few seconds before the realisation of who you were holding, no, clinging onto dawns on you.

“C-Chan?”

In a lively city that thrived at night, there were a thousand other 24-hour convenience stores scattered all around in every corner. It also wasn’t everyday that you decided to go to the convenience store for food, opting to go to the grocery stores instead. So, if you calculated correctly, the chance of you bumping into Chan at 2:30 a.m. at that very particular store should be close to never.

Yet, there he was standing right in front of you, chocolate milk clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh I came here to water my plants.”

Plants?

You’re more than confused, till you hear the soft snicker that escapes his mouth. Narrowing your eyes at his antics, you decide to bite back with a “Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… Are you planning to hold onto me forever?” Chan teases you, eyes gesturing to your hand that was still clutching onto him, before looking back at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

With the whole bumping-into-Chan thing that happened, it had completely slipped your mind that you were still holding onto him. You snatch your hand away in horror, eyes widening as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry.” And before you could stop yourself, you also continue to spill why you had grabbed his arm in the first place. “I was just craving for chocolate milk, and the one you took was the last carton left.”

Looking back and forth at you and the carton, you start to feel like an absolute idiot, until he reaches out and pushes the carton into your hands. “You can have it then,” he says, and walks away. “Stay right there, let me grab some ramen and we can have supper together!”

You stare at the carton for a few seconds, the droplets of water that formed on the outside cool against your fingers. On a normal day, you would have refused the milk vehemently, telling the other person not to worry and to have the last carton. But today wasn’t any other day.

And Chan wasn’t any other person.

We’re friends, after all, is what echoes in your mind as you look up at the boy walking towards you, two packets of ramen in his hand and a carton of strawberry milk. Smiling at him, you finally express your gratitude for his kind sacrifice.

“Thanks for this,” you say, waving the carton in front of him. “I don’t think I would have made it through the night without it.”

Nodding with a smile, he tears his two packets of ramen open and pours in the hot water that was situated at the back of the store, grabbing yours from you in the process. “What brings you here at this hour? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be craving ramen and chocolate milk in the middle of the night on any other day.”

“You’re right about that,” you reply dejectedly, recalling the big pile of assignments waiting for you back at the apartment. “It’s hell month in school, and I’m drowning in work. On top of that, Changbin exhausted every single food source we have at home!”

Chan does his very best to hold back his laughter at your expression; he knew you were angry, but you looked as threatening as a kitten. And thankfully he succeeds, because he really did not want to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Although, he thinks, you really are not going to be able to do much damage.

“How dare he,” Chan agrees, finally taking a seat beside you, the steam from the ramen warming his face up. “Hey but, if he hadn’t done that we wouldn’t have bumped into each other here.”

You nod your head in agreement, thinking about how to start a casual conversation, when you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you knew essentially nothing about Chan. You didn’t know what university he went to, what he majored in, and what he was doing in the convenience store that late at night too.

One question at a time, you decide.

“What are you doing out this late anyway?” you ask, slurping the noodles and breathing out in relief at the taste of the ramen against your tongue.

“I come here often,” is what he replies, before taking a sip of his milk. “My uni’s about fifteen minutes from here, and I usually work the best at this time. Being a music production major, there aren’t very strict deadlines, but I’ve still got to get my shit done.”

Oh. That’s all your questions answered.

You know the trouble of trying to get questions out, especially for you, who has never really made the effort in going the extra mile in interacting with people. It’s annoying and nerve-wrecking, and probably the biggest reason why you refused making new friends. The whole process was just painful. So, when Chan answers your unasked questions, you feel the hypothetical weight lifting off your shoulder, and you open your mouth to express your gratitude. At least, that’s what you had planned to do.

“Are you a mind reader?” you blurt out, before immediately clamping your mouth shut and facepalming. “Ugh, sorry. I have a really bad habit of blurting out whatever comes to my mind.” You groan at your inconvenient habit, and Chan pats the top of your hand in hopes of comforting you.

“I just meant to say that I was thinking of asking you those questions and you answered them even before I asked.” Chan looks at you with a smile, intrigued by your personality. You clearly didn’t have any other friends other than Changbin—but you never looked as if you were upset about it. It was also clear that you were content with not interacting with people, but when you did, you were never rude about it and you really did try your best. Never in a million years would he have thought that the student scurrying around the library with tons of books would turn out to be someone like you.

“At least that means you’re an honest person!” Chan says, beaming at you. “C’mon, learn to look at the brighter side of things.”

Shrugging your shoulders with a tired smile on your face, you turn back to your ramen, which has now gone soggy due to your little chit-chat with the boy beside you.

There’s a comfortable silence that hangs between the two of you, until Chan speaks up again. “What’s your major? I realised I never asked.”

At the mention of school, you pull an automatic stank face before replying. “English Lit with a minor in Philosophy. The worst decision of my life.”

“And why’s that?”

“I never knew there’d be this much essay writing!” you cry out, throwing your head against the table. The rest of your words come out muffled, but somehow Chan manages to catch it. “I mean, I knew there was going to be lots of essays. But not this much.”

“In the major’s defense, that’s kind of a dumb move on your part, Y/n.”

“Yes, I know. Please don’t remind me of my idiocy.” You finally sit up, before sadly chewing on your noodles. “At least I have ramen and chocolate milk to keep me going.”

And as the night went on, both of you continued the conversation back and forth, you learning more about him and him about you. You talk about your assignments, how annoying some of your professors were, and how living with Changbin was. All the times you had to chase him to clean up after himself, or all the times he stayed up with you until ungodly hours just because you had procrastinated too much and was rushing an assignment in the last hour. You also learnt more about Chan; how he was studying music production because that was his dream since he was young, and how he actually roomed with Jisung, who was equally as messy as Changbin. The only difference was that Chan couldn’t be bothered about the mess.

“Changbin, Jisung, and I actually used to make tracks and post them on Soundcloud,” Chan says, smiling as he recalls the three high schoolers cooped up in his room with the bare minimum equipment that wiped out half their savings. “We even had rapper names.”

“Ooooo~” you tease, nudging his shoulder as his ears start to turn a bright red. “What was yours?”

“What’s in the past should stay in the past, Y/n. Let bygones be bygones. No point talking about it now.”

“Awww, c’mon!” You plead, fidgeting in your seat. “Was it something embarrassing like Cheminem, or something?”

“I can’t help but feel more relaxed when your standards are that low,” Chan says, with some form of relief in his voice. “Uh, mine was CB97.”

“Don’t tell me…” you mutter, eyes wide as the laughter threatens to escape your lips. “Did you really just use your initials and your birth year? Talk about bare minimum!”

“Hey! It’s better than Meminen, or Cheminem, or whatever you said earlier.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you decide to probe further. “What were Jisung’s and Changbin’s?”

Chan stares at you with wide eyes, your mischievous eyes giving away your evil plans. “No. Changbin will kill me.”

“Don’t be a party pooper! I’ll treat you to ramen next time if you tell me.” You try tempting Chan with food, with no hopes that it would work. But somehow, you see his resolve crumbling, and realise that you just needed one final push.

“I’ll get you chocolate milk and two packets of ramen.”

At that point, Chan regrets telling you his habit of eating two packets of ramen with chocolate milk almost every night when he stays up. “You shouldn’t have given me the milk then!” is what you said while chiding him, and he just claimed that “you looked like you needed it more than me” while saying that he really wasn’t picky about the flavour of milk.

So when you tempt him with his cravings, he has no choice but to give in.

Twenty minutes later, you walk into your shared apartment, a mysterious smile playing on your lips as you drop the keys into the little holder by the door. It was made by yours truly during a random pottery workshop you signed up for. The shape was slightly off, and the colour wasn’t bright or vibrant—but it worked and that’s what mattered.

At the sound of the keys clinking in the holder, Changbin’s head shoots up to gauge your mood from your expression. Surely you would be at least a little less angry after your little run to the convenience store, he thought.

But instead of seeing a blank expression, or even an angry one, he sees the smile on your face and his heart drops. Why were you smiling? The fact that you were smiling made him feel a hundred times worse, and he had already started saying his prayers.

“So, Changbin…” you start, leaning against one of the chairs at the dining table. You weren’t even angry about the empty shelves anymore, but you just could not pass on the opportunity of teasing your best friend. “Or should I say, SpearB?”

And you’re more than content with the way his face morphs into that of horror, as he grips the edges of the table. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper; one would think that the whole world had found out about his darkest secret from the way he was reacting.

Shrugging playfully, you go back to your seat and sort out the papers scattered around the table, grabbing your laptop to start working on your assignment again with a full and happy stomach. “Who knows~”

“Y/n, tell me,” he starts to whine, making his way to you on his roller chair. “No one knows other than the boys-”

And the realisation of who the culprit was hits him.

“It was Chan, right?” he asks, already reaching for his phone to scold the older boy. “You must have met him when you went to the store—he’s always getting ramen there.” Typing furiously on his phone, he pauses to look up and whine again. “I can’t believe you two gossiped about me! And it was me who made you both become friends. The disrespect!”

Finally the laughter you had been holding in breaks out and floods the living room, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I can’t believe,” you start, trying to catch your breath as you continue laughing. “SpearB! What do you do? Impale people with your sharp flow and rhyme?”

“Just shut up, please,” Changbin pleads, plugging his ears with his fingers. “La la la, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He rolls back to his side of the table and grabs the headphones, shoving it over his head to drown out your laughter.

Your laugh fest is cut off by your phone vibrating, signalling that you had a new text message. Grabbing it, you tap your phone a few times to open up the messages page.

chan: can’t believe you outed me to changbin chan: traitor y/n: drama queen y/n: i said nth, he figured it out on his own chan: ఠ_ಠ

Giggling at the emoticon Chan used, you unconsciously lean back in your seat as you search your gallery for an emoticon to reply with, assignments forgotten.

“Who’re you texting?” Changbin asks, having heard you giggle at your phone. He’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you knew it was better to answer him, because a curious Changbin is a dangerous Changbin, and he’ll probably stomp over and snatch your phone to see who you were texting anyway. ��It’s Chan.”

“When did you two exchange numbers?!”

“Earlier, when we met at the convenience store.”

It was right before the both of you parted ways; when Chan had proposed something that was pretty much impossible to turn down.

“I had fun today,” he said, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other swung the plastic bag containing some chocolates to add to his secret sweet stash. “You said you’re having hell month, right? Hit me up whenever you need an emergency ramen run.” And with that, he pushed his phone into your hands, signalling for you to do the same.

Smiling to yourself, you keyed in your number into the phone clutched in your hand, saving yourself as “Y/n”, and before you could regret your decision, you quickly added a smiley after your name and tossed the phone back to Chan. “Here you go.”

The cool metal is being pressed into your hands, and before you know it, you’ve said your farewell to Chan and were on your way back home.

“Look at you socialising out of your own will,” Changbin states proudly, wiping an imaginary tear as he gives you a fatherly (or what he thinks is fatherly) smile. “Albeit, at the expense of my shame, but if it means my little Y/n making more friends then why not!”

