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hxseok-honee · 3 years ago

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blossom | part 16

blossom [part 16] || 'Hoseokie'

[‘cause all i need is to see you blossom out, blossom out, blossom out]

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a/n : I cant tell if this is a hobi chapter or a yoongi chapter but i am very in love with them both thats for sure -- lmk what you think!

“Hobi, hi!” Y/n had practically slammed face first into the front door in her rush to answer it, and she’s a little breathless when she finally greets him. She’d honestly been expecting maybe a different, more confident Hoseok than the one she’d become familiar with to be standing there -- after all, he certainly looks the part today. But she’s pleasantly surprised to find that he’s still the same old Hoseok, rocking back and forth on his heels on her porch while he takes in the exterior of her home with bright, wide eyes.

He turns those eyes to her now, his smile boyishly charming as his red ears poke out cutely from beneath his winter hat.

“Y/n! Your house is so cute!” The compliment rolls off his tongue immediately, because frankly it’s all he could think about as he’d walked up the path to her door. It suits her perfectly, this lovely little home on the outskirts of town. He holds up a bag when she thanks him, shaking it lightly while he steps inside, following her into the entryway.

“I know you said no gifts, but I couldn’t show up with nothing!” He sets the bag into her waiting hands, pulling out four flower crowns -- they’re perfect, clearly crafted with care and delicacy that borders on professional. Each one is unique in size and style, somehow a set of matching winter crowns but created with individual intent. She can’t even bother to hide the look of endearment she shoots him.

“Hobi, you really didn’t have to do all of this.” He waves her off while he removes his hat, and she sets the bag down so she can take his coat while he explains.

“It’s nothing, seriously. I didn’t know what I could possibly buy you and your family because I don’t know what they like, so I thought I’d stick to something I know… I tried to make the one for your dad a bit more, uh -- manly? It was hard, though.” He laughs off his slight embarrassment, but Y/n’s mind is stalling on what he’d said. She turns to him with an awkward smile.

“Ah… I thought the big one might have been to fit Yoongi’s massive head… I think it still would fit him, to be honest.” When Hoseok blinks at her in confusion, she only offers an uncomfortable laugh. “My dad’s not around, actually… There’s only three of us.” Hoseok’s eyes go wide, and he finds himself swearing internally. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d never mentioned her dad before.

“Shoot, I’m sorry -- I didn’t even think about it--”

“No, you’re fine! It’s okay, it’s my fault for forgetting to mention it.” When he tries to apologize again, Y/n only sets the larger flower crown on his head to silence him. It hangs low on his forehead, making her smile. “Seriously, Hobi -- you’re sweet for even thinking of all of this.” He opens his mouth, still feeling unsure, but another voice cuts in before he can say anything.

“Yoonie’s here! Oh-- you’re not Yoonie…” Sliding into the doorway with small socked feet is a literal carbon copy of Y/n -- granted, she’s about a head shorter and very clearly a child, but the resemblance is uncanny. Hoseok blinks at the girl, and she only blinks back, hands on her hips in what can be described only as disappointment. Y/n rolls her eyes playfully.

“Hoseok, meet Hana, my 8-year-old sister. Hana, meet the boy that brought you a handmade flower crown -- so be nice.” Immediately, Hana’s arms are dropping in surprise, her eyes wide as she glances at Hoseok’s hands. He smiles kindly, picking out the crown with the smallest circumference and handing it to her. The girl’s eyes almost sparkle with excitement as she moves to take it from him, fingers delicate as she sets it on her hair.

“I had to guess at what size your head would be, but I hope you like it!” Y/n’s sister blinks up at him with an expectant gaze when he’s done talking, clearly waiting for an assessment.

“Do I look nice?” Hoseok warms immediately, finding the girl entirely endearing. He nods, handing Y/n her own crown while he responds. He has to stop himself from doing a double-take when she puts hers on.

So pretty…

“Yay! Thank you for the pretty crown!” Hoseok blinks, realizing he’d definitely just said that out loud. Luckily, the sisters had taken it as a response to Hana’s question, and he feels relief flood his body at the coincidence. He’s so busy thanking whatever higher power had just saved him from that awkward moment that he misses the sound of the front door opening behind him.

“Yoonie!” Coming back to reality, Hoseok barely has time to jump out of the way as the 8-year-old barrels past him, charging with purpose for the person entering the home.

“Monkey!” The voice that hits his ears is familiar, but it’s entirely unlike the person he knows it belongs to. Looking up, Hoseok can only stare lamely as Hana all but flies through the air, caught securely in the arms of one Min Yoongi. The Slytherin laughs loudly at the sudden attack, swinging the girl around in greeting before taking a good look at her.

“Jeez, do you ever stop growing? I’m getting nervous over here, kid.” Yoongi sees Y/n and Hoseok then, and he greets them with nothing more than a nod and a cool grin.

“Happy Christmas, nerds--” Somehow managing to hold onto Hana with one arm, he extends the other out to Y/n, passing her a large bag of gifts. “The one on top’s for you -- don’t even think about it, loser.” Y/n had peered curiously at the topmost gift when he’d said it was hers, eyeing it with excitement. She rolls her eyes now, letting the bag hang at her side as she waves Hoseok into the next room -- a living room, decked out in warm blankets and an even warmer fireplace. There’s a staircase on the far end of the room, the wooden steps uneven from years of use. The home is small but very clearly lived in, and Hoseok’s happy to think that he’s been allowed into Y/n’s childhood home.

There are a few picture frames on the fireplace mantel, and he can’t help but wander over to them while Y/n sets the gifts under the decorated tree in the corner. He looks over the photos with a smile, listening as Yoongi and Hana catch up behind him.

“What’s that on your head, Monkey? I like it.”

“A flower crown from Y/n’s boyfriend! He said it looks pretty on me.” Y/n chokes on her own saliva when she hears those words -- Y/n’s boyfriend -- and Hoseok finds himself overheating just slightly. He swears it’s from the crackling fire in front of him, and he tugs a few times at the front of his dress shirt in discomfort. Y/n glares at Yoongi, who’s barely managing to contain his laughter.

“Hoseok’s not my boyfriend, Hana--” The girl turns, maneuvering her way out of Yoongi’s arms and onto his back while she responds, clearly confused.

“But the last boy you brought home was Stinky Koo, and he was your boyfriend!” Hoseok’s immensely glad that he’s still facing the fireplace, because the name Stinky Koo is much more amusing to him than it should be. He turns to face them only when he’s got his face under control, but he almost cracks when he sees how proud Yoongi looks -- it must have been him that had nicknamed Jungkook for the young girl.

Desperate to change the subject, Hoseok gestures at the photo in the middle of the mantel -- a portrait of the sisters and their mother.

“Your mom’s beautiful, Y/n. Like a queen.” Y/n smiles shyly, Yoongi nodding appreciatively behind her. He's doing just fine, Yoongi thinks to himself, seeing how obviously nervous Hoseok is.

“Well, thank you, young man! Y/n, I like this boy.” The photograph in question is nothing compared to the woman that enters the room, and Hoseok swears the genetics in this house have seriously won the lottery. Y/n’s mother has the kindest eyes he’s ever seen, and he feels like all he wants right now is to see those eyes look at him with approval. It would mean the world, honestly.

She steps toward the group of kids, smiling sweetly at Hoseok before immediately turning to Yoongi with an evil glint in her eye. The boy never stood a chance, only having enough time to inhale sharply before her fingers are coming down on his cheeks, pinching with all her might. Y/n snorts when Yoongi lets out a pained wail.

“Release me, woman!” Hoseok’s shocked at the tone Yoongi takes with her, but Y/n’s beside him in an instant to do damage control.

“My mom’s favorite pastime is antagonizing him -- Yoongi’s been around long enough that formalities just… don’t exist… You get used to it.” Hoseok only nods as he watches her mom start in on the Slytherin.

“Never in my life have I seen a boy with so little meat on his body -- do you even eat, or is the sickly look in style these days?” The woman pinches at Yoongi’s torso for emphasis, and he starts to wriggle away from her, Hana barely managing to hang onto him for dear life.

“This is why I never come here -- the bullying is insufferable!” Yoongi hops around the living room with the 8-year-old glued to him, racing for the doorway into another room when he sees that Y/n’s mom isn’t giving up anytime soon. She almost follows the pair when they disappear, deciding instead to stay in the room with Y/n and Hoseok, an innocent grin on her face.

“You look much healthier than that bag of bones over there--” Hoseok realizes she’s addressing him and smiles, extending a hand to greet her and ignoring Yoongi when he lets out an enraged ‘hey!’ in the other room.

“You have such a lovely home, Ma’am-- Oh! I made you this!” He’d almost forgotten about his gift, but it’s hanging from the wrist he’s using to shake her hand, making him look both awkward and cute as he struggles to hand it to her with some semblance of elegance. “I hope you like it-- I can mend it if it’s too big! But… I left my bag at home, so I’ll have to run to get the scissors and twine-- Oh, it fits!” Y/n’s mom had watched him stumble over his words for a moment before decisively setting the crown on her head with a smile.

“I love it, Hoseok -- thank you.” He blinks, realizing that she knows his name although he had forgotten to introduce himself, and it clicks that Y/n’s talked about him to her mom before. The shy smile on the Gryffindor’s face only confirms his suspicions, filling him with joy. He smiles brightly, following Y/n’s mom when she waves him into the room where Yoongi had gone.

It’s a kitchen, small but comfortable, with a dining table positioned in the middle of the room. When they enter, they find Yoongi bent over the open oven door, lifting a large dish out of it and setting it on top of the stove. Hana’s clung tightly to his back, but the Sytherin moves around the kitchen with ease, dropping the oven mitts on the counter on his way to grab plates from one of the cabinets. It’s obvious not only that he’s very used to having Y/n’s sister stuck to him, but also that he’s comfortable in this home, fully aware of how the house functions.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing? Get out of my kitchen -- you’ll break something!” Y/n’s mom makes a beeline for Yoongi, swatting him away with an oven mitt scooped up from the counter. He complains loudly, grabbing at it and arguing with the woman.

“Will you please just sit down and let me do this?! You’re in my way -- go sit down, Mom!” It looks like a fight -- by all standards, it’s a mother and son arguing and nothing else. But Hoseok looks around the room, taking in the table full of homemade food, the sink full of dishes from the cooking. He sees the light sheen of sweat on the woman’s face, knowing just by looking that she’d been working tirelessly to make Christmas dinner for them. And when he looks to Yoongi, he sees that the boy knows this, too -- that he’s urging her to sit down and relax, that he’s just making it seem like he’s annoyed instead of openly caring for her. That, along with the fact that Hana is very clearly emotionally attached to the Slytherin, makes it obvious to Hoseok that Yoongi belongs here. That this Yoongi belongs here, not the promiscuous one that the entirety of Hogwarts knows. Hogwarts doesn’t know this Yoongi.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Hoseok jumps, realizing when he turns that Y/n’s watching him closely. He smiles, cocking his head to the side in confusion. The chaos of the room never stops, happening in the background while he and Y/n stand in the doorway.

“What thing?” She grins, pointing at his face.

“That observant badger thing. You’re just watching and taking mental notes.” He flushes slightly, not even realizing that he does this often enough to classify it as a ‘thing’. He gestures to her best friend, a question slipping out in the form of an observation, something he’s apparently good at.

“I didn’t realize Yoongi was good with kids.” Y/n snickers, shaking her head.

“He’s not, actually. One time, he tripped over a kid at the store because he hadn’t seen them walking past, and for the rest of the day he kept saying ‘children are the evil groundhogs of the world… waiting to pop their little heads out of the ground and scare you’. It was kinda dramatic.” Hoseok blinks, utterly dumbfounded by that story because it sounds exactly like something Yoongi say, but the Yoongi in the kitchen right now is not showing any of that malice.

“So… then how did this happen?” He gestures to the pair hopping around the dining table, Hana now clinging to Yoongi’s leg while the boy sets out utensils, all the while bickering with her mom. It’s not hard to imagine, seeing how the girl hangs off of him, why Yoongi calls her Monkey.

“Well -- Hana’s 8, which means Yoongi’s been in her life for… almost the entirety of it. And, although I doubt he’d say it, I know he feels some sense of responsibility for her since our dad’s not around. He’s just kind of always looked after her, so she definitely relies on him a lot.” Y/n looks at peace when she says it, and Hoseok gets the feeling that she appreciates Yoongi’s involvement with her family more than she’s letting on.

“They’re pretty cute… It’s nice to see.” Y/n smirks at Hoseok’s final assessment before beckoning him further into the kitchen, commenting in a low voice as she moves to the table.

“Don’t let Yoongi hear you say that -- his ego needs to be kept under control as it is.” Yoongi looks up when he hears his name, lifting an eyebrow but asking no questions as he examines Hoseok and Y/n. Letting it go, he glances down at the child sitting on his foot.

“Let’s wash our hands, Monkey. I dont need your dirty germs getting in my food.” Hana protests loudly but allows Yoongi to haul her off to the bathroom to wash up. He sets his phone on the table when he goes, and Hoseok can only imagine how much trust he has in Y/n to leave her with it -- especially because it keeps buzzing with notifications, and Hoseok can tell even from here that Yoongi has his message previews on.

When they return, Y/n passes the boy his phone, but not before it lights up again in her hand. Without meaning to, she glances down at it, and Hoseok’s not sure what she sees, but it has Yoongi looking at her with wide eyes once he’s gotten a chance to read it, too. He eyes her almost guiltily, but she only smiles knowingly and turns back to the table, taking the seat next to Hoseok.

“Let’s eat!”

Dinner passes surprisingly easily for Hoseok -- he’d been nervous all day, changing and re-changing his clothes until finally he’d just given up and left his apartment. But now, sitting here with Y/n and her family, he feels welcomed, included immediately in the chaos of the group dynamic while they eat. Her mother insists on piling his plate high with insanely delicious food, although it’s not nearly as much as she feeds Yoongi, who looks disgruntled at being called a walking skeleton but eats it all with vigor, anyway.

Just as they’re finishing dinner, Hoseok jumping to his feet to help clear the table, Hana rests her elbows on the wood, peering up at him curiously while he moves around the room. He has to purse his lips to stop himself from smiling when he spots her legs swinging back and forth from her chair, not yet able to reach the floor.

“Who’s that other flower crown for? Is it for you? It’s kinda big on you!” His eyes widen just a fraction, and he looks to Y/n for help as he hums. Y/n starts talking at the same time he does.

“Oh, it’s just an extra--

“He just accidentally made it too big--”

“It’s for me!” Yoongi cuts them both off with finality, sticking his hand out almost childishly for the crown hanging low on Hoseok’s head. Hoseok looks at him in shock, forgetting to mask his emotions for the young girl in front of him. But it’s fine because Hana’s only looking at Yoongi, something the Slytherin's clearly aware of when he waves his awaiting hand, dramatically impatient for her sake.

“But then why haven’t you been wearing it the whole time?” The girl’s questions are straight to the point, and Y/n’s mom starts to tell her not to pry, but Yoongi’s always ready for Hana’s inquiries.

“Obviously, Hoseok’s a little shy about giving me a Christmas gift -- he’s been waiting for the right time!” He sounds so sure of himself, like he actually believes it. But as Hoseok’s lifting the crown off of his head and setting it in Yoongi’s hand, he sees the look the boy gives him, and he knows that Yoongi’s aware of the assumption he’d made about Y/n’s father.

And of course Yoongi knows -- he’d made the exact same mistake the first time he’d visited the home at 11 years old, walking in with expensive gifts for both parents because his mom had always stressed that ‘you never go to someone else’s house empty handed’. Hana was much too young then, only a year old, and Yoongi’s not about to let the girl catch on now and risk souring the Christmas spirit. He knows how insecure she gets sometimes about not having a dad, so he saves Hoseok from the moment with practiced ease.

Looking away from the Hufflepuff and turning to Hana while he sets the crown on his head, he points up at it.

“How’s it look, Monkey?” The girl hums, squinting for a moment before nodding.

“It fits! Probably because you have a big head.” Y/n snorts loudly, even Hoseok coughing out a laugh while he sets dishes in the sink. Yoongi only nods, accepting that he’s just been blatantly insulted by an 8-year-old, made worse by Y/n’s mom running her hand over Hana’s hair in amused approval.

“That’s my girl -- you tell the skinny boy how it is.” Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but the woman’s standing to retrieve something from the fridge, and immediately his complaints are replaced by an excited gasp.

“Is that--”

“Well, someone’s gotta feed you your favorites!” Hoseok only glances over his shoulder while he and Y/n clean up, seeing that the woman’s setting a pumpkin pie on the counter and reaching for a knife to cut it. Another glance tells him that Yoongi’s argumentative nature’s been won over by the dessert, and he’s standing to help her serve 5 plates of it, shy smile peeking through.

“Thanks, Mom…” The woman grins, bumping him with her hip but not saying anything about the embarrassment on his face. She turns, holding two plates and gesturing toward the fridge while she heads for the living room.

“Grab the whipped cream on your way, will you, Hoseokie?” Hoseok almost drops the dirty plate he’s setting in the sink, all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end when he hears the name Y/n’s mom calls him. Y/n notices that he stills suddenly beside her, but before she can mention it, he’s blinking, the moment gone as he moves to the fridge with a smile.

The group migrates to the living room, Y/n’s mom taking the armchair by the tree while Y/n and Hoseok share the couch. Yoongi’s sitting on the floor with his legs crisscrossed, Hana seated comfortably in his lap. The plates of pie sit on the table next to Yoongi’s head, and he keeps glancing anxiously at them, like he’s wondering if he can sneak a bite without anyone noticing. Y/n’s mom’s voice rings out, and he knows he’s been caught.

“Not a chance, Yoongi -- presents first!” Rolling his eyes but nodding anyway, he turns his attention back to the group, where Y/n is passing out presents to everyone. The biggest ones always go to Hana, who seems very excited but is somehow even more enthused about finally giving everyone her own gifts, small trinkets she’d picked out with immense care during her school’s holiday field trip. Y/n has to stop herself from snapping a photo of Yoongi’s face when he unwraps a snake plushie, watching with amusement when he cradles it close to his chest, eyes full of adoration as he mouths "I love her" to the Gryffindor. Hana doesn’t even notice how dramatically sentimental he is, her short attention span having her already turning to Hoseok with a large smile and a small gift.

“This one’s for you, Hoseokie!” Hoseok chokes on his saliva, paling slightly when he hears that name again. Y/n picks up on it for sure this time, but she doesn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt his and Hana’s moment.

Hoseok takes the gift with shaking hands, masking whatever’s running through his mind with a shy smile.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Hana -- thank you!” The girl watches with intense interest while he peels the wrapping paper off, revealing a pink ballpoint pen in the shape of a flower, explaining when he holds it up in the light.

“Y/n told me you liked flowers when I asked! Do you like it?” Hoseok smiles brightly, pressing down on the center of the flower with a quiet click and running the tip of the pen along the knuckle on his thumb to test the ink.

“I love it! I’ll use it every day!” Y/n smiles then, thinking how endearing he’ll look, using a pink ballpoint flower pen in a school that still standardizes quill and ink. But she knows he means it and won’t even think twice about using it. Hana beams up at him, but her eyes become curious almost immediately.

“But -- do you not like the name ‘Hoseokie’? You looked a little sad when I said it…” Y/n cringes, cursing the fact that her sister is both extremely observant and completely lacks a filter. She’s like the perfect mix of Hoseok and Yoongi, something that would be really funny if the situation hadn’t just gotten really uncomfortable.

Hoseok gapes at the girl, letting out a breath of laughter when she only tilts her head to the side curiously. It’s fine that he’d been caught -- it’s just a little embarrassing that it had happened here at Y/n’s family dinner, where he’d been trying to make a good impression and leave only good energy behind. With a slight sigh, he shakes his head to answer Hana’s question.

“I don’t not like ‘Hoseokie’ -- I actually really like it… it’s just--” He glances quickly at Y/n, feeling a bit awkward. “My little sister used to call me that…” Immediately, Y/n’s looking to Yoongi out of the corner of her eye, finding that he’s doing the same, the alarm in his eyes matching her own. Hoseok had never mentioned a sister.

“It’s a little… uncomfortable, so I feel bad…” Hoseok looks to Y/n’s mom then, watching carefully for her reaction when he continues. “My parents run an apiary -- they’re very big nature types, all about the ‘way of the natural world’ and stuff like that… that's why--" He cuts off, gesturing vaguely to the crown on the woman's head. That's why I know how to do this, he means. Clearing his throat, he continues. "So it didn’t really… go well… when I turned 11 and got the letter saying I was a wizard.” Y/n hears Yoongi inhale sharply from where he’s sitting, and she knows he’s putting the pieces together like she is.

When Hoseok sees that Y/n’s mom is watching him with a guarded expression, almost worried about where he’s going with him, he bites at the inside of his cheek nervously. Y/n had never explicitly said it, but he could tell the minute he walked into the house just a few hours ago that she’s also a muggleborn. Wizarding homes always show signs of magic -- dishes that wash themselves, hanging plants that can’t be found anywhere in the muggle world, that kind of thing. He hadn’t seen anything to give away a magical upbringing, almost shocked at how much Y/n’s home reminded him of his own childhood.

He can see now that the woman is glancing at her own daughter, and he knows what she’s thinking. Y/n and Hoseok are the same, but his world had been entirely different. He sees her making that connection, so he just decides to rip off the metaphorical band-aid and finish explaining.

“My parents didn’t want something ‘unnatural’ living in the house, influencing their innocent daughter, so they kicked me out. Agreed to help me pay for an apartment and bills as long as I promised to never reach out to them for anything else -- Dumbledore helped me out the first few summers, let me stay on the grounds since I wasn’t old enough to be on my own. I moved into a place not far from here when I turned 15.”

He’s got his eyes screwed shut now, terrified of the pity he’s going to find when he opens them again. It’s too quiet, and he feels his ears warming, knowing that it looks like he’s been thrown away, discarded. He doesn’t feel that way, having accepted his situation when he was still young -- having decided to accept his situation because it was better than being bitter. But he knows what people will see when they find out, so he’d gone to great lengths to hide it. Because he doesn’t need pity, he’s happy as he is.

While he’s thinking of how to ease everyone’s tension, he’s completely unprepared for the arms that wrap around his neck. Cracking his eyes open, he realizes these arms are quite small, that the person hugging him is quite small.

“Will you come back for family dinner every year?” Hana’s question is muffled in his neck, but the words have his heart stuttering because he really hadn’t been expecting this. Glancing quickly at Y/n, he finds that the pity he’d been preparing for isn’t there. She looks completely heartbroken, her eyes shining with unshed tears, but more than anything she looks mad.

She blinks it away when they make eye contact, and she nods while reaching for his hand. He’s not sure what she’s nodding at, and he gets the feeling she doesn’t know either, but he takes it as her understanding. Understanding that he doesn’t want to talk about it further, understanding what he’d meant in the forest that day about being happy alone.

Just past Y/n, Yoongi’s standing from his spot on the floor with a groan and a crack of his spine. He moves for Hana, who’s still clinging to Hoseok’s neck.

“Of course he’ll be back, Monkey. He’s not goin’ anywhere.” It’s said so simply, without any particular feeling to guide it, but Hoseok’s so immensely grateful for Min Yoongi in that moment. Not only because he hadn’t changed at all in the way he’d looked at Hoseok -- his eyes are still even and calm, if not laced with slightest bit of emotion when their gazes lock -- but because Hoseok had just received clear and direct approval from the one person in Y/n’s life that he’d been most nervous about.

It’s one thing to be nervous about family or the entirety of her friend group -- those things are normal. Min Yoongi is not normal, not to Y/n. He’s the only person that knows Y/n better than she knows herself, and Hoseok hadn’t even realized just how terrified he’d been that Yoongi wouldn’t accept him suddenly appearing in Y/n’s life the way he had. But he sees now, while Yoongi is slowly peeling Hana off of him and carrying her to the staircase, claiming that it’s ‘way past her bedtime’, that Yoongi’s just let him in. The girl waves goodnight to the rest of the group, almost immediately sleepy now that Yoongi's carrying her to bed.

When Hoseok looks to Y/n, eyes wide with surprise, he sees that she’s noticed Yoongi's behavior, too. Because she’s got her eyes closed, but she’s smiling fondly, like the telltale signs of Yoongi’s respect have finally revealed themselves, decidedly giving Hoseok his stamp of approval.

He’s so busy reveling in the fact that he’d just gotten all the reactions to his life story that he’d been expecting the least that he barely feels Y/n’s mom set a hand on his shoulder when she stands. He looks up now, taking in her kind eyes, and he thinks she’s going to say something sentimental, but--

“I like you a whole lot more than I liked Jungkook.” Hoseok’s jaw drops, and Y/n’s scoffing loudly beside him.

“Mom!” The woman smiles, leaving the two them there on the couch while she grabs the plates of pie, mumbling something about ‘needing to pack Noodle Arms a plate to go’ before heading into the kitchen. Hoseok can do nothing but laugh when he looks to Y/n, who’s still completely scandalized by her mom’s comment.

“I can’t tell if I should feel highly approved of, or just regularly approved of since Jungkook is apparently low on the Family Opinions list.” Y/n nudges him with her elbow playfully, and they sit there quietly together on the couch for a moment. He finds himself reaching out to brush his fingers across her knee insecurely.