“Please stop, you’re an embarrassment to me, yourself, and literally everyone around us,” you deadpan, clearing your side of the table up. It was time to call it a night, because God knows you’re not going to be able to do anymore work. “Besides, it’s really not that big of a deal. I doubt we’ll continue talking after tonight. It’s probably a one-off thing.”

“Hmmm I wouldn’t be too sure,” Changbin muses. “I feel like there’s something that’ll come out of this.”

vii.

Seo Changbin isn’t a lot of things.

He isn’t tidy, opting to throw his clothes all around his room instead of folding it; he isn’t patient, always screaming at you to “Hurry your ass!” when he had been waiting barely three minutes; and last but not least, he definitely isn’t punctual. “Changbin is my name, and being late is my game” is something you’ve heard way too often from him that it was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him yet.

Changbin isn’t a lot of things—but what he somehow is, is intuitive when it comes to you.

So when you find yourself back at the convenience store at 12:30 a.m., ramen and chocolate milk in front of you as you laugh over some stupid story Chan was saying, you can’t help but curse at how right your best friend was.

You were reaching the end of your hell month, which also indicated it being four weeks since you and Chan had developed the routine of pigging out at the convenience store at terrible hours.

“... and he just fell off the tree!” Chan concludes his story of how Hyunjin fell off a tree in high school, words coming out breathless due to how much the both of you were laughing. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

“I can’t believe I never talked to you guys more then,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It would’ve been hilarious.”

“Someone was too busy with Voldemort,” Chan teases, pushing his nose down flat in what you could only describe as a Voldemort impression. Laughing, you swat his hand away while rolling your eyes at the boy you’ve grown so fond of in a span of four weeks. “Why’d you never talk to us?”

Thinking back to high school, you ask yourself. Why didn’t you ever bother talking to them?

“I guess it’s just cause I already had Changbin,” you start, pausing to think back to the past few years. “As much as I complain about him, he’s really one of the greatest best friends anyone could ask for.”

It was true; Changbin was there for you during high school like no one else had been, and for that you were eternally grateful for him.

“So you were scared to take any other chances since you already got the best?”

People always asked you why you didn’t make more friends in high school. Hell, even your mother kept asking, when other parents struggled to keep their children at home just because they were spending too much time out with friends. But the answer to that question was something you never thought about, and you can’t stop the feeling of shock spreading through your body at what the boy in front of you had just so casually uttered.

You were scared.

“I-I…” you stutter, eyes wide as you stare at the boy in front of you. Chan can’t help the worry that seeps into his face at his words, and he’s starting to wonder if he said anything wrong. “I’ve never ever thought about it. But, oh my God, that makes so much sense.”

After years of waving everyone who asked you why you never made any other friends away just because you yourself didn’t have the answer to the question, you’re hit with a huge realisation of just why you didn’t want to find more friends. And it wasn’t even you who figured it out.

This boy sitting leisurely in front of you, skin pale and soft, with messy black hair framing his face that he never bothered brushing away. This boy, who was as kind as he was hardworking, always willing to help out anyone, even with his own responsibilities. This boy who had been readily there for you at the devil hours for almost every day in the past four weeks, always checking up on you to make sure that you were surviving.

Never in a million years would you have expected someone to figure out something that was locked away so deep inside of your heart, and for it to be Chan, out of everyone. The thought makes your heart race a little, but you decide to blame it on the conversation the both of you were having. It was definitely not because of the boy seated beside you.

“Shocking, huh,” Chan starts, laughing slightly as the worry he had felt earlier replaced with something he could only describe as fondness. “It’s a pity though.”

You look at him questioningly, and what he says next makes you realise a few things that maybe you were better off not realising.

“We would’ve been much happier in high school with you there. I would’ve been much happier.”

As much as you regretted not befriending the other seven boys in high school, you were starting to regret bumping into Chan that very first night even more. If you hadn’t bumped into him, you would’ve never spent so much time with him, never realised how great of a person he was, and lastly, you would’ve never started falling for Bang Chan.

viii.

It’s like déjà vu.

With your exams and assignments completed, you find yourself watching the latest season of Haikyuu when Changbin enters the room, waltzing towards your reclined figure.

“Y/n~” Changbin starts, poking your shoulder to get your attention. “Whatever your annoying ass needs now, it’s a no,” you say without even turning to look at the boy beside you.

“Oh? Even if it was an invitation to dinner with the boys later tonight?”

And when your head whips to the side to look at your best friend, you’re so tempted to just wipe that smirk clean off his face, because the bitch knew you would have said yes.

“I fucking hate you,” is what you can mutter, before switching the television and throwing the remote to the side, choosing to ignore Changbin as you walk towards your room to pick an outfit. But you’re forced to stop in your tracks when Changbin casually utters the next few words.

“Chan’s especially excited to see you.”

You’re not sure what Changbin means by that, but there’s no denying the increase in your heart rate at the mention of the dimpled boy.

“What?” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as you could, hoping that your best friend wouldn’t pick up the slight quiver in your voice. But, of course, he wasn’t your best friend for nothing.

“I said, your little boyfriend’s excited to see you.” Changbin smirks at your expression, stretching his legs out to rest it on the coffee table in front of your sofa. “And it looks like you’re just as excited.”

Red travels up your neck and spreads across your face, as you sputter at your best friend’s preposterous words. “W-what are you- I- Huh-”

Realising that your little breakdown wasn’t helping your case at all, you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before speaking to the insolent brat in front of you. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and the first instinct you have is to play dumb. “O-of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“I will pretend like I did not hear that pathetic attempt of you trying to act dumb,” Changbin states robotically, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Y/n. It’s obvious. So stop pretending and just fess up. It’ll be easier for the both of us.”

You had two choices now: Either fess up and prepare yourself for at least a thousand years of teasing, or just completely deny it till your deathbed.

Clearly, the second option was much more appealing.

“No, Changbin,” you snap with as much conviction as you could. “I do not have a crush on Chan. He’s just a really good friend.”

The knowing look on his face wavers, and you know that you’re seconds away from success. It’s not that you did not trust your best friend with the information of you having a crush on one of his friends. You just did not want to say it out loud—saying it out loud would mean that you were confirming it, and there will be no going back. And that scared you.

You were scared of liking someone who was way too perfect, and who probably would never like you back.

So the best solution was to keep your little crush hidden away in the depths of your heart, and slowly get over it as soon as you could. It was as easy as it could get.

ix.

Apparently, you realise, it wasn’t at all easy to get over a simple crush.

The smell of meat fills your nostrils as the eight boys chatter loudly over the sound of the sizzling of the food. You’re back at the same restaurant, with the same boys, except it wasn’t exactly the same as the last time.

This time, you had a raging crush on the boy who insisted on sitting beside you, leg brushing against yours every few seconds as he piles the food on your plate instead of his.

It definitely didn’t help that every time your hands brushed while reaching out for the side dishes around the table, you pulled your hand back as if you had just been burned, ears immediately heating up.

“Did you know Chan told Y/n about 3RACHA?” Changbin whines to Jisung, making him stop his actions mid-way, meat hanging from the chopsticks just a few inches away from his mouth. “All I heard the past few weeks was ‘SpearB, help me’, ‘SpearB, go there’. It was torture.”

The table goes silent at the new information Changbin had revealed, and all you can do is smile sheepishly as your friends stare at the both of you.

“These two have been meeting almost everyday the past few weeks to get ramen at weird timings, and I’m pretty sure Y/n has lots of quality dirt on us now,” Changbin says pointedly, completely ignoring the way your eyes widened because why would he just say that?

It already wasn’t easy keeping Changbin in check with his little fantasies every time you went out to meet Chan, and now it was going to be worse because you just knew that the six other boys were going to question you from their expressions.

You turn to look at Chan, expecting to see the same ‘busted’ expression on his face, but all you see is a guilty smile, before he opens his mouth to speak. “In my defense, I was bribed.”

“Yes but, you never told us your 3RACHA names even after we kept begging you for weeks,” Hyunjin speaks up, eyes wide in disbelief. “We had to bribe you with a new game for your console, but you just told Y/n after two packets of ramen and chocolate milk?”

Your heart rate picks up speed just a fraction after hearing Hyunjin’s words, and you can’t help but feel a little special that Chan was comfortable enough to tell you things he refused to tell others. There’s a small smile playing at your lips as you look at the boy beside you, who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried his best to defend himself from the accusations that were now pouring out from all his friends.

Unbeknownst to you, your own best friend was watching the both of you since the night started, a glint in his eye as he catches the way you threw small glances at his friend, blushing every time your hands brushed or when Chan purposely picked out the meat that was grilled best to put on your plate.

He also didn’t miss the soft smile playing at Chan’s lips every time you laughed at another stupid joke Jisung cracked, head thrown back slightly as you clutched your stomach, or the way his eyes widened every time you leaned a little too close to him to reach for a side dish.

Fools, is what he thinks when he eyes his two best friends. Fools in love.

The night goes on, and it’s Changbin who proposes a game of who can finish a bottle of soju the fastest to make things more exciting. You already know how it was going to end when you see the soju bottles crowding the table, all screaming the obvious outcome of the night.

“Rule’s simple. We’ll have two people against each other, and the one that loses has to pay their opponent’s share for tonight’s dinner.”

You notice Changbin avoiding your eyes as he speaks and distributes the bottle, which could be attributed to the very scary death glare you were throwing right at him.

Here’s the thing—your alcohol tolerance was shit. And Changbin knew that, making you wonder what he had planned up his sleeve.

“Right, here’s the lineup,” he announces, making it seem as if the lot of you were in some world championship of sorts. “Hyunjin and Jisung”—there’s a loud ‘Die, bitch!’ that resounds from Jisung as they both get ready to win against each other—“Seungmin and Felix, Minho and Jeongin, and Chan and Y/n!”

You were going to kill that idiot.

Changbin starts off the game with a recap of the rules, and makes sure that everyone has their own bottle of alcohol. Disaster is the only word flashing in your mind, and you’re on the verge of ditching your friends to return to the comfort of your room.

“Jisung and Hyunjin first!” Changbin instructs, to which the two boys grab their bottles and have a stare-down with each other.

“I’m gonna win so hard, your ancestors are gonna feel it.”

“Let’s see you try, pretty boy.”

On Changbin’s cue, the two boys start gulping down the alcohol, and you visibly cringe at the ghost feeling of the taste on your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Chan whispers from beside you, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a stupid game. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

There’s a grateful smile on your face as you shake your head, letting the boy know you were okay. “I’m fine. Just worried because my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good, and I don’t want to inconvenience all of you.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Chan mutters softly, staring right into your eyes. The smile slowly drops from your face as your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words and the way he was looking at you. You so badly wanted to look away, not being used to such eye contact, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes it almost impossible for you to tear your gaze away from his twinkling eyes.