“You know, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I really am okay -- I said it before, but I just… I’ve been okay not having anyone. It never really haunted me or hurt me or anything I’m sure you’d expect an abandoned child to feel. I just… took the bad with the good and decided to focus on the happy moments of my childhood because, believe it or not, I had a lot of them. It’s just easier to remember my parents as they were before, so that’s what I do.” Y/n nods slowly when he’s done, feeling a lot of things but wondering if maybe it’s not her place to say it. He sees it anyway, because he sees everything.

“You’re angry. That they left me.” Y/n glances at him quickly, wondering if he’s upset at all -- this is such a delicate subject, and she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to feel this mad for him. But he’s smiling, like he can tell she’d been trying to hide it and he’s finding her incredibly endearing for it. She purses her lips and nods shyly, confirming his suspicions.

“That they left you… yes. But I’m angry that they kept your sister from you.” It’d been obvious in the way Hoseok had talked about his parents that he’d become purposely detached from them, that he’d accepted the situation and doesn’t feel any certain way about them. But the name -- ‘Hoseokie’ -- it had set him on edge in a way she’d never seen in this carefree, sunny boy before. His sister’s a sore spot, probably the one thing that hurts most. His smile tells her everything she needs to know, because she’s never once seen him smile bitterly. And yet there it is, forcing his dimples to make an appearance in a way that isn’t as heartwarming as it usually is.

“The last time I saw her, she was Hana’s age… she probably looks so different now.” If a person could physically deflate into nothingness, Y/n would have successfully done it. Hoseok can’t help but snicker, the image of Y/n almost melting into the couch too endearing.

“I -- I can’t even imagine… not knowing what Hana will look like in a few years.” It breaks her heart all over again, the way Hoseok nods, because he knows exactly what that feels like. But he refuses to dwell on it, clapping his hands down on his knees decisively and shaking Y/n from her stupor with the noise.

“Spend New Year’s Eve with me!” Y/n’s brain stalls, trying to process what he’d just said. He waits patiently, smiling while she switches mental gears and catches up to him.

“Huh? I mean -- sure? Yes? But, huh?” He laughs under his breath, finding her confusion almost obnoxiously cute.

“I’ve never had anyone to spend it with. Now that I do… I really want to spend it with you.” Y/n swallows hard, wondering where these butterflies in her stomach are coming from -- maybe it’s the way he’s watching her, eyes curious as he waits for her reaction. She only nods, suddenly very shy under his gaze.

“I’d love to, Hoseok…” He warms at how low her voice is, and now he’s the one feeling shy, pressing his palms into his thighs and staring down at his lap. They’re quiet for a moment, the soft crackling from the fireplace filling the silence, until--

“Oh, just kiss already!” They both turn quickly toward the voice, finding Yoongi standing at the bottom of the staircase, a look of disgust filling his face. He shakes his head when they gape at him, going so far as to wave his hand quickly, his palm passing through the air with intent. “Look, I even helped.” He’s looking at the space above their heads, and when she and Hoseok follow his eyes, they find a piece of mistletoe growing from the ceiling, hanging down between them.

Y/n groans in annoyance while Hoseok sits there, blushing brightly at Yoongi’s forwardness. As if to make things worse for him, Y/n’s mom enters the room again then, noticing the mistletoe right away as she’s handing the comically large stack of to-go containers over to Yoongi.

“Oh, cute! Did they kiss?” She looks at Yoongi when she asks, and he shakes his head in disappointment -- Hoseok gets the feeling they’re enjoying pretending he and Y/n aren’t right here when they start snickering in unison.

“Well, I gotta go--” Yoongi stops to glare at Y/n when she looks at him knowingly, eyebrows raised. Hoseok wonders if maybe this is about the messages she’d seen on the Slytherin’s phone earlier. “-- but I’ll catch you guys later. Happy Christmas, nerds!” With that he’s heading for the entryway, and Hoseok can hear him bickering with Y/n’s mom all the way to the door.

“Yes, I brought my coat--”

“You don’t have a hat! I’m sure they make hats for big-headed people, too--”

“That is so offensive on so many levels--”

“I’ll just have to make you one myself--”

“Mom! Stop working so hard, I promise I’ll go buy a damn hat!”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Big-Head!”

“I got us takeout!” It’s the first thing she says when Hoseok opens the door to his apartment, emphasized by the large bag she’s shaking in his face with enthusiasm. He pokes his head around it, smiling brightly at her.

“I also got us takeout!” Lowering her bag in surprise, she follows Hoseok into the small studio when he beckons her in, slipping her shoes off at the door as she looks to the kitchenette, where an equally large bag of food sits. She only looks to Hoseok, dumbfounded, and she finds he’s giving her the same look.

“How are we gonna eat all this--”

“No idea.” Y/n snorts when he looks between their two bags, face deadpan as he reaches for hers and sets it on the table beside his. He looks at them for a moment longer, finally speaking.

“Did we get takeout from the same place?” Y/n hangs her head with a groan when she realizes the bags look exactly the same. When she looks up again, he’s heading for the cabinets to get plates, his shoulders shaking with laughter. It’s infectious, and soon she’s shaking her head, turning to look around the apartment while she laughs openly. Her breath is cut short almost immediately when she looks at the living area.

“Holy plants.” Hoseok glances over to where she’s looking, a nervous laugh leaving him.

“Too much?” To put it simply, they’re everywhere. Floor plants, hanging plants, windowsill plants -- everywhere. There’s even a massive plant overtaking the table next to his bed in the corner, not an inch of space for him to put anything else. She feels like she just walked into a jungle.

“Your air must be really clean…” Hoseok laughs loudly, not having expected that to be her one assessment of his plant collection.

“You’re lucky I haven’t covered the couch in plants, too -- where are we gonna sit to watch TV?” As if the universe has decided to test him at this very moment in time for absolutely no reason other than to make him suffer, the apartment goes dark with the booming sound of the entire room powering down.

Hoseok barely manages to hold in his groan when he hears Y/n turn in his direction in the dark.

“I wasn’t watching anything good on TV these days, anyway.”

“Come on, come on -- where are they--”

“Hoseok, it’s fine--”

“I swear I had candles--”

“Hoseok--”

“Aha!” He pokes his head up from where he’s crouched by the closet, holding a stack of small candles triumphantly. Y/n’s sitting at the dining table, having cast lumos long ago and unpacked their copious amounts of food with nothing but the light of her wand. She’s smiling at him fondly now as he shows her the candles.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hoseok lowers his candles, sending her a sheepish smile as he rises to his feet and moves to join her at the table. He’d immediately started apologizing to her when the power had gone out, thrown into a panicked rush to fix things as he flitted around his apartment. She’d tried to reassure him that everything was okay, but he’d still felt really bad for messing up their night.

“I’m sorry, Y/n… I told my parents that I’m still in school until the spring, but I don’t think they heard that part when they said they were gonna stop helping me pay for stuff after graduation… I’ve been applying for jobs all year, but they just don’t really start accepting people until they see our NEWT results and transcripts and stuff, so--”

“Hobi.” He stops at the nickname, realizing when she levels him with a hard stare that he’s devolving into anxious rambling again. She reaches across the table, taking his hands in hers.

“Stop apologizing, Hobi. This isn’t your fault, and you haven’t ruined anything. I promise.” He’s slow to nod, but eventually he accepts her words, seeing how insistent she is.

“I do have one question, though.” He blinks, humming curiously when she continues and wondering what she’s going to say. “Do you… have spare blankets? Because it’s going to get very cold in here very fast.”

“I don’t think I want to eat anything ever again.”

“Mmm… Mmmm…”

“So you agree.”

“Mhm… Mmm…” Hoseok throws his head back against the couch, completely unable to form words after the meal they’d just had. Y/n snorts, nodding as she gets used to his various sounds of exhaustion.

“Me too, Hobi.” They sit there quietly for only a moment before Hoseok is lifting his head, urgent. Y/n looks at him, wondering what’s happening in his head when he turns to her, face deadpan yet again.

“I bought us ice cream on my way home with the food.” Immediately, she’s groaning, and he joins her in flopping around on his couch dramatically. Y/n takes a moment through her food-induced haze to appreciate their little setup.

The candles are set strategically on his coffee table and counters, clear of any plants because the last thing they need tonight is a fire. She’d been right in assuming it’d get cold, and they’d eventually stopped trying to manage with small blankets, dragging his comforter right off the bed and curling up together beneath it as they ate dinner. She can’t even recall what they’d talked about, the entire thing a confused fog from the food.

She knows they’d been giddy the whole time, on a weird high from the collection of ridiculous things that had happened in the first five minutes of her being here. That, along with the sheer amount of food and the wine Hoseok had pulled out for them, ended up creating nonstop laughter over the smallest things. She’s comfortable here, never having experienced a bubble of quiet happiness like this. She feels no pressure and she’s worried about nothing -- everything had fallen away when she’d walked in the door, the rest of the world blocked out from this safe space, here with Hoseok in his apartment.

“Oh! It’s almost midnight!” Hoseok’s squinting at his phone in the dark before showing her the screen -- 11:55pm. She glances at her own phone, sitting peacefully on the table in front of them, and she hates that the only thing she can think of is Jungkook. She’s scared that this period of silence between them will have done nothing, that as soon as the new year starts, he’s going to be back to badgering her constantly. She just wants everything to return to normal, and she’s scared that she only has five minutes left before that dream falls apart.

“Hey… Where’d you go just now?” Blinking, she sees that Hoseok’s peering at her, brow furrowed in concern. His phone toggles when he moves closer to her, a small pout set in his features, and the screen lights up again. 11:57pm. She hates that, after such a good night, it had taken only this to have them both frowning. She hates it.

“I just… I really just want all of this to be normal again. I want Jungkook to be normal again. I want the new year to be something good again, and I’m terrified it won’t be. I just want to forget everything bad from this year and start fresh.” She rolls her eyes at herself, hating that she’s ranting to Hoseok about her love life again, when they’d just wanted to have a nice New Year’s Eve together. But his mind is elsewhere, a thought crossing his mind suddenly. He checks his phone again. 11:59pm.

“Maybe I can help with that?” Y/n looks to him when he says it, confused.

“What do you mean?” He blinks, trying to decide if he’s really going to do this. The nervous feeling building in his stomach is somehow telling him this is a bad and good idea. He turns to her quickly.

“With that fresh start… forgetting the bad from this year… Maybe I can help…?” Y/n’s not sure what he means, but she doesn’t see why she would say no. Hoseok’s never done anything but help, even when he doesn’t realize it. If anyone’s going to help her forget, it’s him.

So she nods, waiting for him to explain. And then she’s gasping, because he’s leaning in, and she can see even in the dim lighting that he’s looking at her lips -- that he’s going to kiss her.

He pauses for a second to give her time to push him away. When she doesn’t, he’s glancing up and finding that she’s looking at him nervously, her gaze flicking back and forth between his eyes and his mouth. With a small inhale, he lets his eyes drift shut, closing the gap between them carefully.

Y/n’s not even sure she’s kissing him back -- she’s too focused on the feeling of his lips on her, how gentle he’s being as he applies just the slightest pressure to her mouth with his own. But she must be kissing him back, because he’s responding to something, his lips pressing harder when he feels her reciprocating.

It’s only one kiss, one that he pulls back from slowly after a moment, their breaths mingling warmly in the small space he’s created. Neither of them makes a move, eyes hooded and noses brushing in his dark apartment as they try to make sense of this haze long enough to figure out if this has really just happened. If Hoseok’s really just kissed her on New Year’s Eve.

And then her phone is lighting up on the table, celebratory texts from her friends pouring in, and they turn at the same time to glance at the screen. 12:00am.

Hoseok turns back to her then, eyes searching hers for something -- he’s not really sure what it is, but when a shy smile starts to dance at the edges of her lips, he knows he’s found it.

“Happy New Year, Y/n.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #jung hoseok #hoseok x reader

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luminescencefics · 4 years ago

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***

The Catalyst

December 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nora?” Harry repeats after a minute has passed with the two of them just staring at each other, wondering what in the hell the other is doing spending their winter break at school all alone.

“Hi,” Nora says awkwardly, avoiding Harry’s gaze and choosing instead to look at the rolled-up paperback sticking out of his jacket pocket. She can’t quite make out the title of the book from her position, but the light blue coloring of the title page is familiar to her for some odd reason.

“What are you…” His words fall from his mouth without any clear purpose. She realizes then and there that the last words she spoke to him were a broken “fuck you” one year ago in Dr. Forrester’s AP Chem lab, and that thought is enough to cause her to stand up abruptly from the wooden bench, grabbing her tray in one hand and her parka in the other, trying her hardest to get out from under Harry’s intense gaze.

“Wait, Nora!” Harry calls after her as she scrambles towards the trash bin to clear her half-eaten plate. She ignores him, the need to get away from him much stronger than her urge to stick around and hear what he has to say to her. And before she knows it, she’s running through the snowy campus with her parka barely buttoned, recognizing a moment too late that she left her maroon scarf on the table in the dining hall in her mad sprint to the exit.

For two days, Nora skips out on breakfast—too terrified to run into Harry again. She eats the rest of her meals by the old fireplace in Millikan Library at odd times in the day, growing far too comfortable with the eerie solitude floating through the towering ceilings.

Most of her afternoons spent in Millikan are quite peaceful, considering the foot traffic is practically nonexistent save for the two librarians working the research desk and the small handful of students searching through the fiction aisle for a new book to read to keep them preoccupied during the break. Her spot near the fireplace is hidden in plain sight, somehow giving her the perfect view of the lower floor of the library while staying comfortably concealed from wandering eyes.

Luck isn’t on her side, though, and while she’s finishing up the last quarter of The Princess Bride, her focus is broken when a familiar maroon scarf drops in the middle of her lap, obstructing Nora’s spot on the page.

When she looks up she sees Harry, dressed in familiar black jeans and a simple white t-shirt underneath his trench coat. Snowflakes dust the tips of his curly hair, and when Nora squints she can make out the purple bags underneath his dull green eyes.

“You left that in the dining hall,” he says slowly, sitting down in the chair across from the matching one Nora is currently curled up in.

“Uh, thanks,” she mutters, scrunching the thick material up and shoving it into her backpack resting on the floor below her. A crinkled Pop-Tart wrapper comes fluttering out of her bag as she attempts to zip it up, and Harry notices it instantly.

“Have you been living off of those instead of eating real food?” he asks. Nora can’t tell if he’s actually concerned or if he’s teasing her, because his eyes are still dull and his face is still blank and she can’t read Harry Styles for the life of her.

When she doesn’t answer, he states simply, “You’re avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?” Nora responds quickly, looking at him with a layer of sadness hidden underneath her cerulean eyes.

“No, suppose I can’t.” He’s quiet for a few minutes, shifting his gaze towards the carpeted flooring below them. He looks as if he’s thinking very hard, and Nora wonders if he’s trying to figure out how to apologize to her. And when he’s still sitting there, a massive indent in the middle of his eyebrows while his lips pout downward in a frustrated frown, Nora thinks that a person like Harry has probably never had to apologize for anything in his entire life.

That realization is enough to keep her from running away from him again.

Harry lifts his eyes from the floor then, moving his gaze from Nora’s face to the book in her lap. She looks comfortable, wearing thick leggings and a woolen turtleneck, her blonde hair twisted into a low bun behind her neck, allowing her fringe to fall wildly against her forehead. He notices that her snow boots are on the floor, and her socked-clad feet are tucked underneath her thighs on the big chair she’s nestled in. For the first time in a long time—probably ever, if Harry really sits and thinks about it—he feels as if he’s looking at Nora Priestley for the first time, observing every freckle on her pale skin and every line and curve of her face. He’s not quite sure what that means entirely, but he’s sure that it has to mean something, in the grand scheme of things.

If she’s grown uncomfortable under his stare, she doesn’t show it, and Harry’s a bit grateful for that. Without really thinking about it, Harry reaches inside his jacket pocket, revealing his curled up copy of The Call of the Wild.

“D’ya mind if I sit here and read with you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Nora says, her voice pitch wavering, “Not at all.”

What normally would take Nora less than an hour to read, ends up being much longer, because she had suddenly grown extremely distracted with Harry’s presence across from her. It first started when he took off his black trench coat, revealing a threadbare white t-shirt that didn’t seem appropriate with the falling snow outside and the frigid temperature in the air. But it wasn’t the thin material that captured Nora’s attention. Instead, it was the various etchings of black ink swirling up and down his left arm. She tries not to stare, but she honestly can’t help it, because the images of shaded roses and thick anchors and anatomically correct organs is causing her head to spin. Nora never thought that picture-perfect Harry Styles, with all his splendor and daddy’s money, would brand his skin with outrageous tattoos. But it somehow fits, and Nora finds that she suddenly wants to know what every picture means, and its significance to the boy adorning them.

She tries to bring her attention back to her book, but it’s practically no use, considering her eyes keep falling towards his, watching the way he reads the old book in his large hands. From this position with the big bay windows behind her and the light flooding through, Harry’s green eyes almost seem blue. She’s not sure if he’s aware that he’s doing it, but his fingers keep constantly picking at the dry skin on his lower lip, and if there’s nothing left to pick, his fingers just push and pull at the skin as he flips to the next page. Whenever he seems to read a particularly interesting passage, Harry’s brows furrow as he concentrates on the words bleeding off the page. And just when Nora thinks she’s gotten used to his presence, he would absentmindedly fidget in the seat, changing which leg would be crossed over the other, bringing his foot up to rest on the seat so that his elbow can lean on something new, or even moving his body completely, so that his legs fall over the arm of the chair and his head rests against the other.

And when Nora’s no longer distracted by Harry’s existence, she finds that her thoughts linger on the hundreds of questions floating through her brain. She wonders what he’s doing here, all alone during Christmas break when he spends his summers in the south of France or the Hamptons or some other luxurious location. She wonders why, of all places to read an old copy of The Call of the Wild, he chooses to sit near her, a girl he’s supposed to hate. And she especially wonders why she doesn’t mind his proximity to her body, considering he’s done nothing but hurt her since they first met.

Nora finds this entire afternoon to be distracting, and without even finishing the book (even though she acts like she has, because let’s be honest, Nora’s read The Princess Bride enough times to recite the last page), she closes it and throws it in her backpack, exchanging the paperback for her maroon scarf and beginning to lace-up her snow boots. Harry looks up from his book and notices her getting ready to leave, and without saying anything, Nora watches as he dog-ears his page and begins to pull his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

“I’m gonna head to the dining hall,” Nora explains, even though she’s not entirely sure she wants Harry to follow her. But when he stands up from the chair and slips his book into his pocket, Nora finds that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter, other than to follow him down the stairs and out the front door into the snow.

Townbridge covered in a thick blanket of snow is quite a sight to behold, and momentarily, Nora can forget that Harry Styles is standing near her. Because the snow is falling lightly from the sky, dusting the tips of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and she thinks it’s probably the calmest she’s felt in a very long time.

But then Harry’s elbow knocks against hers as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and suddenly all of the distracting thoughts and the endless questions from before come rushing from her brain to the tip of her tongue, and Nora finds that she can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why are you talking to me, Harry? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” Nora’s words aren’t spiteful in the slightest. In fact, there’s barely any emotion behind them—just a statement that’s been at the forefront of her mind ever since he first approached her in the dining hall two days ago.

“I don’t hate you, Nora,” Harry chooses to say, looking down at her briefly as they continue the short walk to their destination.

“You certainly don’t like me,” Nora replies back, keeping her head down to avoid more snowflakes accumulating on her eyelashes.

“If this is about last year, I really am sorry. You were right to say those things to me in Dr. Forrester’s lab, I deserved it. All of it.” Nora waits a minute to speak, because she’s curious if Harry Styles will grovel in front of her, if he’ll beg for her forgiveness the way she’s dreamt about him doing for the past twelve months. He stays quiet, kicking his boot through a particularly thick segment of snow, and when Nora chances a look towards his face, she can see through his eyes that this conversation is torturing him. The dullness is tenfold, and his lips are in a very straight line and she’s never seen a jaw so clenched in her entire life. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, Nora accepts his apology, because although words have failed him (as they usually have in the past), his eyes give everything away.

The word pushover comes to mind, but Nora doesn’t think it’s a negative aspect of her personality. She was always taught to find the best in people, and if Harry’s apology consists of a handful of words and green eyes twisted in utter agony, she’ll take what she can get.

He holds the door open for her as they approach the dining hall and she gives him a quiet “thank you,” and Harry’s not sure if it’s for his chivalrous act or his bare-bones apology, but he takes it in stride. They grab chicken noodle soup and turkey sandwiches and steaming cups of tea and sit at the table near the large row of windows and for the first time, Nora doesn’t mind sitting across from him.

“So, why The Princess Bride?” Harry asks after a mouthful of soup, watching the way her mouth quirks at the mention of her favorite book.

“It’s one of my favorite movie adaptations. Movies are kind of my thing, I guess,” she explains, holding her warm cup of tea against her hands and she looks so damn cozy.

Harry nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“What about you?” Nora counters, watching the way his head tilts in confusion.

“What about me?” He echoes.

“Why The Call of the Wild?”

Harry grins, taking a long sip of his tea before replying, “I like classic literature. Guess it’s kind of my thing.”

Before Nora can say anything else, or tease him about copying her phrase, Miss Flaherty approaches their table with a bright grin. She’s one of the guidance counselors at Townbridge, an older woman who reminds everybody of their Nana. So when she places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes, Nora’s curiosity is piqued to the fullest.

“Harry! There you are, lovie. Will you be joining us tomorrow for the Toy Drive again? I’m sure everybody will be happy to see you.”

Sheepish has never been a word that Nora would think to associate with Harry Styles, but when his cheeks begin to flush and his eyes look anywhere but at Nora’s, she can tell that he’s nervous. And when she thinks back to Miss Flaherty’s question, more importantly, the word again, Nora’s wondering who on earth the boy sitting across from her truly is.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he tells her, smiling awkwardly.

“Amazing! How about you, Nora? Will you be joining us as well?” Nora’s suddenly aware of two sets of eyes on her, and when she glances at Harry and sees that his face is void of irritation, she nods her head and looks back towards Miss Flaherty.

“Of course! Count me in.”

Miss Flaherty smiles brightly and looks between the two of them happily. “Lovely! I’m sure Harry here will tell you all about it. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

After she walks away it’s quiet again, just the two of them slurping from their bowls of soups, trying to figure out how to address what just happened. Surprisingly, it’s Harry who speaks first.

“Uh, you don’t have to come if you don’t, er, want to.” He’s anxious and Nora wishes he would stop looking at the wooden table and would look at her, instead. Because she’s never given him a reason to be nervous around her, and the fact that he’s suddenly grown so small in front of her is all too confusing for her to understand.

“I don’t mind, really. Sounds cool, actually,” Nora admits, meaning every word.

Harry looks up at her then, observing her to see if there’s any teasing on her face. But when she looks back at him with nothing but a warm expression, Harry can tell that Nora actually means it, and he gives her a gentle smile in return.

Once they finish their lunch, they begin to walk back to their dorms. Nora lives on a different floor of Granary Hall and Harry lives in Quinby House, which is just across the small quarry outside of her building. It’s a comfortable silence, and Nora really wasn’t expecting him to walk her to the front door of her building. She’s not at all mad that he does, though, and when she turns towards him to say goodbye, he looks as if he’s trying to say something to her.

“I can drive you tomorrow to the Youth Center if you want. Easier than taking the bus,” Harry says, pushing his hands against the bottom of his pockets as he shuffles on the pavement in front of her, avoiding eye contact.

Nora nods, smiling softly before saying, “Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Harry.”

Before she can even mutter a goodbye, Harry’s already spinning on his boots towards Quinby House, and Nora’s left watching his figure disappear through the snow, thinking that out of the four years she’s known him, this is the most words they’ve ever spoken to one another.

Nora’s not even sure if she’s aware of it, but when she wakes up the next morning and chooses her nicest pair of jeans and applies a generous amount of mascara to her eyelashes, the idea of impressing Harry is barely even a thought in her mind. But there’s a reason for everything—and the fact that she brushed through her knotted hair and stuck her cherry-flavored lip balm into her pocket before rushing out the door, means that subconsciously she’s thinking about him.

They meet in the parking lot near his black Range Rover, and when he offers her a small smile and opens the door for her, she’s not quite sure what to think. He’s wearing his trench coat again with a grey thermal top underneath, and his curls are stuffed under a bright blue knitted beanie and he looks unbelievably warm. They don’t really talk much but they do listen to Big Star, and when “Thirteen” comes on and Nora starts to sing the words to herself, Harry snaps his head over in her direction with a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

“You listen to Big Star?” he asks, flitting his gaze between the road and Nora’s face.

She smiles, content that she’s shocked Harry, before adding, “Yeah, they’re one of my mom’s favorites.”

He nods, an impressed look on his face. “She’s got great taste.”

The rest of the ride is filled with more of Harry’s musical repertoire to which Nora sings along to the songs she knows. And if she listens close enough, she can hear the low tone of Harry’s singing voice, and she almost finds herself leaning closer towards him so that she can listen more clearly.

When they reach the Youth Center, Harry pops open his trunk and reveals two boxes filled with toys. Nora helps him and grabs the other, peeking inside and seeing wrapped presents of various sizes. They enter the room and greet Miss Flaherty, who immediately delegates Harry and his strong arms to deliver all of the presents underneath the tree, and Nora is sent to pass out homemade cookies and milk and read to the younger children.