The sound of a bottle being slammed onto the table snaps you out of your little moment with Chan, and you immediately turn away to look at what was happening at the table, taking deep, cleansing breaths to calm yourself.

On the other side of the table, you realise that Hyunjin was the one who finished his bottle first, now having the time of his life teasing Jisung, who had about one quarter of the bottle left.

All the boys, except Chan and Felix, were laughing their asses off—Felix was the only one comforting Jisung, while Chan was staring at the table, an unreadable expression on his face.

“There, there. It’s okay, Sung,” Felix coos, patting Jisung’s hair, as the latter sulks at his loss.

The next two rounds proceed quickly, with Seungmin and Jeongin emerging as the winners. Everyone stares shell shocked, as Jeongin gulps down the liquid with vigour and speed, and slams his bottle down onto the table with a grin.

“There’s no way! I can’t believe Minho lost to a baby!”

“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he’s a baby, Changbin.” Seungmin deadpans, swiftly moving the empty bottles to the side of the table. “And how come you’re not participating?”

“Someone needs to bring Y/n back,” Changbin shrugs, passing the bottles to Chan and you with a guilty smile in return to your scowl. “And I’d rather stay sober when taking care of drunk children.”

You turn to pass the bottle to Chan, quickly avoiding his gaze when he looks at you. You’re not confident in your abilities to keep the blush down if he was going to look at you the way he did before.

“Okay,” Changbin cues, making sure both of you were ready with the bottle caps off. “Ready, set… Go!”

You didn’t mind paying for Chan’s share for dinner, you really didn’t. But if there was something about you that was both your downfall and pride, it was your competitiveness. You were competitive to the point where you tended to disregard the consequences of your actions.

So, your brain doesn’t register the painful consequences of your actions as you gulp down the bottle of alcohol like your life depended on it. You weren’t the best drinker out there, but you were going to try your very damn best because it was a competition.

With no expectation of winning, you swallow the last drop of soju and slam the bottle back onto the table, when you realise that everyone was staring at the two of you with their mouths open—specifically at Chan.

Following their gaze, your eyes widen in surprise as you see the boy holding an almost half-full bottle of soju, clearly indicating that you were the winner of your little game.

It’s like a dam breaks, and suddenly everyone’s shouting at the unexpected outcome. Hyunjin and Jisung scream while looking back and forth the bottle and Chan, while Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sit with wide eyes and open mouths, unable to process that Chan just lost to you.

On the other hand, Changbin watches Chan with a smirk, which slowly drops when he realises that Minho, who was sitting beside him, was staring at him with raised eyebrows, clearly asking the question ‘What the fuck just happened?’.

Just as he’s about to pull Changbin to the side to question him, you shoot up from your seat, stumbling around almost immediately because of the sudden bout of dizziness that hit you. You fall back onto your seat as fast you had gotten up, and Chan wraps an arm around you almost instinctively, making sure you didn’t fall off your seat.

The table is back to having their own conversations a few minutes later, as if they weren't just screaming over your victory, with Hyunjin and Jisung having a rock-paper-scissors tournament between themselves, proposed by Jisung who was still sore about losing to Hyunjin.

Alcohol clouds your mind as your head lols back and forth, with soft giggles spilling from your lips. In your drunken state, you register the arm wrapped around you, and you turn your head to look for the owner of said arm.

Chan looks at you with the fondest smile as he tries to hold back his own chuckles at how cute your giggles were, at the same time being extremely conscious of the way you fit perfectly around his arms. He thanks his lucky stars that you were drunk as he held you, assuring him that there was no way you were going to hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Oh?” you drawl, squinting at the boy beside you. “Who might you be?”

And at that very moment, Chan hopes with all his heart that there is no one else who will get to witness what he was seeing right in front of him.

There are strands of hair covering your face, cheeks red from the alcohol (and from the close proximity to him, but he doesn’t need to know that) and eyes drooping from the oncoming sleepiness. Yet, to him, you were still the most beautiful in that moment.

“I’m Chan,” he replies sweetly, hesitating for a moment before adding more to the sentence. “Your friend.”

An exaggerated gasp escapes you as your eyes widen comically. Words tumble from your mouth, with hiccups disrupting your sentences every now and then. “Chan? Bang Chan? From high school? The really, um-" hiccup "-cute boy who tutored in the library? The super popular dude? You’re my-" hiccup "friend?”

There’s a light pink flush dusting his cheeks at your words, but he laughs nonetheless while nodding, finger reaching out to tap your nose. “Yes, I am.”

Scrunching your nose at the contact, you continue giggling when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the little exchange you and Chan were having. Chan turns to face his friends, and immediately starts coughing when he realises that they had been watching the whole scene with amused expressions. He awkwardly retracts his arm from around your waist, only for you to get up and stumble over to where Changbin was sitting, arms reaching out towards him while making grabby hands. “Changbinnnn~”

You plop yourself onto his lap, arms encircling his neck as you pull his ear closer to your mouth. Used to your drunk antics, he concedes, knowing that he’ll end up with more damage if he didn’t listen to you when you were drunk.

When he is close enough, you cup your hands around your mouth and whisper into his ears. At least, you thought you were whispering.

“You have really cute friends, Changbin.”

The whole table erupts into cheers at your words, and you immediately cover your mouth with a horrified expression. “Did everyone hear that?”

“You weren’t very quiet, darling,” Changbin snorts, pulling you up with him as he stands. “How are all of you getting back?”

“We’re all crashing at Felix’s place,” Seungmin speaks up, tapping away on his phone. “The uber’s about to arrive… right now.”

Grabbing their things, everyone except Minho, Chan, Changbin, and you, make their way out of the restaurant, shouting out hurried farewells and promises of ‘I’ll wire the money to you when I get back!’ to Changbin.

“Okay, Minho and I will go settle the bill,” Changbin says, readjusting his grip on you. “Chan, can you look after Y/n for a bit?”

“Sure,” Chan replies, looping your arm around his neck as his snakes around your waist. “We’ll be out at the front.”

The moment Chan leaves their sight with you by his side, Minho turns to bombard Changbin with all the questions that had been bothering him the whole night.

“What was that?” Minho asks in bewilderment, pointing to the door that Chan and you had exited from. “How on earth did Chan lose that game when he’s the best drinker amongst all of us?!”

“It’s called being in love,” Changbin scoffs, shaking his head at his two friends. “Disgusting.”

The distressed look on Minho’s face dissolves, and is replaced by what one could describe as enlightenment. “No fucking way. I was wondering why he kept smiling at them like an idiot. That explains so much! Have they confessed?”

“You think?” Changbin rolls his eyes, knowing that there was no way either of you had the courage to confess first. “The only way either of them will confess is if they are drunk.”

“But Y/n is dru-” Minho starts in confusion, when he stops mid-sentence, realising what Changbin had just done. “You evil genius.”

“What can I say,” Changbin states proudly, brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on outside,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.

On the other side of the door, Chan finally succeeds in getting you to sit down with him on a curb, his jacket folded neatly under your bottom to make sure that you were not sitting on the hard cement. “I’m tired,” you whine, head dropping onto the warm shoulder beside you.

Chan tenses up at the sudden contact, staring at the top of your head, when you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. At the feeling of your cheek against his shoulder, he relaxes, and positions himself such that you didn’t have to strain your neck.

There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you, until you decide to break it by asking Chan a very obvious question.

“We’re close friends right?”

You lift your head from Chan’s shoulder, almost whining out loud at the loss of comfort, but you decide that asking him that question was more important. Clearly, drunk you had very different priorities.

Chan just nods and replies with a soft “Of course”, wondering why you were suddenly asking that question. “Why?”

“Since we’re close friends, can I tell you a secret?” The last few words are spoken in a hushed whisper, as you reach out and grasp Chan’s soft and warm hands. His larger hands clasps yours, as he chuckles at your question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/n. You’re drunk, and you might regret telling me when you sober up.”

“No!” You almost shout, alarming Chan who looks around to make sure no one heard your exclamation. You continue in a softer tone, to Chan’s relief. “You’re my close friend! So I won’t regret it.”

And the wide smile you show Chan almost makes him want to kiss you right there and then. Almost.

“Alright then,” Chan agrees, rubbing circles into the skin on your hand. “Go ahead, tell me your secret.”

Giggling, you use your free hand to beckon him closer, your face moving closer to his at the same time. Just as his ear is close enough to you, you whisper out the words that make his heart stop.

“I think I like you.”

He freezes in place, eyes staring at the black tar road ahead of him as his heart hammers against his ribcage because of your nonchalant words. He gulps before slowly turning to face you, the person he had grown to like more than he could ever imagine coming into his view. He takes quick, shallow breaths as he continues to stare at you, unsure of what to say.

Luckily (or unluckily, for Chan), you decide to continue talking, baring your heart and soul to him.

“It’s like...” you start, trailing off after your first two words, before finding the right words to continue. “It’s like I was always happy in life, but you made me realise that it was possible for me to be happier when you are there with me.”

And the smile you give Chan, accompanied with the words you had just uttered, makes him want to protect you from the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he loves you, but what he’s sure about is that all he wants to do is hug you and never let go, to be there for you every minute, every second. And he thinks that’s enough.

That’s enough reason to hold onto you and never let go.

Opening his mouth, Chan is about to reply to your drunk confession, when the sound of soft snores fill his ears.

Leaning against the light pole that was situated very conveniently behind you, you had fallen asleep in the split second Chan had taken to make his move. Your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, and Chan can’t help but breath out a laugh at your timing.

There’s always tomorrow, he thinks.

There’s white noise playing in your ear as you stare up at your ceiling.

Changbin is seated at the edge of your bed saying something important, you assume. You aren’t listening; your brain cells have decided to go on a strike and replay the scene from yesterday on loop.

I think I like you.

You want to scream. You want to scream and murder the boy sitting beside you so bad. After all, it was his fault that you ingested that goddamn devil liquid that made you spill more than your guts.

It was a wonder that you were able to find a friend as precious as Chan, and there you lay in despair, all thoughts of facing Chan again slowly slipping away from your fingertips. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to see him after the stunt you pulled yesterday.

“Y/n, are you listening?!”

“No.”

A hand wraps around your arm and you feel yourself being pulled up, coming face-to-face with your distressed best friend. “Stop being stubborn. Calm down and listen to what I have to say.”

And that’s when you snap.

“Stubborn!?” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair. “I just confessed to your friend, Seo Changbin. I was drunk, and I confessed my very large and real crush to the person I am crushing on. I have ruined any chance at friendship with him, so don’t tell me to stop being stubborn and to calm down!”

Taking a deep breath, Changbin pulls you towards him, both his hands resting against your cheeks. “Listen here. Stop being a wuss. Yes, you confessed when you were drunk. Yes, it’s embarrassing as fuck. But get over it. You know Chan. Is he the kind of asshole who drops friendship over small things like rejection?”

There’s a pout playing at your lips as you shake your head, partly due to the way Changbin was squishing your cheeks, and the other half because you knew he was right.