It’s a blur of activity, and in between reading A Christmas Carol and making sure the younger children don’t choke on their cookies, Nora almost forgets to watch Harry. She mainly notices him in passing—a quick glimpse of a grey long-sleeved arm passing out presents, an electric blue beanie bouncing up and down in her periphery, a peek of brown suede boots running around behind her. It’s only once Nora’s begun reading the fourth stave, in which the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come visits Scrooge, when she notices denim-clad long legs sitting cross-legged in front of her, with a five-year-old blonde girl perched on his lap.

Harry sits there and listens to Nora finish reading the book, watching the way she acts out each character so that the kids in front of her are completely entranced. Her hair looks shinier today than when they were nestled in the library, and her blue eyes glisten whenever she hears a small child “ooh” and “aah” at the sentence she just read. And whenever her gaze falls on Harry’s, he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face.

When it ends, the little girl in his lap whispers into his ear, “Can we give Nora a cookie? She did a good job reading,” and Harry begins nodding excitedly.

“I think that’s a great idea, love. Up you go, let’s go pick out the prettiest sugar cookie on the table, yeah?” When she latches her small hand into his, Nora can’t help but watch in adoration as he lifts her up and brings her to eye level with the cookie tray, pointing at certain ones and waiting for her little nod of approval.

And when the pair approach her, the little girl holding up a paper plate with a snowman sugar cookie on it, Nora’s smile couldn’t be wider. “Is this for me?” Nora asks, bending at her knees so that she’s eye-to-eye with the small girl.

She nods, bashfully. “To say thank you. Harry said you should get the prettiest cookie.”

When Nora grabs the cookie, she looks up at Harry to find that he’s already looking down at her, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. But to Nora, it was practically everything, and she spends the rest of the afternoon in a blissful state, a smile permanently gracing her features.

When they get back to campus with both their stomachs filled with cookies and eggnog and Christmas breads, the sun is just starting to set past the horizon. Harry pulls into his parking spot but waits a moment to shut off the ignition, noticing how Nora’s gaze is focused on the sky as it turns from a cornflower blue to a prepossessing tangerine hue. The snow reflects the sunset perfectly, and even though it’s one of the prettiest winter sunsets Harry’s seen in a long time, he can’t stop looking at the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

She finally turns to him just as the sky changes from violet to indigo, “I had fun today.”

Harry nods, agreeing instantly. “Yeah, it was a good day.”

“Do you do that often? Is that why you stay here during Christmas break?” Nora’s not quite sure if she’s overstepping, but when Harry’s jaw doesn’t clench and his eyes stay rooted on her own, she can tell that he’s not as nervous to tell her things anymore.

“I’ve been doing it the past two years. My dad’s been going on work trips during the Holidays, so I just stay here.” It’s a version of the truth that he feels most comfortable sharing, and he’s grateful that Nora doesn’t push him.

“I’m assuming your friends don’t know,” Nora offers quietly, watching as Harry chuckles to himself, the sound being anything but funny.

“Yeah, they think I’m in the Alps.” He looks sad all of a sudden, and Nora wishes she hadn’t said anything. Because the fact that Harry’s father chooses to work during Christmas, thus leaving him no choice but to stay at Townbridge by himself, is a shitty thing to do. But instead of moping, he chooses to donate presents to children so they can have some sort of a normal Christmas, even though he doesn’t get the same in return. That’s quite admirable.

If it were Nora, she would be bragging to her friends about the Toy Drive, begging them to join her and spread more awareness. But Harry—Harry can’t do that. Because his friends would never understand, and that realization strikes Nora hard in her chest.

Giving him one last glance, she asks him, “Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?”

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up in confusion. The sudden change in conversation is a bit jolting, and when he tries to figure out her intention, she giggles uncomfortably before rambling. “I nicked the DVD player from our common room and set it up in my dorm. Nobody really noticed, so I’ve been watching movies on it all semester.” He’s still looking at her, but instead of confusion written across his face, his lips begin to form a smirk and Nora begins to squirm in her seat, much like the first time they met three years ago in the Great Hall. “So, uh, have you seen it?”

He shakes his head once, twice, the smirk growing into a smile.

“Would you like to?” Nora’s not quite sure why she’s nervous, or more importantly, why she’s even inviting him up to her room in the first place. Maybe she pities him in the slightest, or maybe, just maybe, she’s found that she actually enjoys his presence for once in her life.

“Sure,” he replies easily. Nora watches as he turns the key in his ignition to shut the car off, before hopping out and waiting for her by the trunk. They walk inside Granary Hall together, ride the elevator up to the eighth floor in silence, before entering the fourth door on the right.

The room is moderate, practically identical to the one he had last year with Will, but for some reason, it just screams Nora Priestley. He can already tell which side of the room is hers due to the mix-matched comforter set, the thick homemade quilt, the generous stack of books leaning precariously against the wooden desk, and the collection of polaroids stuck to the wall above her bed nestled in the corner. While she takes off her parka and snow boots, Harry leans towards the photographs, smiling to himself when he sees the happiness radiating off of each one.

His eyes seem glued to the images of Nora and who he assumes to be her mother, with their arms wrapped around each other and their long hair tangling in the ocean breeze. They seem to have done everything together—various images of the two of them on beaches and hiking trails and in the front seat of an old car. Harry’s never seen pure happiness before, and he wishes he could burn these images underneath his eyelids so that he never forgets what that feeling looks like.

“That’s my mom,” Nora says from behind him, almost startling him. He turns around with flushed cheeks, an apology at the tip of his tongue for so obviously intruding. But when he sees her face and notices that she’s not angry at all, he feels his shoulders relax.

“You guys seem to do everything together,” he says softly, choosing his words carefully as to not overstep. The topic of family has always been a difficult one for him in the past.

But for Nora Priestley, she seems to have no qualms about the topic, with the way she’s nodding easily with a nostalgic grin on her face. “Yeah, it’s always been that way. Just the two of us.”

Harry doesn’t say much else, but the look on his face says it all. Some mixture of sadness and jealousy, because even though Nora only has one parent, it’s more than the two he’s known his entire life.

Nora fills her arms with the pillows from her mattress and creates a makeshift pallet on the floor against the end of her bed. Harry takes the seat closest to the door and watches amusedly as she begins to microwave popcorn, opening the door with ten seconds to spare so that she can mix in a package of M&M’s.

When she joins him moments later, she flicks the light off and hits play on the remote. Just as the opening credits begin, she plops down next to him and holds the bowl out in his direction.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, completely serious. He’s looking at the bowl with fascination, wondering what sort of salty-sugary concoction Nora just created.

“It’s the ultimate cinema snack,” Nora explains, grabbing a handful of chocolatey kernels and dropping them into her mouth, munching quietly as Harry looks at her with a glimmer in his eye.

When he pauses for a second time, looking between the movie and the bowl in Nora’s outstretched hands, a sudden realization falls over her.

“Have you never done this before? Gone to the cinema and eaten enough sugary sweets to give yourself a guaranteed stomachache?” The opening scene has already begun but Nora’s too focused on the boy next to her who shakes his head solemnly and looks into the bowl, avoiding Nora’s gaze. She wonders what else the boy she thought had everything in the world has seemingly missed out on.

She turns back around to face the screen, unknowingly scooting closer towards Harry so that their sides are nearly centimeters apart. He can feel the heat of her body against his own, and just when he’s about to say something, Nora announces, “Well, Harry Styles, there’s a first time for everything. Eat up.”

And he does just that.

The next morning at breakfast at their usual table, Harry finds that he’s nervous. And not in the way that makes him angry and quiet and want to run away, but the kind that usually is caused by a girl. His stomach feels fluttery and his palms are sweating and he’s consistently overthinking, and he’s not even sure why—because he’s Harry Styles, for fuck’s sake. And the girl in question is none other than Nora Priestley.

But she’s wearing a beanie with a bobble on top and her cheeks are pink from the cold and there’s still snow clinging to the ends of her hair and he can’t help but feel out of his element. And he shouldn’t, truly, because he’s been with enough girls to know that these feelings don’t exist and that he’s probably fallen ill or something, most likely caused by the cookies they ate all afternoon and the popcorn-M&M monstrosity he inhaled during their movie.

They haven’t really said much, and Harry finds that he doesn’t mind, because he’s not really used to comfortable silences. Alyssa talks enough for the both of them and Grace and Erin are practically human echoes. Carter always has something new to say and Will answers him because he knows Harry won’t, so the fact that he can sit in the dining hall with somebody and read from each other’s books and talk about things that actually matter—it’s refreshing.

“These buildings are quite eerie when they’re completely empty, don’t you think?” Nora asks after they’ve disposed of their dirty plates.

“I think it’s kind of cool. Have you not been anywhere else besides here and the library?” Harry asks, grabbing his scarf and knotting it around his neck.

When Nora shakes her head, Harry’s hand reaches out to grab her own and he’s dragging her through the exit before she can even button up her parka.

“Harry!” Nora squeals, nearly tripping over her own two feet when she tries to keep up with his obnoxiously long strides. His hand still has hers in a vice-like grip and he doesn’t seem to be letting go any time soon, and it’s only once they’ve appeared in front of the English building when Nora digs her heels into the ground, causing Harry to turn around abruptly.

“What?” he asks, noticing the way her head shakes aggressively and her eyes are blown out as if she were completely and utterly afraid.

“No way. We’re not going in there, are you crazy?! It’s the most haunted building on campus, and it’s empty. No fucking way, Harry,” Nora says, standing her ground.

But with one roll of his eyes and some gentle prodding falling from his lips, Nora finds that she’s somehow ended up inside the stairwell of the empty building, laying next to Harry on the marble staircase. It’s silent, save for the sounds of their hearts beating in their chests and their even breaths falling from their parted lips. The window over the second-floor landing paints a pretty light through the surface, and Nora finds that she’s oddly comfortable in this haunted building she’s so terrified of.

She wonders if it’s because of the boy lying next to her.

“Where are you off to next year?” Harry asks suddenly, his head tipped towards the ceiling four stories up.

“Columbia, hopefully,” Nora says, focusing on the rays of light creating illusions along the stone walls.

“New York City?” Harry asks, sounding quite impressed.

“Yeah. How about you?” she asks, twisting her fingers absentmindedly in her lap.

Harry’s quiet for a moment and when Nora looks over, noticing the way his eyes close slowly and his jaw clenches harshly, she wonders if he’s okay. “Oxford,” he finally spits out, his eyes blinking towards the ceiling once more. “As expected.”

Nora thinks of how to respond, but before she can string together a cohesive thought, Harry suddenly turns his neck so that he’s facing her. “I hate expectations. I wish they didn’t fucking exist, if I’m being honest. How are you supposed to grow if you’re forced to do certain things that are already mapped out for you?”

Nora looks back at him, unexpectedly understanding a good chunk of who Harry is. How even though he’s Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the perfect boy who seemingly can get whatever he wants, he’s missing one thing. Happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“What do you want to do when you get to Columbia? Like if you had the choice, and nobody was making it for you, and you didn’t have to worry about anything else—what would make you happy?” Harry asks, a shocking hint of vulnerability laced in between his words.

When Nora stops and thinks about it, the answer is literally right in front of her face. It’s what she’s always wanted to do, what she wishes she could do—but knows deep down that she can’t do. Because it’s not stable and it’s not why Nora went to Townbridge in the first place.

“Scriptwriting. I’d want to write screenplays and work on sets and help construct films that people like me can watch over and over again and never get tired of,” Nora whispers, thinking that if she says it quietly in the stairwell with just Harry around, she can still keep it locked up buried deep inside, away from people who would ridicule her over it.

“What would you do?” Nora asks before Harry can comment on her dream. She’s still not sure she’s ready for that.

His answer comes easier than hers. “I’d want to teach. English lit, preferably.”

Vulnerability is a scary thing. It’s even scarier when it’s shared between two people who, up until five days ago, were practically strangers. As they watch each other, heartbreakingly realizing that these dreams of theirs are just something they’re supposed to chase—a sudden sadness washes over them on the stairwell.

“I can’t do that, though,” Harry says, turning towards the ceiling just as his voice breaks. “Because it’s not in the plan.”

“What is the plan?” Nora asks curiously, eyes still locked on Harry’s side profile, watching the way his jaw moves as he speaks.

“Business Administration at Oxford. An internship at my dad’s company during my second year, and then a full-time job there once I graduate. Board of directors by twenty-five, until I fully take over by thirty. That’s it. That’s my life.” Harry’s voice has never sounded so broken before, and Nora feels her heart splinter a little for the boy lying beside her. Because right now, he’s eighteen, and he’s not supposed to be feeling this inordinate amount of pressure. But he is, and that thought makes Nora incredibly sad.

“And you?” Harry asks suddenly, looking towards her again.

“What about me?” Nora asks cautiously.

“What’s stopping you from becoming a scriptwriter?”