“But I still don’t want to face him yet,” you whine, pushing his hands away from your face and diving back into your covers. “I just want to wallow in self pity, and hopefully waste away on this bed so that I’ll never have to face anyone ever again.”

Changbin knows that there was no convincing you otherwise, so he settles for sighing and getting up from your bed.

“Don’t stay in bed for too long. I’ll order us food for later.”

Muttering something under your breath, you roll over and bury your face into your pillow, sighing as you think about the boy whose smile gave you more warmth than the sun could ever provide.

You’re in the midst of imagining how different today would’ve been if you hadn’t opened your dumb mouth when your phone rings and cuts off your thoughts. Reaching out for it, your mouth runs dry when you see the name displayed on your screen.

“Chan :)”

Your finger presses the decline button and your phone clatters against your bedside table as you decide that you are not ready to talk to Chan yet. And you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to talk to him, let alone face him.

A minute after declining the call, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and you shout out a “Go away!”, not wanting to hear anything related to Chan and how you need to stop being a coward. But as the knocking continues, getting louder as time passes, you start getting annoying and realise you have no choice but to open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, Chang-”

You cut yourself off as you take in the person standing in front of you with wide eyes, looking as handsome as ever even with the furious look painted on his face.

The silence is thick with tension, and you can’t help but avert your eyes, choosing to look at anything but the boy in front of you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Chan asks, voice quiet and flat. “I’ve been calling and texting you all morning.”

“Um, I-” you start, not knowing how to answer his question. You imagined your day going various ways, but this definitely wasn’t in your plans. “Did Changbin call you?”

“I asked,” he starts, walking towards you. You take a few steps a back, and continue walking backwards until your hands come into contact with your dresser. You were trapped. “Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?”

You blink rapidly, not used to this closed-off version of Chan. The usual warmth and softness in his eyes were missing, and instead all you saw was disappointment and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t easy to get the words out.

“Was it funny messing with me?” Chan continues, not breaking eye contact with you once. “To just get my hopes up and disappear like it all meant nothing?”

“W-what?”

“How was it so easy for you to just start ignoring me?”

“No I-”

“Is that all I mean to you?” And instead of the disappointment and anger, you see pure, unfiltered hurt, and that was enough for your walls to come crashing down. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the boy in front of you, and it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry.” Sobs wreck your body as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. “I-I’m so fucking sorry, Chan. I was scared.”

“Scared because you just said that in the spur of moment and you don’t actually mean it?”

“No, I was scared because I like you too fucking much!”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, and you continue staring at the floor, vision blur with stubborn tears that refuse to fall. And that’s when you hear it.

A chuckle.

It’s soft, and you would’ve missed it if not for the pin drop silence in the room.

You slowly lift your head up to confirm if you actually heard what you heard, or if you were hallucinating, when you see it.

Chan was smiling.

“Can’t believe it worked.”

What on earth did that mean?

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, sniffing softly.

“This was Changbin’s idea. For the record, I was against it.” Chan’s hands come up to rest on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears on your cheeks as he smiles softly at you. “I mean, of course I was hurt and worried. But I just wanted to come over and talk it over like a normal person.”

His smile widens as one hand continues cupping your face, while the other reaches to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He said you’ll never admit things unless I, uh, scared you a little.

You stare at Chan as the gears work in your head, putting the pieces of information. The moment the last piece clicks in place, you stare in shock at the boy standing in front of you with a sheepish smile.

“What the fuck?!” you yell, equal parts of relief and anger taking over your mind. “I fucking hate you!”

And with that you storm off towards your door, Chan chasing after you with apologies spilling from his mouth. But the both of you knew that you weren’t actually upset, which can be seen by the giggles accompanying every apology.

Just as you’re about to leave your room, you’re pulled back into warm arms, and you fight every urge to melt right into his embrace. His arms wrap around your frame tightly, but gently. You feel his strong heartbeat against your back, and it’s enough to make you shiver, goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“Do you hate me?” Chan asks, chin resting on your shoulder as you feel his breath tickle your neck.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Chan asks in amusement, lips against your ears and voice just above a whisper. “That’s a pity then. Because I like you too fucking much too.”

He whispers the last part of the sentence, making your knees go weak and your heartbeat pick up its pace as it usually does whenever the boy who stole your heart was involved.

You turn around in his arms to face him, sighing contentedly at how things ended up turning out. “I’m really sorry about the ghosting.”

“It’s okay, love,” Chan assures you, the pet name inducing butterflies in your stomach. “I would’ve been embarrassed too, if I had confessed to you when I was drunk.”

“I would’ve loved to see that.” You whine at the unfortunate circumstance of you confessing instead of Chan. “I probably looked like an idiot while confessing.”

“Since I’m your boyfriend, can I tell you a secret?” Chan teases, repeating what you said the night before with a little twist. Smacking his arm lightly for the jab, you nod with a laugh, ignoring the way your face heats up when he refers to himself as your boyfriend.

“I really wanted to kiss you when you were confessing.” There’s mirth in Chan’s eyes as he gazes at you the same way he did back at the restaurant. The only difference was that you knew he liked you back. And you had never been happier.

“Go for it.”

And that’s all the confirmation that Chan needs to lean down and press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss, as your hands rest on his chest, appreciating the strong beat his heart was playing.

You part a few seconds later, eyes still closed as a smile plays on both your lips, before you’re pulled for another kiss, this one more forceful than the one before. His lips press against yours harder, and his arms pull you closer—as close as you could be. You respond with equal fervor, pouring every emotion you have into the kiss, when you’re interrupted by a loud cough.

“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to bleach my eyes every time I see the two of you.”

Oh.

It completely slipped your mind that Changbin was just a few steps away from your room, and you want to crawl under your bed and befriend the monster there when you see the haughty smile on your best friend’s face.

“I think a thanks is in order.”

Removing yourself from Chan’s arms, you walk over to Changbin, who smiles wider when he realises you are walking towards him. Opening his arms to welcome you in for a hug, he can’t help but shriek when you start punching him everywhere possible.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!”

“That’s what you get for coming up with stupid ideas to get me to talk!” you snap at your best friend with words that carry no real bite. “Were you that desperate?”

“Clearly!” Changbin replies, exasperated. “It was getting depressing. He wouldn’t stop calling me because he was worried, and you were being a stubborn bitch!”

At his words, there’s a tinge of guilt that pinches at you when you realise the trouble you had put your best friend through.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say with a pout, burying your face into Changbin’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Changbin says with a soft smile. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but seeing his best friend who meant the world to him end up with someone who just as much deserved nothing but the best made him eternally grateful. “Now go smooch your boyfriend. We don’t want him becoming too jealous of the attention you’re giving me.”

“Oh, shut up,” is what Changbin gets in return, as Chan intertwines his hand with yours. Just as Changbin walks out of sight back to his room, Chan turns to you with the biggest smile.

“Now then, shall we go on a date to celebrate our first day?”

“Absolutely.”

And as you and Chan sit on the beach that evening, surrounded by sand and accompanied by the sound of the waves and the soft breeze with a orange hue enveloping you, you think:

Life had never been sweeter.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshot #skz x reader #skz fluff #chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #dee scribbles

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whimsicallyreading · 3 years

Text

An angsty one-shot for your day. I stayed up way too late to write this.

CW- drinking

Aelin keeps the letters stacked neatly on her desk.

Each letter is stamped, addressed, and ready to mail. In tiny marks on the back, she writes the date every individual one was written. The envelopes are his favorite shade of green. A deep, pine color that she’d painstakingly scoured every stationary shop to find.

Delicately, Aelin seals the latest envelope and adds it to the growing pile.

My Love,

It’s almost winter here in Orynth. I know it’s your favorite season and you are probably sad to miss out, so I took a Polaroid of the clouds coming in over the staghorns for you.

Do you remember how we’d sit in front of Mistward every year and watch the first snow storm come in over the peeks? We would drink hot chocolate and talk for hours. About our families, our futures, anything and everything. It’s still one of my favorite traditions.

In fact, it’s where I am right now. Writing this letter to you. Just because you are overseas doesn’t mean you get to bail out. I bought two hot chocolates, but I suppose I’ll have to drink yours for you. What a shame.

Writing to Rowan was her weekly tradition since he got deployed. No matter how busy life got, every Friday she wrote him two full pages front to back. Whether she got to sit at her desk or had to scribble against the rusty bench at the bus stop, every inch was covered in her hand writing.

That was her personal rule. They had to be handwritten. Aelin felt it meant more that every piece of the letter was entirely from her. So she keeps a collection of colored pens handy for whenever the urge to speak to her husband grows to be too much.

At the bottom of the last page, next to her signature, Aelin always kisses the paper with red lipstick. Maybe it’s cheesy, but it’s the same shade she wore at their wedding.

You could see the ghosts of the color along his jawline in their favorite photos together. His beaming smile, the smudges of red on his face and the collar of his white dress shirt. A remnant from the happiest day of her life she thought would bring him comfort.

My love,

Winter is here! It’s so cold outside. You would say it’s this frigid every year, but it just feels different this time. Maybe it’s because you aren’t hear to snuggle up with and your side of the bed is empty? You were always so warm.

I keep your slippers by the couch. They are ridiculously huge on my feet, but I swear they still feel like you just walked in them. Your warmth is still there.

You would laugh if you saw me hobbling around the apartment in them. My toes slide all over the place. Truthfully, your feet are atrociously large, dear- Still they remind me of you, so I love them.

Aelin gets home late from work that night.

Humiliated tears sting her cheeks, even as she rubs them away. The feeling of that creep, Cairn’s, hands lingering on her ass.

She was used to fending off handsy patrons. What bothered Aelin is that when she complained to her boss, Erawan, he publicly berated her for instigating the customers.

None of the other waitresses would meet her eye when she looked for back up. Grave, the bartender, sniggered through the entire dressing down. Aelin could still feel their eyes on her skin as Erawan accused her of being provocative.

Rowan would have demanded she quit the job. He would have marched down to the bar and broken Cairn’s face. Possibly even held him back so Aelin could do it herself.

Aelin needs the money, though. Rowan’s accounts were frozen due to some stupid technicality at the bank. Without her paycheck, she would lose the apartment.

Sniffling, Aelin slides her feet into Rowan’s slippers and plops at her desk. It isn’t Friday yet, but she’s desperate to speak to him.

As her hand flows across the paper, Aelin knows she won’t describe the days events to him. He’s under enough stress without her work drama adding to his worries.

My love,

Yulemas is next week. Aedion is in Caraverre with Lysandra and our new nephew. Lorcan and Elide are going up from Perranth to stay with them, but the roads are so frozen in Orynth I may just stay here this year.

Besides, work is busy right now. They need someone to man the place for the people with nowhere to go for the holidays.

Maybe I’ll host a little celebration at the bar. Like we did that one year when we got stuck in the Hostel in Rifthold. We made the best of a bad situation, and it was the first time you told me you loved me. I think I’d like to relive a little of that this year.

I miss you. Please come home.

Aelin lays in her bed the night before Yulemas and sobs.

Ugly, guttural noises spill from her chest and she soaks their pillows with tears. The newest envelope is clutched against her chest, and the building stacks mock her from their spot across the room.

Her heart is so raw. Aelin knew it was a bad idea to count the letters, but there was so many. Curiosity got the better of her, and now she was bleeding for her mistake.

Fifty-six.

A full year of letters she hadn’t been able to send.

Rowan had only ever written her twenty before he was declared missing in action.

A year ago, she’d been hanging bobbles and decorating a tree knowing her husband only had a few weeks left of his tour.

Aelin had painted a welcome home banner, and her whole family made plans to come and spend the holiday with the soon-to-be-reunited couple.

She had his slippers waiting by the door. Rowan’s favorite blanket was laundered and folded on his side of the bed in case he wanted to lay down. Aelin had it on good authority that the bed would be one of the first places they visited when he arrived. Emerys had even given her a mixture of their favorite hot chocolate to make.

Everything was perfectly in place for his return.

That’s what when the soldiers arrived at her door and her world fell apart.

Lorcan came home a week later. He hugged Elide and she cried into his shoulder. Happy tears. So unlike the ones Aelin had been shedding. Her friend beamed ear-to-ear, as the love of her life gathered her into his arms and squeezed.

It was a touching sight, but Aelin could feel the hot knife being twisted in her chest. Elide’s happiness caused her physical pain, and it made her feel so selfish. She didn’t begrudge Lorcan his life, or Elide her joy- Aelin just missed her own husband.

Elide and Lorcan spent Yulemas together. Kissing and holding hands. Lysandra finally announced her pregnancy. Aedion’s expression when he opened the box with the baby onesie inside was priceless. Her cousin whooped and hollered, almost dancing with the prospect of becoming a father.

Aelin smiled. She gave her congratulations and celebrated with her family. They hugged, and laughed. Aedion took care to include her in everything, and she played her part even as she tried to ignore the concerned looks her family exchanged behind her back.

Aelin made it to lunch before she couldn’t take it anymore.

Fenrys was the one to find her having a panic attack on the bathroom floor. She hadn’t even known it was a panic attack. Aelin just assumed the pain of losing her soulmate was finally killing her. The tightening of her chest and the body aches felt enough like a heart attack to be convincing.

He gathered Aelin in his arms and counted breaths with her. His twin brother Connal was lost in the same fight where Rowan had gone down. Fen had seen the whole thing from the cockpit of his plain, and nothing he did could’ve saved them.

He shared his pain, and for the first time Aelin felt like someone understood her.

Fenrys let her lean on him as they excused themselves from the celebrations. They drove to some bar in Caraverre and spent the rest of the day wallowing over whiskey.

Aedion came to collect their drunken asses later that evening. Worry etched into every line of his kind face. It only made her feel ashamed that she’d rained all over their happy day.

He was going to be a father, and she’d forced him to spend his time fretting over her instead of reveling in that news.

Now here she was a year later. Aelin wasn’t going to subject herself to that again. Couldn’t. She wouldn’t force her grief upon anyone else this year, either. Just because she was hurting didn’t mean that everyone else had to suffer with her.

So, as Yulemas Eve came, and before she could finally distract herself with work, Aelin pulled Rowan’s blanket over herself. She’d spritzed it with his cologne, donned his shirt, and pulled his socks over her feet. Aelin did everything she could to feel surrounded by him.

Then, alone in their bed, she watched as the clock ticked down to midnight.

Rowan,

Wherever you are, I hope my words reach you and that you know you aren’t alone. I wish with every ounce of my being that I could trade places with you- would give anything, just to know where you are.

It breaks my heart, to be without you. Every breath seems pointless. I lied in my last letter. The roads aren’t frozen. I’m not needed at work. No one really needs me to be around them. I just couldn’t spend another holiday surrounded by happy people when the other half of my heart is gone from me.

When you come home, I will feel like celebrating again. I’ll wrap my arms around you, and we can make up for lost time. Just please, don’t make me wait too much longer.

Merry Yulemas, my love. We will be together again one day.

Until then, I’ll keep on writing, only so long as you don’t yield.

Sincerely, your loving wife

Aelin

#throne of glass #rowaelin #fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #aelin #rowan #angst fic #write me #one shot #tog fanfiction #tog

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seriouslysnape · 4 years

Note

Hi i would like to request severus x reader where its their first time together and reader guides sev bc he‘s a virgin ?

Okay, so I’ve been putting this one off. It’s such a good idea, I wasn’t sure how to tackle it. However, I’ve been thinking on it for a few days, and I think I did this request justice!

A Fast Learner

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 3,066

“Shh. It’s okay.”

He had become very self conscious about it over the years. Well, he was self conscious about a lot of things, but especially something like this. It was embarrassing that he had made it this far in life and had never been intimate with someone. He knew it was mainly his own fault. He had spent his life saving himself for someone who wasn’t even around anymore, and someone who never loved him the way he did her.

Now, he was well into his adulthood years and he had yet to have sex with anyone. He had quite honestly accepted long ago that he’d never allow anyone to take his virginity. To most people, a person at his age with their so-called “v-card” still intact was odd and even a bit weird. Even if he did find someone he cared enough about, he would have NO idea what to do and it would be so off-putting that they’d likely run for the hills. Severus, as disappointed as he was, was convinced he’d live out the rest of his days as a virgin.

That was until he fell in love with you.

He admittedly didn’t expect it. You seemed rather average to him in the beginning. He failed to see how you were any different than anybody else he had ever encountered. The more time he spent with you, though, the more he saw in you. You were probably one of the most patient and understanding people he had ever met. You were an efficient communicator and an even better listener. You were a picture perfect person. He eventually found himself in a relationship with you that exceeded having dinner and private talks in each other’s offices.

For the first time in Severus Snape’s life, he had a steady girlfriend.

As thrilling and exciting as that was, it also caused a whole new set of worries for him. Having a girlfriend meant that he was going to have to be fully intimate at some point. It wasn’t something he could keep putting off the way he had been. You had a gut feeling that Severus had never had sex before. At first, you brushed his hesitation off to just being nervous. However, you began to notice the way he visibly would shrink away any time your make out sessions began to heat up. If nothing else, it explained why your relationship seemed to move at an aggravatingly tortuous pace.

He’d become fidgety when you tried to reach for his belt or when your giggles turned into breathy moans. He would simmer down the situation before it could ever evolve into more, which he hated to do. He knew you were dismayed whenever he did so. You were a beautiful, young woman who had needs. It wasn’t fair that you had to push your needs aside because of him. He definitely didn’t want you to begin to think that it had something to do with you.

He had never told you upfront that he was a virgin, and he hoped that maybe he would never have to. Whenever he did build up the courage to make love, perhaps he could get away with not saying anything. That dream was rather short lived when you finally questioned him one night after he turned you away once more.

You had been snuggled up next to him on the sofa in his living quarters, just chatting after a long day when your kisses became a little more heated and you ultimately ended up in his lap. Your knees were on either side of him so you were in a straddle position, kissing him with passion and desire. He kissed back as always, but you could feel the hint of uncertainty as his lips worked with yours. You kept in mind that this was usually the part where he’d stop you or get himself out of it. Still, you rolled your hips downwards into his crotch, your fingers finding his belt and beginning to unbuckle it.

As expected, he stopped kissing you and gently gripped your wrist. That was his signal for you to stop, to which you would normally just smile reassuringly and move on. However, you pulled your hand from his grasp and rested both of them on his shoulders.

You were intently looking at him, reading his guilt-stricken expression.

“Severus,” You began; “Is there something you want to tell me?”

He knew exactly what you meant. It was only a matter of time before you began to question him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He said, letting the lie slip through his teeth.

You never averted your eyes from him. He wasn’t leaving until you obtained some answers. You wrapped a lock of his charcoal colored hair around your finger and twirled it mildly.

“Most men barely wait for their girlfriend to make a move on them. With you, it seems like you don’t want me like that.” You pointed out.

Severus was quick to answer, because this was exactly the thing he didn’t want you to think.

“No, no. I do. I really do.” He said truthfully.

Make no mistake, Severus did want to have that level of intimacy with you. He just couldn’t push himself to that point. He never wanted to disappoint you in any way, and he just knew his skills were probably little to none. You were confused at his response.

“Then why do you always push me away when I try?” You queried.

He sighed heavily. It was a fair question for you to ask. He would’ve probably asked the same if he were in your shoes. It was humiliating, but he knew he couldn’t hide it any longer. He took a breath and told you that he was a virgin. He half expected you to get up and walk out or go tell every living soul you knew. Instead, you smiled kindly and let out a soft laugh that wasn’t at all intended to be a mock towards his confession. He clenched his teeth as he awaited your reply. You moved your right hand to cup the side of his face.

“Oh, Severus...is that all?” You asked sweetly.

A feeling of surprise and relief fizzled through his body. He had been waiting for a much heavier, dramatic reaction.

“Well, I...it’s not really something I thought I’d ever tell you.” He explained, avoiding your gaze.

“You didn’t think you could keep it from me forever, did you?” You wondered. He didn’t respond, so you went on; “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I can help you.”

He let out an irritated huff. You could tell he was beyond embarrassed.

“You shouldn’t have to.” He said.

You kissed his forehead, encouraging him to embrace the situation a little.

“I want to. It’ll benefit more than just me. Your first time should be special. I want to make it special,” You acknowledged; “But only if you want to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He was at a crossroads here. He wanted to do this, but he was still nervous. There were a million ways he could go wrong and mess up, but he also never thought there’d be anyone willing to offer a hand to him as an adult virgin. He realized that he loved you too much to keep treating you this way...so he agreed. He couldn’t help but nervously chuckle at your blinding smile. You were eager to teach him. He’d be a master in no time.

“I promise we’ll go slow.” You declared, whipping your shirt off of your head.

Severus felt a surge of heat go through his body at your breasts that were now VERY prevalent to him. His eyes widened and his stare lingered on them like a kid in a candy store. He looked over the black, lacy material of your bra and how it perfectly accented them. His cheeks burned a fiery red that he tried to hide, but to no avail. You bit your bottom lip to hold back a smile.

“Blushing already, Professor?” You asked teasingly.

If he was already this flustered, you couldn’t wait to see him when you got to the good stuff. His eyes snapped back to yours, he sheepishly apologized.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You hushed him, putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

You took his hands, bringing them around to your back. You maneuvered his fingers to unclasp your bra, and you slowly pushed the straps down your arms until it fell to the floor. His cheeks turned a darker shade of red now that you were fully exposed to him. He didn’t even try to confine his stare now. You spoke softly.

“You can touch them if you want.” You granted.

“Touch them?” He asked.

You giggled lightly.

“Yeah, S. With your hands...or your mouth.”