It’s a simple question if Nora really thinks about it. But things aren’t always that easy, and explaining to Harry how his anguish is not too far off from her own is quite a terrifying thought. Because they come from two separate worlds, and finding common ground in the fact that the things they truly yearn for are just not tangible is a sobering experience.

“My mom has higher expectations for me. I mean, I’m The Scholarship Girl. I’m not even supposed to be here. But my mom pushed for me and Mrs. Clemonte supported my application and before I even had a say in it, Townbridge was my plan,” Nora starts, feeling Harry’s eyes on her as she looks anywhere else but in the green of his. “My mom had me young, so she never got to go to college. She’s always telling me to do the things she couldn’t do, make better decisions than she made, be the best version of me I can be. And I do try, constantly. Because she works endlessly and she does everything she can to make sure I don’t end up like her, and that’s a lot of pressure for one person to take, because how can I repay her by studying performance arts and joining an industry that’s already extremely difficult to get into?” Nora’s eyes fall from the ceiling towards Harry, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t do that to her. It would break her heart.”

Harry nods like he understands, and for a brief moment, Nora thinks that he truly does. Because even though their situations are different and they come from two completely separate walks of life, they both have fallen victim to an excruciating amount of pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounding more sincere than he ever has in his entire life.

Nora just shrugs, turning her face back towards the ceiling. “Not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, I guess,” Harry whispers, and Nora almost misses it over the sound of her own breathing. But when she feels his eyes warm her left cheek, she looks back at him and sees that he’s suddenly overridden with guilt.

“It’s okay, Harry—”

“—No, no. It’s really not.” He’s staring at her intently, and Nora’s suddenly found that she can’t look anywhere else. “What Carter did was wrong, and I didn’t do anything about it. And you lost all of your friends and he just went on the same as he always did, and the whole thing is just so fucked up.”

“I didn’t lose everybody,” Nora adds sheepishly, wishing this conversation would end. She doesn’t want to relive last year, she wants to forget its existence entirely.

“Still, it was wrong,” he frustratedly repeats. “You shouldn’t have just one friend at school.”

“It’s okay, though,” she says one last time, her voice urging him to understand her so that they can ultimately end this dreaded conversation. “I’d rather have one true friend than a bunch of fairweather ones.”

Harry nods and turns back towards the ceiling, and she knows that he isn’t going to say anything. Because this conversation is over, and what Nora said is unquestionably true. But he doesn’t want to face the harsh reality of his empty friendships, so instead, he stares at the ceiling, wondering how his life would have turned out if he fell into a different group instead of the one he has now.

Once Nora’s back starts to ache against the stone stairwell, she sits up and peers through the window on the second-story landing. The snow is falling down a bit harder now, coating the campus below in a thick, billowing white blanket. She thinks it’s beautiful. She thinks it’s far too inviting. So without thinking (something she’s been doing a lot of this week), she reaches for Harry’s hand and heaves him up, dragging him out of the English building and into the empty quad.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, confusion and amusement weaving together beautifully in his voice. Without answering, Nora reaches down and makes a snowball through her fingerless gloves, before hurling it straight towards Harry’s chest.

He looks at her with his jaw practically on the floor, faking his anger even though Nora can see right through it. She’s giggling loudly, almost hunched over at the shocked expression on his face. And before she can even comprehend it, Harry makes a snowball faster than her own and hits her right in the shoulder.

“Hey!” she calls back, wiping the leftover snow off her parka. Harry’s mischievous grin is clear as day through the thick snowfall, and when she mirrors it back, they’ve suddenly found themselves in a snow war.

Their laughter echoes through the quad and bounces off the stone buildings, and once Nora’s beanie is submerged in the snow and their jeans are soaked through and the only sound they can hear is their teeth chattering together, Harry calls a truce and drags her towards the direction of Quinby House. It’s closer than Granary Hall by at least five minutes, and when he holds the front door open for her, Nora enters without really thinking of the repercussions.

“Our floor’s empty and we have a private bathroom, so, er, if you want to shower first you’re more than welcome to. I’ve got warm clothes you can change into,” Harry offers quietly, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. Nora can’t tell if the blush coating his cheeks is from the snow clinging to his body or something else entirely, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she nods, following him to the last door on the left of the third floor, removing her snow boots in the hallway outside and beginning to walk towards the adjoining bathroom.

Nora closes the door without turning the lock, and immediately turns the shower on to its highest setting as she removes each soggy layer of clothing. She steps in just as the steam is clouding the small room, and when she notices the citrus body wash in the corner, she grabs that one instead of the Irish Spring bottle, knowing that it’s Harry’s.

Just as Harry’s pulled out a tight pair of joggers and his freshly washed soccer sweatshirt, he hears the distinct sound of the door creaking open. When he looks over his shoulder and finds that Nora isn’t peeking her head out from behind, he immediately gulps, knowing that the old door and the hot room caused the hinges to loosen.

As he approaches the door to close it securely, he can’t help but look up and notice Nora’s bare back through the mirror. Luckily he doesn’t see anything else, but still, he finds himself not being able to look away. Her milky skin is slightly red from the hot streams of the shower hitting her back and her blonde hair is sudsy and a part of him hopes that she picked his shampoo instead of Will’s. And when she moves her hair from the nape of her neck, Harry notices four black letters tattooed into her skin, and suddenly he closes the door before he can make out the blackletter script.

He sits on his bed across the room, his elbows resting on his thighs with his head in his hands as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing. It’s a fucking back for Christ’s sake! Harry’s seen far more amongst other girls, and the fact that her hidden tattoo is causing his heart to beat erratically is giving him a migraine. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley behind that door, and he’s Harry fucking Styles. And he needs to remember that before he embarrasses himself any further.

But when the door finally opens fully and she’s standing there in a tiny towel barely covering her legs and her wet hair framing her blushing face, Harry knows he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley. And she’s standing there naked underneath terry-cloth and he doesn’t try to ignore the fact that his thumping heart and his staggered breathing are all because of her.

“So those, uh, clothes you were talking about…” Nora says awkwardly, staring at the carpeted flooring of his room instead of his face. Because she’s very clearly naked and very clearly uncomfortable, and when Harry points towards Will’s bed where the articles in question are resting, she barely mutters a thank you before the wooden door is shut again and she can finally breathe properly.

When they exchange places, Nora’s grateful that Harry has the decency to bring his change of clothing into the bathroom with him, because if she had to stare at his wet torso, she’s not quite sure she could bear it.

She snoops through his dorm room once she hears the water running, and finds that his side is practically barren. There are no pictures of his family, no personalized anecdotes to distinguish Harry’s side of the room from Willy’s, nothing except a collection of books in the open section underneath his nightstand. She reads through the titles, realizing that Harry does, in fact, have a thing for classic literature.

Just as she’s moved on to Willy’s desk, observing the stoic photograph of him and his parents that must have been taken recently, Harry emerges from the bathroom in comfy sweats and wet curly hair, and Nora looks away before she’s caught admiring his figure.

“What are you looking at?” Harry asks, dropping his wet clothes into his hamper before turning towards Nora’s position against Will’s desk.

When she holds up the frame, Harry looks between the picture and Nora’s face. As Harry studies her expression, noting the way her eyes are clouded with familiarity and a hint of sadness that lingers underneath, he can tell that she knows this family quite well.

So he asks, “You know Will, don’t you?”

“Knew would be the appropriate term,” Nora says quietly, placing the frame back where she found it before leaning her backside on his desk so that she can face Harry properly. “My mom was his nanny.”

Before Harry can comment, Nora quickly adds, “But please don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to think I’ve ruined his reputation or anything.”

“Why?” Harry asks, stepping towards her slowly. When she looks up at him with confusion, he continues, “Why would you let him lie to everybody?”

Nora just shrugs. “He obviously didn’t want anybody to know. But I know the truth, and Willy knows the truth, and he’s the one who has to live with that, not me.”

Harry looks at her from the middle of his room, thinking it’s quite remarkable that her brain works like that. Because Will had embarrassed her clear as day in front of all of his friends, and not only that, he lied, too. Harry thinks that if he hadn’t said those words, and if Alyssa and her friends hadn’t reacted that way, and if he just had a moment to talk to Nora before they had interrupted—maybe things would be completely different.

But Harry doesn’t like to think about what if’s. So instead, he grabs his laptop from his desk and powers it on, laying down on his twin bed in the spot closest to the wall, pulling up his movie library and patting the empty spot on his mattress.

When Nora lays down next to him, her back propped up on his headboard as her left side is flushed with Harry’s right, she asks, “Are we watching your favorite this time?”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “No, I’d rather watch another one of yours.”

Blushing, Nora grabs the computer from his lap and types in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, a classic that she’s sure Harry will enjoy. And when she hands his computer back to him, she tries to ignore the fact that Harry was watching her face instead of the screen.

“Have you seen this?” Nora asks, trying to break Harry out of whatever weird trance he fell into.

“Nope,” Harry admits, balancing his computer in the middle of their thighs so that they can both view the screen properly. Nora tries to ignore the fact that she had to move closer towards him to fill in the gap, but the redness flushing up and down her neck practically gives her away. “Why is it one of your favorites?”

His question is simple in hindsight, but it makes her heart bubble when she realizes that he’s actually interested in the little things about her that seem meaningless. “Well, it’s a classic, and I know that’s sort of your thing,” she says, smiling when she pulls a chuckle from his mouth. “And it’s one of my favorite examples of breaking the fourth wall in a screenplay.”

“What on earth is that?” Harry asks, clicking play once the movie has finished loading.

“It’s sort of like metafiction in literature. Basically, it’s a plot device that scriptwriter’s use when the main character speaks to the audience. Ferris does it, like, all the time.” When Nora realizes that she sounds extremely nerdy divulging scriptwriting plot devices and intricacies about film that nobody really cares about, she shuts her mouth, turning crimson.

Harry doesn’t say anything though, and she’s grateful for it. Because even if he thinks it’s weird and nerdy (which he doesn’t, of course, but he’d never tell her that), he turns his head towards the screen and tries to hide the smile on his face.

And when the opening monologue begins and Ferris is in the shower talking to the camera, Harry whispers into Nora’s ear and asks, “Is that it?” She tries to cover the shiver running through her skin at the feeling of Harry’s lips brushing against her earlobe, but Harry notices it, like he notices everything about her lately. So for good measure, when Ferris breaks the fourth wall again at Cameron’s house, Harry leans over and mumbles, “And this, yeah? This is it, too?”

Nora knows he’s teasing, so when she turns her face in his direction so that Harry can see her rolling her eyes in good humor, he tries to ignore the warmth on his shoulder from where her chin rests.

Around halfway through the movie, Nora finds that she’s suddenly grown tired. She sneaks a peek at Harry and notices that he’s captivated by the movie on the small screen, and she really doesn’t want to interrupt him. After her third stifled yawn, Nora can feel her eyes drooping, and without really thinking, her head falls against the fleshy part of Harry’s bicep. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does flinch for the shortest of seconds, before looking at her and realizing that she looks far too content dozing off on his arm. So he keeps quiet, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

The next morning, Nora wakes up and finds that she’s not in her room. She also finds that her left cheek is smushed against comfy cotton material that keeps rising and falling steadily. And when she finally comes to, she finds that the comfy cotton material belongs to Harry, and the rising and falling belongs to his chest, and when she notices her right arm wrapped securely around his lower stomach just above the waistband of his joggers where a sliver of warm, tattooed skin lies, she freezes. Before Harry can wake up and go through the same motions she just did, Nora springs up, a stupid decision that results in Harry stirring abruptly.

He seems to have realized the compromising position they were just in, and before Nora can run out of the room in a panic, he mutters, “I’m sorry,” in his incredibly scratchy morning voice and Nora finds that it really doesn’t help matters.

Because Harry Styles in the morning is something special. He looks good in every lighting, if Nora is being brutally honest, but there’s something about his puffy face and swollen lips and crackling voice that makes her appreciate him a little bit more than she probably should in the early hours of the day.

“It’s, uh, my fault. I was the one who fell asleep,” Nora offers lamely, raking her fingers through her matted hair to try and alleviate the awkwardness in the room.

And when Harry mutters, “I didn’t mind” at the same time Nora says, “I should probably go,” they both freeze and look at each other timidly. Harry’s wondering why he doesn’t want her to leave and Nora’s wondering why she wants to wrap her body around his again, and it’s all too much for nine in the morning.

But he’s still looking at her, and she’s still looking at him, and somehow they’ve both landed on solid ground for the first time. Harry’s finding out that he quite likes the look of her burrowed in his soccer sweatshirt and Nora’s discovering that she’s never slept better than when she was lying next to him, and when he asks her if she wants him to save their usual table at the dining hall for breakfast, Nora nods, thinking it’s the greatest idea in the world.