He decided to go with the first option, not confident enough in his skills yet. His hands were trembling a tad, as he brought them up to your chest. He was awkward at first, sort of just fondling with them in an amateurish way. Your nipples grew hard at the feeling of his large hands on your soft skin. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he leaned forward and took one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucked firmly and swirled his tongue over your breast. A satisfied gasp fell from your lips, startling him and causing him to stop.

“Are you alright? Did that hurt?” He asked frantically.

You let out another laugh.

“Sev, I was moaning.” You told him.

He shyly grinned.

“Oh.”

He took your nipple into his mouth again, his confidence slowly but surely beginning to build. You brought a hand to the back of his head.

“Kiss my neck.” You instructed.

He nodded, moving his lips up to your neck and kissed where you guided his head to go. You grinded your hips down onto his lap, a groan falling from his throat. You could feel his growing erection through his pants. You smirked, knowing the real show was about to begin.

“Let’s move to the bedroom.” You said, persuading him up from the sofa.

You took him by the hand, leading him to his large bed. You debated for a moment over what the best approach to this was. You thought for a minute that maybe it would be best if he stayed on the bed and you rode him, but you figured that he wouldn’t learn much out of that, however it would be pleasurable for him. You wanted his first time to be special, as you had previously mentioned. You decided to go traditional missionary, that way you could talk him through it.

You laid on your back, laughing at the way Severus was ogling over you. You motioned for him with your finger, and he timidly climbed onto the bed. He instinctively placed one of his knees on either side of you, which was a good start.

“Move down a little.” You requested.

He shifted down a bit so you could unfasten his belt and his pants. He helped you get them off, throwing them aside. You did away with your skirt and panties, now fully naked in front of him. He was fully hard now, your hand palming at his evident erection. He let out a soft groan, feeling amazed at how he had never been touched by anyone else like this before.

He sprang free once his boxers were thrown aside to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Your eyes gazed at his length, raking him over. You snapped out of your trance, taking him into your hand. You stroked slowly and softly, just enough so he could see how it felt.

You knew this was going to be a tedious process for the first time, you didn’t want to completely overwhelm him and ruin it for him. He let out a stuttered sigh at the feeling of his dick in your hand. He had of course rubbed himself like this before, but it was totally different when it was being done to him. His sounds were alone enough to make your sex become slick with wetness, but you reached for one of his free hands.

“Take these two fingers,” You said, pushing his side three fingers down, just leaving his middle and ring finger. You brought his fingers to your heated sex; “Now, just gently-”

You were stunned when he began rubbing in circles, slowly but firmly. You wriggled underneath him, not prepared for him to do it so well. You let out a groan at the waves of pleasure building through you, he kept his eyes on you with a rather concerned expression. He was still afraid of hurting you or messing up.

You stopped stroking him, taking his wrist and directing his fingers towards your clit. He knew he had hit the spot when you breathed out his name in a way he had never heard you before.

“Severus...” You exhaled.

He felt a burst of pride. Maybe he really could get the hang of this. He could feel the wetness spreading around his fingers, which is when you knew to stop him and move on with your instructions. You were beginning to realize that Severus was a fast learner. He’d have this in no time. You were a little breathless now, which swelled him with even more confidence.

“Take one of my legs and wrap it around your waist.” You said.

He took your right thigh into his hand, securing and hooking your leg around him. He noted that was how he’d be sure that you wouldn’t get too far from him. He was beginning to put pieces together.

“Okay, when you’re ready just push yourself in. Go slow at first.” You said, lining him up with your entrance.

His tip just barely was touching you, he looked to you, stricken with a bit of panic.

“[Y/N], I don’t want to hurt you.” He said, registering that this was the part he was most scared of.

You shook your head. Half in desperation for him and half to reassure him. You put his hands on your hips so he’d be steady once he did start to move.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Sev. I promise,” You said truthfully; “Just go at your pace. I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

You knew it wouldn’t, but it made him feel better to hear you say it. He took a breath, and leisurely pushed himself in as far as he could. You both let out a synchronous moan. He didn’t move for a second, wrapping his head around how damn good this felt. You didn’t expect him to stretch and fill you the way he did, so you were a little scattered when you spoke next.

“S-Sev, pull out a little, and then go back in again.” You said.

He gingerly pulled out, and went back in. He watched each time he moved in and out. He saw the way your eyelashes fluttered each time he went back in, and how your grip on his bicep tightened. You weren’t used to such a slow speed, but you didn’t want him to go fast if he didn’t feel like he could yet. However, you did try to convince him to pick it up a little.

“A little faster. If you want.” You said, really hoping he’d get the hint.

He did get it, and began to rock his hips faster, filling in the pauses that he had been taking between tortuous thrusts. He had figured out a rhythm now, his movements becoming monotonous, but gloriously good. He watched as your breasts bounced each time he pounded back into you, and how your mouth fell open with noises that were music to his ears.

You knew Severus was getting the hang of it, so you gave him another request.

“Take my leg and put it on your shoulder.”

He gave you a puzzled look, thinking that there was no way that would actually do anything. Still, he draped your leg over his shoulder and he thought he might just collapse. He was slamming into you at a new angle that was a total game changer, and created a whole new feeling of pleasure.

He knew sex was supposed to feel good, but he never thought it would feel THIS good. It was a bit of an accident, but he rotated his hips and you let out a high-pitched shriek that even he couldn’t mistake as a bad sound. You smirked at how he was now hitting your sensitive spot each time he went back in.

“Severus, you feel so good. Holy- yes, that’s perfect.” You cried out.

He didn’t dare speed up or slow down, if he had it right, he wasn’t going to mess with it. He continued to pound into you, alerted when he felt himself twitch inside of you. He assumed that meant that something was happening. Your own inner coil was growing hot, which was a delight to you, because you honestly weren’t sure at first if you would even finish since it was his first time. You arched your back to meet his thrusts, both of your releases coming quickly.

“Darling, I think I’m about to-” He was cut off by another one of your moans.

He felt the muscles in your leg contract, as you came around him. He thrusted a few more times before he did as well. A flash flood crashed over every nerve in his body. Your arms rested above your head as your chest heaved with each inhale. He slid out of you, falling next to you on the mattress. His head was spinning.

He had just lost his virginity. Something he had kept so private and locked away. He thought that maybe he’d be a little sad, but he wasn’t. He was beyond joyed to have lost it to someone he cared about so much. He leaned over, kissing your neck and nibbling on your earlobe.

“How...how was that?” He asked, a little apprehensive to hear your answer.

You looked over at him, a flashy smile and a voice full of honesty.

“Severus Snape,” You said; “You are one fast learner.”

#severus snape #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x reader #severus #professor snape #professor snape x reader #professor snape x you #Harry Potter #harry potter snape #seriouslysnape

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,040)

(first part) (second part) (fourth part)

--------------------

Part Three

She knocks twice before opening the door, and he barely has time to look up before she’s there. Slightly hesitant, perhaps, but the look on her face is one of resolve as she steps into the room, and nudges the door closed behind her.

It takes a second to find his voice. He can’t remember if she’s ever visited him here. Surely she has, at one point or another. Anyone is free to come find him whenever they choose. He makes himself available, or at least, as available as he can be. The door is never locked, and he is always here.

“Niki?” he asks. “Is something wrong?” He puts down his pen. He hadn’t actually been using it, had instead been twirling it between his fingers and staring off into space. He finds himself doing that incredibly often, and sometimes, he catches himself wondering if it’s worth getting out of bed at all, if that’s all he’s going to do with his time.

She smiles at him, then, but like so many of the smiles she’s directed towards him lately, it seems strained, thin, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Not for me,” she says. “But I would like to talk to you for a little while, if that would be okay?”

She’s already reaching for a chair, one of the ones he keeps in here, set up so that he can carry out meetings across this desk. None of them are very comfortable, but before he can offer to find her a better one—there has to be one somewhere in this building—she is sitting, perching on the edge, crossing one leg over the other and resting her forearms on her thigh.

Anxiety is already rising. He doesn’t know why she’d come here, doesn’t know what she’d want to talk about, if nothing is wrong on her end of things. Not with that look on her face. Except, there was the whole thing yesterday, and he was very rude to all of them, so perhaps that’s the subject matter. He gave an apology, but it was rushed, and then he all but ran away. He wouldn’t blame her if she had a piece to say on that, little though he wants to discuss it.

So perhaps he should go ahead and get in on it.

“About yesterday—” he starts, but she’s saying the exact same thing, almost in unison, so he cuts off. But she does too, and for a second, they just stare at each other, neither sure how to proceed.

“Go on,” Niki says, after a moment, and he nods, somewhat tentative.

“Right. I just wanted to say, about yesterday, I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lose my temper there. I was just feeling a bit stressed, ended up snapping. But I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything you did.”

Niki draws in a breath. He can see her steeling herself, visibly, and his trepidation grows; what could she possibly have to say to him that would take so much mental preparation?

“I accept your apology,” she says, “but, actually Wilbur, I wanted to apologize to you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I pushed you yesterday, even when it was pretty obvious you weren’t feeling comfortable talking about it,” she says. “I think—I think we do need to talk about some things, and that’s why I’m here, but I shouldn’t have confronted you like I did. Especially in front of others, since it was a conversation that we had with just each other. So I’m very sorry about that.”

He isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Some part of him feels a bit mollified, because it is true that he felt uncomfortable with the direction the conversation took. But at the same time, that doesn’t really excuse how he reacted to it. He could have handled it better. Should have handled it better, in fact.

“Oh,” he says, and scrambles for something else. Talking is his thing, is what he’s good at. He can’t just be saying oh to people. He needs a response. Needs to be well-spoken, eloquent, because that’s what is expected of him, and he has to fulfill expectations. “Well, that’s alright, then. You really don’t have anything you need to apologize for.”

She frowns. Why did that make her frown? What did he say?

“Okay,” she says, and that doesn’t help him figure it out at all. “Would you mind if we talked about something, though?”

He doesn’t know what else she would want to talk about. At least, not like this. Not coming to his office, expression serious, body language tense. Not saying this, that nothing is wrong with her—because if she doesn’t have a problem of some kind, he doesn’t know why she would be acting this way. Unless there’s another problem with him. Or she thinks there’s another problem with him. But—no, he’s been doing well, lately. Yesterday’s outburst aside, he’s made all of his recent meetings, he’s finished all the paperwork that urgently needed to be done, and he’s been meticulous about his appearance.

Mostly. His coat still hasn’t made it into the wash. But he’s done everything that he’s had the time and energy for, and he thought that it was all holding up.

“Of course,” he says. “What is it?”

She draws in another breath. That’s the second time, now, that she’s steadied herself in so obvious a fashion.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’d really, really like it if you’d answer me truthfully,” she says, and he can feel his pulse quickening already. “Wil, are you alright?”

She puts a strange sort of emphasis on the final word. He’s not sure why. For a second, he’s lost, adrift, has no idea at all how to answer, because—because of course he’s alright. He’s fine. Just fine. He’s keeping his head above water, steering clear of the circling sharks, and that’s what’s most important. So why do the words linger in his mouth before he can force them out? Why does it take so much effort?

No. He needs to pull himself together.

“Yes,” he says. “Niki, I’m perfectly well.”

Her face crumples. He jolts, hand jerking forward, his instinct to comfort her, but his desk is in the way.

“Wil,” she says, voice soft. “You’re not sleeping.”

The way she says it, so frankly, so matter-of-fact, as if she knows, takes him aback.

“I—” he starts, but she’s already gone on.

“Your eyes are always bloodshot, and I know I joked about the bags under them, but—they’re really bad. Really dark. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes, when you walk, you kind of—sway, a little bit. Like you’re too tired to stay upright properly.”

He hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t—that can’t possibly be right, can it? Because it’s true, he’s not getting as much sleep as he would like, but it can’t be that bad. It’s not as if he never sleeps at all. So it can’t be that bad. Can’t be that noticeable. Niki has to be looking too hard, jumping at shadows that aren’t there, because the alternative is worse. Is unthinkable.

Because if what she’s saying is true, who else has seen?

“I sleep,” he refutes, but it sounds weak to his own ears. Meek. And Niki shakes her head.

“Not enough,” she says. “And—” She cuts off. And then, she reaches out for him. He watches as she closes her fingers around his wrist, feeling almost outside of himself. His head is buzzing. “Wil, you’re too skinny. I’m really worried that you’re not eating enough.”

He eats. He does. Maybe not a lot, since food has become increasingly hard to choke down—this morning, for instance, he tried, and almost threw it all back up on the spot. But he does eat. And it’s not like he wouldn’t, if he could. He just sort of—can’t. Not much, at any rate. But it’s not as though he doesn’t eat at all.

“I think you might be reading too much into things, there,” he says, and tries a smile. “I eat, I promise. How could I not, with you around?”

“You’ve been by twice in as many weeks,” Niki states. “And both times, you left in a hurry, before I could give you much of anything at all, because the conversation turned to something you didn’t want to talk about. No, you can’t tell me I’m wrong,” she adds, raising a finger at him. He leans back, away from it. “I’m not wrong. That’s why you left. Both times. And I—I really am sorry, Wil, if this isn’t something you want to talk about. If you don’t feel comfortable with it. I don’t want to hurt you, or pressure you, or anything like that. But I’m scared you’re hurting yourself.”

She’s—what.

Now that—that truly is a ludicrous idea. That is—

No. He wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t—by itself, the risk of someone noticing is more than enough to dissuade him, though—he is self-aware enough to realize that if that’s his first reason for—abstaining, then that might not be a good sign. Of. Things. He’ll think about it later.

Or not. Or maybe never. This seems like a good thing to not think about, actually.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of,” Niki says, and he’s left it too long again. Too long without a reply. He keeps doing that, keeps getting lost in his own head. He needs to stay more present, needs to keep his head in the game. It’s just hard, when everything feels so far away, when he’s constantly thinking through a thick fog. “Not unless—not unless you are, but—”

She sounds like she might actually cry, at that, and that is enough to force him to focus.

“I’m not,” he says, and to his relief, his voice comes out firm, steady. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she says. “That’s good. I’m—I’m really glad. But—you’re overworking yourself. You’re not sleeping or eating enough, and you’re always in here, and that’s—none of it’s good for you. None of it is healthy. And then, your hair—”

Annoyance bubbles up. Just a bit.

“Do we have to be on about that again?” he asks. “We’ve been through this. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know you don’t think it is,” she says. “But I’ve heard about things like this, Wil. It’s not that—it’s not that it looks bad, or anything like that. It’s just that hair doesn’t do that without a reason. Not when you’re twenty-four years old. That’s why I keep bringing it up. You’re stressed, even if you try to deny it.”

“And what if I am?” he asks. “It’s a stressful job. I’m running a nation here. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing my job.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Niki says. “Who—I know you’re capable. I never said that you weren’t.”

He may have overplayed his hand a bit, with that one. There’s a bit of confusion in her tone now, where there wasn’t before, stacked on top of an increasing amount of worry. He’s not doing very good work of assuaging her concerns. But even still, this conversation is bothering him, now. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep a straight face, and he brings his hands together, folding them on top of his desk. Her hand falls away from his wrist, and—it’s because he’s so tired, that he has to catch himself before he grabs it, moves it back to where it was. He’s not that needy.

“Then I’m not quite sure that I understand the point of this,” he says, and tries his best not to bite out the words. Just because his temper is on a short fuse doesn’t mean that he can take it out on Niki. She’s just trying to help him. “I am stressed, it’s true. But it’s not as if there’s anything to be done about that. And as I’ve been saying, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“The point is that you’re working yourself into the ground!” Niki says, her eyes flashing. “It doesn’t matter if you can handle it, it’s about whether you should!”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he snaps. “Aren’t I the president? Isn’t this my job?”

“Not if it costs you this much!” she snaps back.

And—she doesn’t mean it like that. He’s almost certain that she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t mean it like it came out, doesn’t mean she thinks he shouldn’t be president. The thing is, he would accept it, if that were the case. If his people banded together and decided that someone else would do a better job than him. If they thought he was no longer deserving of the position. He would accept it. He would step down, retire to private citizenship. He just doesn’t know what he would do afterward. Doesn’t know what he would do with himself, if the country he founded decided he was no longer good enough for them.

But of course, he has never been good enough. Not really. He’s hanging onto his pretense by bloody fingertips.

Has Niki realized it?

“It’s not worth it if this is what it does to you,” Niki continues, voice softer. “Nothing is. Nothing matters if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

He doesn’t—that’s not right. It can’t be right, because the country is more important. L’Manberg is more important, has been since the day they declared their independence, staked everything on a van and a dream. He started it, and so it is up to him to continue it, because the prosperity of his people must come first. His nation must come first.

What is he, in the face of that?

For a second, Niki goes blurry. He blinks, hard, and she comes back into focus, but his eyes are prickling. Stinging. His chest has gone tight, his breaths coming shorter, and he doesn’t want this. This can’t be happening now. He needs to—to shove it all away, down in a box, never to see the light of day. Only to be opened when he’s alone, in his quarters, safely ensconced where there is no one else to watch him break down. No one else to watch his shame.

He’s not doing this in front of Niki.

And yet, the sensation doesn’t subside, so he stands abruptly, surprising her, he thinks, and he walks to the window, shoving the curtains away and staring out over what he can see of the country from here. It’s not much; the window is not very big, but he can see the walls, the black and yellow ramparts. Standing tall, standing strong. This is why he does this, why he works so hard, why he refuses to show vulnerability. This is why. This is what he is protecting, what he must continue to protect, for as long as he is allowed.

His eyes sting again, the world wavering. There is a sob trapped behind his ribcage, clawing at him, trying to tear him open. He breathes, deeply, and doesn’t let it. Now is not the time, and here is not the place, and he will not lose his composure. He will not. Not over—and what is he reacting to in the first place? Niki’s words? He has no real reason for the tears welling up. He’s just weak. Emotionally. That’s what this is. And that’s why he can’t let it show.

Another deep breath. He pretends it doesn’t shake.

“Wil?” Niki asks. Behind him, now, and he doesn’t turn to look back at her.

“L’Manberg is worth everything,” he says. “You do understand that, right?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“I love L’Manberg,” Niki says. “We all love L’Manberg. But we don’t love it more than we love you.”

He winces, and he’s glad he’s turned away from her, glad she didn’t see.

Perhaps she believes that’s the truth. But it can’t possibly be. He could understand them loving him in connection to loving L’Manberg, this city, this nation, this wonderful place that they’ve built together, that he’s poured his sweat and blood and tears into. He and L’Manberg are irrevocably intertwined, and he could understand loving him, simply by virtue of loving the other. But separately? He hasn’t done anything. L’Manberg is his crowning achievement; besides that, what does he have to offer people? What reason? What virtue?

In a way, he is L’Manberg, and he cannot remove himself from it, no more than a bird can remove its own wings.

“Wil?” Niki says. Her voice has gone sharp. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, he lies, and—his voice breaks. Just a little bit. It would probably be unnoticeable, if the circumstances were any different. If Niki weren’t already paying so much attention to him, scrutinizing him, spotlight turned up to its maximum brightness. Like he’s on stage, and she’s in the audience, and he’s fumbled the line and she’s only noticed because she knows how the play is supposed to go.

Metaphors. Spiraling away from him. Just like this conversation.

“Wil,” Niki says again, more insistent. And closer. She’s stood up, stepped toward him. He still doesn’t turn, because the prickling has only gotten worse, and he’s scared to blink, lest that send the tears spilling over. If she looks at his face, she’ll see them. There’s no avoiding that. “Wil, please. Don’t lie to me.”

Ah. She knows.

He’s not sure why that’s the thing that breaks him. Why that’s the thing that pushes it all over into being too much.

The sob escapes.

Only partially; he tamps down on it on instinct, and his fist flies up to his mouth. Habit, that, to muffle his sounds. But that almost makes it worse, because the sob comes out sounding not quite like a sob, but instead more of a strangled whimper, bit off and weak, like the dying call of some small, hapless animal.

He doesn’t let another one out. He presses his fist against his lips, though he doesn’t part them, doesn’t bite down. But the damage has already been done, and then, Niki is there, right by his side, and he doesn’t dare to look directly at her, but he can imagine what expression she’s making. Some variation on the same one she’s had this whole time. Concern, deep and abiding and wholly undeserved, wholly unneeded.

“Hey,” she says. “Please talk to me. What is it? What can I do?”

His throat is too thick, too clogged. He has no hope of evening out his voice.

“You could go,” he manages, hoarse. Blunt, and he hopes she doesn’t mistake it as anger. He’s not angry. Not at her, at least. “I might need a moment?”

He didn’t mean for that to be a question. But Niki just steps closer, shaking her head.

“I’ll do anything other than that,” she says. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not if—oh, Wil.”

She has a good angle, now, to see his face fully. So the jig is up, and he knows there’s no hope of getting her to leave now. That’s how Niki is. Too kind. Too caring. And sure enough, she reaches out toward him in the next moment, and his usual reaction would be to flinch away, but instead, he just watches through obscured vision as her hand nears his face, and cups his cheek, tilting his head toward her.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. Part of him wants to jerk away from the contact, and part of him wants to stay there forever. Or for a good, long time, at least. Just because it really is nice to be touched in a way that is not meant to harm him.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.” But he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, so he blinks, and there go the first tears. Dripping down, out in the open, no disguising them. There are more sobs building up, but these, he forces down, keeps in his chest, out of his throat. Even if it makes his breathing unsteady, makes his chest jump and hitch every few seconds, it’s better than the alternative.

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “If it’s hurting you, then it’s not nothing. Please believe me.”

He can’t. He can’t do that. Not even for her sake.

“Is it what I said?” she asks. “I swear, I’m not angry with you. I just want to help.”

He shudders, and turns his face away from her. Her hand falls from him.

“Is it—is it that?” she asks, and oh, how he wishes she wouldn’t. “Why does that upset you?”