An hour later, after Nora’s gone back to her room to change (begrudgingly) into her own clothes and freshen up, it’s almost second nature when she falls into the seat across from Harry with a steaming plate of waffles and fruit. He has her coffee ready for her just the way she likes it, a splash of cream with one sugar cube, and she can’t help but match the grin covering the lower half of his face.

Even though Nora had the best sleep of her life, and waking up next to Harry was something she wishes she could do over and over and over again—she feels guilty. Because Harry is with Alyssa and Alyssa isn’t here and the whole thing makes her head throb painfully.

So, regretfully, Nora apologizes for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

“Nora, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Please stop apologizing, it’s driving me mad,” Harry jokes, stealing the syrup from her hands and pouring a generous amount over his stack of waffles.

“It’s just—Alyssa’s your girlfriend. And I know she doesn’t necessarily like me, but that still doesn’t make it right to share a bed with you,” Nora explains even though she knows it’s driving Harry crazy.

Harry nods, dropping his silverware against his plate so that his attention is focused solely on the girl across from him. “I know, but as I said earlier, I didn’t mind. If I didn’t want you to stay, I would have said something,” and before he resumes eating, he adds quietly, “It’s not like Alyssa’s really my girlfriend.”

“What do you mean?” Nora asks, noticing the way Harry exhales out of his mouth slowly.

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could call her that. But it’s really only surface level, because if our parents didn’t summer together every year and force us to be together, it probably never would have happened in the first place. But it did, and we put on this show and everybody thinks we’re this happy little couple. And maybe we were, for a short while. But I haven’t really been the nicest boyfriend to her and she’s strayed on more than one occasion, and it’s all sort of scrambled,” Harry admits, staring at his tray to avoid Nora’s eyes. If he did look up, though, he would have noticed the sadness floating through her eyes and the frown swooping over her lips.

The rumors about Harry flirting with other girls and the occasional sneaky kiss in back corner’s of parties have been brought to Nora’s attention on multiple occasions. And even the ones last spring about Alyssa sneaking out of Carter’s dorm room trickled down to Nora’s group of friends, but she did her best to ignore them. Because she knows better than anyone how the rumor mill works, and even though Alyssa, Carter, and Harry did nothing to help Nora, she still couldn’t bring herself to stoop down to their level.

“Sounds like an incestuous mess to me,” Nora decides to say, trying to bring an air of lightness to the sudden uncomfortable topic of discussion.

It works, and Harry finds himself chuckling loudly across the table. “Yeah, it’s all about labels. Kind of a shitty thing to admit, but I’ve never really loved Alyssa. Can’t say I see that happening in the future, either.” He’s willingly giving Nora information that he hasn’t even told anybody before, and she’s not quite sure what to do with that revelation.

“That’s quite sad,” Nora says softly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, curious.

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re just wasting your time, I guess,” Nora pauses and Harry can tell she’s trying to figure out how to phrase her next thought. “Maybe I’ve watched one too many movies, so ignore me if I’m wrong, but being with somebody isn’t supposed to feel like a chore. It should be fun. Exhilarating, even. What you have with Alyssa just sounds—exhausting.”

When Harry’s quiet for a few moments, Nora suddenly realizes that what she had just said was probably completely out of order. “Sorry if I’m overstepping, that was probably rude of me.”

Noticing Nora’s distress, Harry gives her a small smile and just shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not overstepping. You’re probably right, if I’m being honest. But at this point, there’s no use in switching things up.” There’s a brief pause in which Nora breathes out a sigh of relief, reaching towards her coffee and taking a generous sip. Before Harry realizes what he’s saying, he asks her quickly, “Have you ever had that feeling?”

“What feeling?” Nora asks.

Harry grins shyly. “Being with someone and having it be fun and exhilarating.”

Nora nods slowly, thinking about Connor. “I think so. For a little while, at least.”

“What happened?” Harry’s not sure if he’s the one who’s overstepping now. But when he notices Nora’s cheeks blush ever so subtly and her lips quirk up into sentimental half-smile, he suddenly feels an uncomfortable knot form in his stomach. It’s twisting and turning and he’s never had this feeling before—not when he found out Alyssa was sleeping with Carter, not when his parents decided to go to St. Tropez without him, not ever. But with Nora sitting across from him looking wistfully in the distance, Harry’s found that he’s practically consumed with jealousy, and he fucking hates it.

“He moved away, and I had to come back here for school,” Nora explains, breaking out of her daydream and looking back towards Harry. When she notices the unreadable expression on his face, she decides to change the subject. “So, what do you want to do today?”

Harry tries his hardest to forget about Nora’s mystery man for the rest of the day, but he can’t help it. The jealousy is like a seed planted in the depths of his stomach, and he feels it growing and growing inside of him until he’s practically turned green with envy. And he has no fucking idea why it’s bothering him so much.

Hours later, they’re back in Nora’s room for another movie night after a day filled with exchanging their favorite novels and talking about things Harry’s never even discussed with his own friends. Nora chooses Notting Hill, thinking that out of all of the movies in her favorites list, this one has got to be one that Harry’s seen before.

But when he shakes his head when she holds up the plastic DVD cover in his direction, Nora’s mouth is already on the floor and Harry can’t help but laugh at her shocked expression.

“How have you never seen this?! You’re British! You should be ashamed! I’m calling Gordon Brown and asking him to revoke your citizenship,” Nora exclaims, setting up the DVD player and inserting the disc inside the tray. She’s changed into leggings and chose Harry’s soccer sweatshirt over the worn-in Townbridge one she’s owned since freshman year, and Harry feels giddy with pride at the thought of it all.

“I already apologized for it! Give me a break, Priestley!” Harry calls back, amusement lacing his words.

Nora finds herself giggling in response, and once the title screen is displayed on the television, she peeks over her shoulder and finds that Harry is getting himself comfortable on her bed. He’s wearing track bottoms and a cream-colored henley, and when he claims the spot near the wall and burrows underneath the quilt her mother cross-stitched for her last Christmas, Nora can’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“This movie makes me want to visit London,” Nora admits, pressing play on the remote and walking towards her bed. When Harry opens up the blanket for Nora to slide into, she does so easily, feeling the most comfortable she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, dropping the blanket underneath Nora’s chin and throwing an arm around her shoulder.

Nora surprisingly doesn’t flinch. Instead, she curls closer to his body, resting her chin on the planes of his chest and her hand just below. “Yeah.”

“I think you’d like it,” Harry whispers against the crown of her head just as the opening scene begins.

The first few scenes of the movie pass by in comfortable silence. But just after Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts in his bookstore, Nora can practically feel Harry’s brain whizzing because he’s thinking too hard. And just when it starts to become distracting, Nora asks, “What’re you thinking about? I can hear your brain churning from here.”

He exhales out a laugh and admits truthfully, “I keep thinking about your exhilarating crush.”

Nora feels stunned all of a sudden, her body freezing against his own. “Why?” she somehow chokes out through her dry throat.

Nora can hear the gulp Harry takes from above. “I dunno. Suppose I’m very interested to know what kind of guy swept Nora Priestley off her feet.”

She sits up with her back to the television, completely ignoring the movie playing behind her. The quilt falls from her shoulders and pools around her waist, and she’s suddenly grateful for the cooler air of her dorm room whipping against her neck, because she’s grown increasingly warm. Harry slides his body up on the bed until his torso is flushed against the headboard, staring at Nora with those green eyes that for the first time, aren’t dull. Instead, they’re almost twinkling in the dim lighting of her room.

His gaze is focused solely on Nora—on the messy fringe falling against her forehead, the gentle slope of her nose, the plushness of her pink lips, the angular curve of her jawline. The way she looks buried in his sweatshirt with the sleeves falling past her fingertips causes his heart to beat loudly inside his chest, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her has never been more prominent before in his life.

“I think I’ve always thought about it,” Harry admits quietly, his eyes never falling from her own. Because if they did move, he would have missed the way her mouth parted slightly, a small inhale slipping down her throat. He would have missed the way her eyes widened almost comically, the blueness reminding him of the sky on a pleasing, clear day. And when he takes all of that into consideration, he comes to the conclusion that Nora Priestley is undoubtedly beautiful, and probably always has been. He’s always just been too stupid to realize it.

“You never said anything,” Nora whispers back, staring at Harry with the same ferocity. “You never say anything.”

Harry nods, “I know.” And when he inches his body closer to hers and notices that she doesn’t back away from him, he adds, “I’m saying it now. Am I too late?”

Nora watches the way Harry leans towards her, his body being held up by his hands that are anchored to the mattress in front of her knees. Even though the movie is still playing from the television behind her, she can’t hear anything except for the accelerated beating of her heart racking against her ribs and pounding against her chest.

He’s so close to her now, the tip of his nose brushing against her own so tactfully that Nora’s not even sure if it’s actually happening. At this proximity, Nora can see inside his eyes and she finds that they’re not as green as she once thought. Instead, they’re almost a turquoise color, with golden hues circling his pupil and when she looks closely, she can see her own face in the reflection. And suddenly, that’s the only answer she needs before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips against his own.

Even though Harry Styles is Nora’s third first kiss, it’s the best one she’s had yet. It’s slow at first, just the gentle pressure of two sets of lips pressing against the other’s. It’s hesitant, timid, nervous, until Harry wraps his arm around Nora’s back, pulling her closer towards him so that their fronts are completely flushed. After that, it’s intense, passionate, frenzied.

His teeth nip at her lower lip until she opens her mouth ever so slightly, allowing his tongue to slip through. Once Nora gets the message, she opens her mouth wider, angling her head to the side so that she can slip her own inside of his mouth, the two fleshy organs tangling together causing a reverberating hum to break from the back of Harry’s throat.

The sounds cause Nora to still, and when she breaks away and notices the dark hue in Harry’s eyes, the exasperated breaths causing his chest to rise and fall sporadically, the bright pinkness of his lips—it’s all Nora needs to push Harry back into his seated position against her headboard, crawling over on her knees until her legs are straddling his hips. She slinks both hands through his wild hair until they connect at the back of his head, and their lips connect for a second time.

This time, Nora’s not shy to let her teeth clink against Harry’s in a mad rush to gain dominance over their kiss. This time, Harry’s not reticent to let his hands roam the expanse of her back, slipping them underneath the bottom of his baggy sweatshirt so that his fingers can dance against her flushed skin without a barrier in between.

Nora’s hands fall from Harry’s hair to his neck, to the chain that rests against the middle of his chest that’s exposed through the unbuttoned part of his henley, all the way down his stomach until her fingers play with the hem of his shirt. When her nails lightly scratch against Harry’s lower stomach where Nora knows the tips of two tattooed ferns lie, he gets the hint and unlocks their lips, reaching his hands over her own and pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Nora sits back on Harry’s thighs, watching how Harry throws his crumpled shirt somewhere on the floor of her dorm room without care. His hair is mussed from a combination of Nora’s fingers and the quick way he removed his henley, and when Nora’s eyes ogle at the two identical swallows underneath his collarbones, the small definition of his chest, the butterfly permanently drawn in the middle of his stomach, to the small trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his track pants—she’s hot all over.

Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and find that he’s suddenly nervous. He’s blinking up at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, and when the hands that rest against her hips start to fall ever so softly, Nora grips the bottom of Harry’s sweatshirt and lifts it over her head, throwing it against the floor.

She’s sitting there, against his hips wearing a simple nude bra, and Harry feels his breath constricting in his throat at the sight of her. Her lips are swollen and her fringe is frizzy and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her cheeks begin to flush, Harry’s hands reach behind her neck to bring her down to his face. And just before their lips meet for the third time, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” against her mouth, sealing it with his own so that she never forgets it.

Nora’s never done this before, but when Harry’s mouth falls to her neck and she accidentally grinds her hips into his own below in surprise, the groan that emits from his throat is practically feral. So, she does it again, her throat hitching when his teeth sink into the fleshy juncture of her shoulder and neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, and the other is resting on her hip. But when she grinds into him for the third time, he brings that hand up to the clasp of her bra, removing his lips from her neck and breathing against her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice sounding more strained than ever before. Nora finds that it’s unquestionably the hottest thing she’s ever heard, and when she brings her hands to rest on his searing chest, her nails scraping against his skin, the whine that falls from his lips might just be hotter.

“Yes,” Nora whispers back, holding her breath when his fingers easily undo the clasp, the straps sliding down her shoulders as the cups covering her breasts begin to fall. When she lowers her arms so that her elbows are no longer bent, the garment falls easily from her body and onto the mattress below.

Cautiously, she looks at Harry and finds that he’s looking into her eyes to make sure that she feels safe with him. The thought alone makes her nerves completely subside, and when she nods ever so slightly, Harry finally lets his eyes fall towards her chest. She watches him as he sits up, bringing his lips to the base of her throat as he places gentle kisses along the expanse of her neck, down to her sternum, until his lips are centimeters away from her breasts. When her fingers tangle into his curly hair, Harry peeks up at her briefly before placing his mouth around her right nipple, his hand softly massaging her left.