He—he can’t. He can’t answer that. He can’t talk about this. He can’t.

“If you would—if you would rather I go get someone else, I could do that,” Niki says, slowly, and he can tell that it pains her. He might be hurting her feelings, with this. He wishes he could explain that it’s not her in particular that he can’t trust with this. It’s everyone.

For a moment, he entertains taking her up on the offer, if only because she would have to leave to retrieve someone, which would give him time to escape his office and go—where? Where would he go? To his room, to scream into his pillow once again? A bit late for that. And the idea is foolish anyhow; she doesn’t need to leave at all, can just talk to someone on her communicator and stay with him until they arrive, and no, absolutely not. He doesn’t want that. As bad as this is, as shit as he feels right now, he doesn’t want anyone else to see. It’s bad enough that it’s Niki but—what if it were Tubbo, or Tommy? One of the people who looks up to him as an example and not just a friend or brother?

No. Bad enough that it’s Niki, but better her than someone else, and he’s done it again, has taken too long to respond because his brain refuses to think any faster than a slow, plodding pace, a trot rather than a gallop, and—

“Please don’t,” he says, and it comes out both whisper and plea. And then, because he has to try again, because he won’t be satisfied unless he does, he says, “Really, I just need—a moment. It happens sometimes, it’s fine, but if we could maybe pick this up later—”

“I’m not leaving you while you’re crying,” Niki says. “Please get that through your head.”

“But you should,” he says. He fights to get the words out past the lump in his throats, past the pressure that continues to build up. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. And I’m fine, because I can, I’m used to it. So if you’ll just give me a minute, I can—I can compose myself, and we can keep on.” He bites out each word, wary of letting something loose that he doesn’t want to, but that has the downside of airing his frustration again. He’s not trying to snap at her, he really isn’t, but better that than to dissolve into full-on crying. A few tears are manageable. He can get this back under control.

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “why on earth do you think you’re something that I have to deal with?”

He looks at her again, something in her tone compelling him. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

And this is not going to be the right answer, not going to be what she’s looking for, but he’s so worn out that he just—

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Oh,” Niki says. “Oh. No, Wil, no, that’s not right. You’re not—is this why you haven’t told anyone? Because you’re—oh, Prime, Wil. You’re not something I have to ‘deal’ with. You’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.” And before he can even begin to think of how to respond to that, she steps forward, and then her arms are around him, and she’s hugging him.

That’s when his knees decide to buckle.

“Oh, shit,” Niki says, but she guides them both down to the floor, so that they’re kneeling, kneeling and she’s still hugging him, still has her hands splayed on his back. “Okay, you’re okay. Are you with me, Wil?”

He intends to say yes. What comes out instead is a small, “Mhm.” Not even a word. And he’d be angry with himself, except all of a sudden, his chest is heaving, and the tears are coming quicker, and scrunching up his eyes doesn’t help, and it sort of hurts, now, to hold back the sobs that want to wrench out of him, hurts in his ribs. And he’s shaking, and despite all of that, he’s starting to feel cloudy again, distant from himself, and with that realization comes another: at this point, he’s lost control. His body has decided to shut down on him, and he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.

The sobs start coming out. Loud, broken things, like shards of glass twisted and half-melted until there’s no putting the pieces back together the same.

His mind feels detached. Impartial. Numb. So he no longer bothers to try and stop it. Just floats, a bystander within himself, as he has a complete break down on the floor of his office, with Niki holding him.

He’s not sure how long it takes for the tears to stop. He’s not counting. Not taking notice of much of anything, really. His body wears itself out, and he’s left there, slumped against her, like an empty shell.

She’s been talking to him this whole time, a stream of platitudes, comfort words, tumbling after one another, but now, she stops. For a moment, there is silence. He can hear himself breathing, rough and ragged.

“Hey,” Niki says. “Are you still here?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. He doesn’t feel very present, and frankly, he likes it that way, right this second. If he were feeling any more present, he’d be dealing with far more than he thinks he’s equipped for. But he is here physically, and he has enough presence of mind to respond to her, at least, even if it all feels so very far away, and he is so very tired.

He has been this tired all along, he thinks. This was a breaking point. Does it make him feel any better, that this was probably inevitable?

“Yeah,” he murmurs. His head is resting on her shoulder. He keeps it that way. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes.

“That’s good,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you actually asking,” he mumbles, “or are you going to make me anyway?”

She sighs. That was the wrong thing to say. It’s harder for him to care.

“I don’t want to make you do anything,” she says. “That’s not why I’m here. If you really, really don’t want to talk about it, then—we don’t have to. But I think you need to. I think you’re hurting, and you’ve kept it to yourself, and I think that’s not a good thing.”

“‘S better than the alternative.”

“Okay,” she says. “What’s the alternative?”

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell her? Every instinct he has cries out against it, but the thing about that is that his instincts are rather dull at the moment. Easier to push aside. And his logical reasoning informs him that he’s already cried all over her, so really, he owes her an explanation at this point. Doing so might make everything worse, but if that’s the case, it’s no more than he deserves, for being unable to keep it together.

“Niki,” he says, “I’m a bad president.”

His voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirtsleeve. But he knows she understands him, because she stiffens.

“What makes you say that?” she asks.

“‘M not any good,” he tells her. “I’ve got all this work to do and I can barely do any of it. I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I’ve only been pretending this whole time, to know what I’m doing. I’m a shit leader.”

“You’re not,” Niki says, “but if you really think that, why didn’t you ask for help?”

He shakes his head, still holding his face on her shoulder. He doesn’t want to see her expression. “Can’t,” he says. “‘M supposed to be able to do it. I didn’t want you to know I’m a failure.”

Niki doesn’t respond. For a full three seconds, and he wonders if this is the part where she leaves. Finally. And then, she stops hugging him, and the part of him that is still awake enough to form coherent sentences thinks, yes, this is it, this is what you have sowed. Except then, she doesn’t leave at all, makes no move to get up, and instead grips him by the arms, and moves him backwards, so that she can stare him right in the face.

“Wilbur Soot,” she says, and she sounds more upset than he has ever heard her. “You are not a failure.”

“I am,” he says. Why is he trying so hard to get her to believe it? Maybe he just feels like he’s committed, now, to pulling the rug out. “I am.”

“You’re not,” she insists. “You made this nation. You took a drug van and turned it into a country where everyone is happy and free. Everyone looks up to you. We all love you.”

And there it is. The problem, in a nutshell.

“And what happens when you stop?” he murmurs.

Niki is completely silent, completely still. Staring at him.

“What happens when it turns out I’ve never been good enough?” he continues, voice weak. “What happens when the man you look up to lets you down? What happens when you know that all I am, in the end, is a pathetic shell who can barely get himself out of bed in the morning, much less make any of the moves that would lead to actual prosperity? What happens when you all learn that your president is shit at his job?” His voice strengthens as he goes on, rises to a more normal tone, fueled by his own disgust.

In a way, it’s freeing, finally saying all of this aloud. Whatever the consequences may be.

“What exactly,” Niki says, “have we done to make you think there’s anything you could do that would make us stop caring about you?”

She actually does sound a little bit angry, now. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her nostrils flared. He opens his mouth to respond, because the answer to that should be fairly obvious at this point, but she continues before he can.

“Do you really think we only love you because of—because you’re president? Or because you’ve made a country? We love this country because you made it, not the other way around. Why would you—Wil. Have you been thinking like this the whole time?”

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to respond. Paralyzed. Stricken dumb. Blinking, working his jaw. She shakes her head, tossing her hair, and—are those tears glittering in her eyes? Surely not.

It’s another second before she keeps talking. She was waiting on a response from him, he believes, but it’s one that he is incapable of giving.

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe that.”

And the way she says it—he wants to cry again, for putting that pain in her voice. That expression on her face. Her hands are still on his shoulders, have not yet been pulled back, but suddenly, his skin is crawling, the contact too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For his numerous inadequacies, maybe. For the fact that he’s not strong enough for this, and never has been. For the way he started this country and so foolishly believed that he would be able to lead it well, that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the paperwork and struck with the desire to lie in bed all day and do absolutely nothing, a desire that’s harder and harder to fight. For the manner in which his body has betrayed him, time and time again, for his hair turning white and his inability to prevent his outbursts and the way that it shut down on him just now, let everything out in the most unbecoming method possible. For the fact that he was weak enough to let it all show, too weak to press on and get through it.

For hurting her, certainly. He never wanted to do that.

But then, to his surprise, she yanks him forward, swift and insistent, into another hug. His mind shouts in alarm, but his body, once again, has a different idea, and he finds himself slumping into her hold again.

“You are worth more than L’Manberg,” she says. “If this place went up in flames tomorrow, I’d be most concerned with making sure you were alive.”

No. No, she can’t just say that, can’t say it and mean it, because if she does—

“Stop,” he rasps.

“No,” she says. “We don’t love you because you made this nation, or because you’re the president. We love you because you’re our friend, and you’re our friend because you’re good and kind and clever and funny, and you’re you. Not because you’re good at making speeches or signing papers or building walls. You’re just you. I promise that’s enough, Wilbur.”

He shudders again. Full-bodied.

“I don’t believe you,” he admits. What’s one more mark against him, at this point? “I can’t.”

“Then let us help you so that you can,” she says. “Don’t shut us out.”

That’s another thing that he can’t answer. His mind is spinning. He doesn’t know what to believe. He wishes this whole thing hadn’t happened in the first place, wishes she hadn’t stepped in here at all. And yet, some part of him feels safe. Safer than he’s felt in a good long while. He’s not so stupid as to think that it’s not because she’s holding him.

“How about we start with this?” she says. Her voice has softened. “How about you take a nap, and then, when you wake up, we get you some food. Something nice and simple, like soup.”

That—is easier to comprehend. Physical needs. Needs that he’s not intentionally neglecting, but that he can’t seem to make himself take care of. He can—he can do that, especially if it makes Niki feel better, and he is tired. Exhausted. His eyes are drooping shut already, though he shouldn’t fall asleep on Niki. He should go—back to his room. To his bed. That’s where he should sleep. Except he’s almost never able to get good sleep, there, and he still feels safe. Right here, right now. Safe, and he can’t remember the last time that happened. Can’t hope to anticipate the next time it will.

“Alright,” he mumbles. Niki isn’t pushing him off yet. Maybe she’ll wait until he’s out.

There’s still a portion of himself screaming not to do this. Screaming that he just keeps digging himself a bigger hole. That with everything he continues to reveal, with every weakness he puts on display, he’s only going to make the inevitable fallout worse. Because there will be fallout, no matter what Niki says. Perhaps she is telling the truth. Perhaps. But she doesn’t speak for everyone else, and he doesn’t want—

But he’s so tired, in the end.

“Don’t let anyone else in?” he says. He’s unsure if the words come out understandable. He’s slipping. He’s letting himself.

“Just sleep, Wil,” she answers, and that’s the last thing he hears.

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