Nora’s head falls back and a moan tears through her throat, and it’s the first time that’s ever happened in her life. Harry stills, his lips moving slightly so that he can watch her, and it’s enough to make the bulge in his pants grow until it’s practically unbearable. His tongue continues to move down her body, kissing along the lines on her stomach until his hand moves to rub the fleshy part of Nora’s hips, hesitantly moving towards the front of her body. And when his right hand cups her legging-clad core, Nora’s hands halt in Harry’s hair, and he removes his lips from her body and looks at her.

“I don’t think I’m—” Nora pauses, her confident streak breaking. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Harry says softly, bringing his hand up to take a piece of her blonde hair that’s fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We can do something else if you’d like. But the second you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” He’s never been this patient with somebody before in his life, and somehow Nora can sense that. She’s incredibly grateful for Harry then, and once her breathing has regulated and she’s no longer anxious, she nods, pecking him softly on the lips.

Harry pecks her back once, twice, thrice until cupping his hand back against her front. He rubs her slowly then, and when Nora feels the stickiness from inside her underwear permeate through the thin material, she shudders against his body. His fingers curl into the waistband of her leggings, and after asking her for permission, she lifts her hips and her knees so that he can pull the black material halfway down her legs, leaving Nora in just her simple baby blue underwear.

Harry resumes his ministrations, causing Nora to wrap her arms around his neck, her elbows resting against his shoulders as her body quivers again. And when his fingertips sneak underneath the material, a long finger gently stroking her slit, Nora’s hands use Harry’s hair as an anchor as her forehead rests against his own as she emits a blissful sigh. Just before his finger slides in, he brings his lips against hers so that he can feel her moans hit the back of his throat.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward at first, and when her breath hitches in her throat and her lips break away from Harry’s, he pauses, looking at her with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

Nora looks at him, her hand ruffling his hair tenderly as she shakes her head. Grinning, Harry brings his lips back to hers, resuming pumping his finger inside of her.

After a few strokes, Nora starts to feel her rigid body unraveling, and suddenly she’s matching Harry’s rhythm as she grinds down onto his finger. When his wet thumb starts to circle her swollen mound, another moan rips from her throat, causing their kisses to halt.

“I love that,” Harry whispers against her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own and beginning to move his hand faster.

The stickiness is accruing inside her underwear and Nora can feel sweat brimming at the nape of her neck. She feels hot to the touch, and when Harry changes his thumb strokes from clockwise to counter-clockwise, a fluttering like no other vibrates through her lower stomach as she whines into his mouth.

“I think you’re close,” Harry says, bringing his hand that isn’t inside of her around her lower back to keep her steady. And when his finger curls and presses against a spongy spot inside of her, Nora feels the fluttering turn into a full-blown explosion, and suddenly her eyes close shut at the ferocity of it all.

Nora stills on top of him, feeling the stickiness begin to coat her inner thighs as a loud moan rips from her throat. Her hands move from Harry’s hair to his shoulder blades, and when she opens her eyes and realizes that her fingernails have carved crescent moons into the flesh, she immediately removes them.

The warmth has gone, and in its place, a numbing sort of calmness. Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear and when he looks up at her and sees her irises blown out and her cheeks pinkened and her lower lip indented by her front teeth, he grins smugly and kisses her softly.

“Alright?” he asks once her eyes have opened fully and she no longer is panting against his cheek.

Nora nods, a bit shy considering she just had her first orgasm and she’s not quite sure what to do next. She looks down and notices the bulge in Harry’s pants, and smiles at him unsurely. “If you tell me what to do, I can, er, help you out?”

Harry smirks, running a gentle hand through her hair and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Just, uh, give me a mo’. I’ll be right back,” he says softly, placing two hands on her hips and lifting her slowly so that she’s no longer straddling his waist.

When she pulls her leggings back on, the stickiness is far too uncomfortable between her thighs. Harry notices her wiggle on the mattress and chuckles to himself, finding it all too adorable. When he gets up from her bed, shifting his pants so that his erection is less painful, he turns towards Nora before crossing the hall into the communal bathrooms.

“Where do you keep your linens?” Harry asks from his position by her door. Confusedly, Nora points towards the wardrobe near her desk and he opens it slowly, grabbing a folded hand towel and passing it to her. She smiles softly, thanking him before watching him retreat into the hallway.

After Nora’s changed her underwear and put on a pair of sleep shorts, sliding Harry’s sweatshirt back over her body once her skin has cooled down, she gets back under the covers and turns her attention towards Notting Hill. Harry comes in a few minutes later, the front of his pants lacking a distinct bulge. He looks over and notices her lying comfortably in her bed, and when she moves her eyes from the screen to his figure standing in the doorway, a cute grin covers the lower half of her face.

“You coming to bed?” Nora asks, patting the spot on the mattress beside her. With a quick smile, Harry walks towards her, lifting his body over her own so that he can resume his position by the wall. And just as his arms are on either side of her body, his shirt still somewhere on her floor and his pants low on his hips, he sneaks a kiss from her lips before plopping down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders tightly.

“Think we can start this movie over?” Harry asks, playing with the ends of Nora’s hair that falls inside the hood of his sweatshirt.

Nora hits rewind, wondering if it’ll hurt falling asleep with a grin permanently stuck on her face.

The next morning, Nora wakes up feeling far too warm. Her backside is flushed completely with Harry’s front, and he’s spooning her tightly. His arms are wrapped securely around Nora’s stomach and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck in hot spurts, his nose brushing the spot underneath her ear. His curly hair is tickling the sides of her face and his legs are slotted between her own and Nora’s never been so tangled up with somebody else before.

And while it’s comforting, there’s no denying that Harry’s body heat is pervading through her skin, and when she wiggles to try and figure out a way to lower the duvet from underneath her chin, it causes Harry to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he subconsciously brings Nora’s body closer to his own, and when he finally does open his eyes fully, he notices how close they’ve gotten in the middle of the night. Harry’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow being wrapped up with Nora Priestley has caused him to have the best night’s sleep of his entire life.

“Morning,” she whispers, her chin resting on her left shoulder as she peeks at him behind her. Her blue eyes are foggy in the morning and her lips are beautifully swollen, and even though her hair is knotted and her cheeks have red jagged lines from her pillowcase all over them, he can’t help but grin back at her, finding her perfect.

“Hi,” he says back, his voice cracking from lack of use. They both roll over so that their backs are flat on the mattress. And just when Harry’s about to swing his arm over Nora’s shoulder to bring her closer to his body so that they can fall back asleep, his Blackberry rings loudly from the nightstand.

Before he can let it go to voicemail, he reaches around Nora’s body to grab it, gulping when he sees Alyssa’s name across the screen. Apprehensively, he brings the phone to his ear, ignoring the heat of Nora’s gaze against his cheek.

“Hello?” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“Baby! Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ll all be back on campus in, like, two hours. Our flight just landed. When will you get in?” Nails scraping down a chalkboard would be a better sound than the one he just heard through the speaker of his mobile. Because suddenly, his Nora Priestley bubble has popped. Their ten-day vacation has come to an abrupt end, and Harry can feel the panic begin to spread throughout his body.

“Harry? You there?” Alyssa asks, and it’s only then when Harry realizes he’s been deadly silent.

He coughs into his fist uncomfortably, before saying, “Hey, sorry. Uh, sounds good. My flight got in a few hours ago. I’m actually, er, pulling into campus now,” Harry lies. The familiar feeling of shame washes over him, and when he feels Nora slide out of bed beside him, a puzzled look falling across her face, he’s never felt worse in his life.

“Perfect! Can’t wait to see you, baby!” Alyssa squeals, and before Harry can respond, he hangs up the phone, tossing it purposelessly against the end of her bed.

It’s silent between the two, and not the sort of comfortable silence that they’ve grown accustomed to with each other. Instead, it’s heavy, weighing them both down until they feel fatigued under the burden of it all.

Nora knows deep down that this is it. The Harry she’s grown to adore the past ten days is no longer there. In its place is the cold, disheartening, lifeless Harry that she’s hated ever since he casted her out during the First Year Mixer almost four years ago. Just like with Connor, her romance with Harry is fleeting. It has an expiration date. And sadly, they’ve reached their end.

He doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t expect him to. He’s clearly tormented by all of this, getting out of her bed ploddingly as he scans the floor for his clothing from the night before. He’s distracted as he puts on his wrinkled Henley, slides on his boots without tying them, slips his arms inside his trench coat, and places everything else he can try to remember inside the pockets. And just before he leaves her room, he stops and turns, looking at her with those dull, green eyes from before.

This is it, Nora thinks, watching the way his eyes fall from her face towards his big sweatshirt on her body to her long legs hidden underneath her tiny sleep shorts. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to come back to bed. He’s going to—

“Can I have my jumper back?” Nora feels as if she’s just been kicked in the chest, air ripping from her lungs and falling into the space between her and Harry. She’s never felt so small in her life. And when his eyes are still dull and his foot begins to tap impatiently and he looks as if he’s about to burst, Nora knows this is truly it. The Harry she knows is officially gone.

Or maybe this is who Harry really is. And the version she got was just a figment of her imagination, an imposter Harry, a Harry that only existed within the ten days of Holiday break inside an empty Townbridge Academy.

With shaking hands, Nora rips the sweatshirt off her body, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a sports bra below. She flings the material at Harry’s chest, and she hopes that it diverts his attention from her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.

He sees everything, though. And without another word, he pivots on his foot, his back towards Nora as he enters the hallway and closes her door tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the sound of her crying through the heavy oak.

Nora should have expected it, in hindsight. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

This time around, it’s not like Carter Donnelly. Instead of spreading rumors to their classmates, Harry says nothing—not even a lie to his friends, not even a subtle brag about how he was the first person to ever see Nora Priestley come undone—nothing. He keeps quiet, barely looks at her, and goes about his life the way he always has—as Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the prodigal son, who always gets whatever he wants.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Harry has enough pressure in his life—pressure from his father, pressure from his friends, pressure from fucking everybody who looks his way. It’s enough to break somebody in half, so succumbing to both is easier than fighting them.

So when his friends come back to campus and resume their lives the way they always have, Harry can’t help but follow suit. Because telling them that he spent the past ten days with Nora Priestley is simply not an option, even if they were the best ten days he’s ever had. And it’s a heartbreaking realization, because even though Harry doesn’t really care for his friends that much, he still doesn’t want to disappoint them.

Whenever he passes by Nora in the hallway, he doesn’t bother looking in her direction. When he can feel her gaze on his back in AP English, he doesn’t turn around. And when he sees her sitting at the table in the dining hall that they deemed their own for ten days, he doesn’t say anything. He just feels his heart freezing over until it’s an icy block inside of his chest.

And when he’s taking pictures with Alyssa at prom and notices Nora’s pretty blue dress that makes her eyes shine, he almost feels the ice crack. But then she looks at him, for only the briefest of moments, and in that minuscule period of time, he can see the disappointment and anger in her eyes, and it’s enough to make the ice harden.

Harry tries to convince himself that when he’s standing on stage with Alyssa with a plastic crown on his head, he doesn’t notice a flurry of blue exit through the front door. Because when he looks out in the crowd and sees an empty spot near Lydia and Margot that Nora once filled, he knows for sure that the flurry of blue was her. And halfway through his dance with Alyssa, when he’s looking at her strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes and makeup-filled face and expensive purple dress, Harry feels empty inside. Because he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to be around her or his shitty friends anymore.

So he leaves.

But it’s too late—of course it’s too late. Because second chances don’t come to people like Harry, and it’s in Nora’s best interest for him to leave her alone. He’s caused enough hurt in her life, he’s done enough irreparable damage to last a lifetime.

During graduation, Harry tries his best to not look two rows ahead of him and stare at Nora in her red cap and gown. And when her name is called, he tries to ignore the singular cheer from the back of the Great Hall, the cacophonous finger whistle echoing off the walls following shortly after. He wonders if he’s the only person who can see the glimmer of pride in Nora’s eyes when she locates her mother in the back of the room. And when Alyssa scoffs under her breath from the row behind him, muttering a, “How fucking embarrassing,” to her friends, Harry turns around and tells her to fuck off.

As he’s stoically taking pictures with his mother and father in the quad after the ceremony, he sees Nora and her mother in his periphery. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than when she’s smiling with her mom, clinging to her so that they can share this moment together. And when he notices her mother’s matching blue eyes filled with pride, he looks at his own set of parents and wonders if they’ve ever looked at him like that before.

It’s almost enough to make the ice melt. But then his father is taking a business call and his mother is whisked away to talk about society functions with Alyssa’s mom, and Harry’s left standing there completely and utterly alone.

“That boy’s looking at you, Nora,” her mother says, eyes falling on somebody over Nora’s shoulder. “Do you know him?”

When Nora turns around and sees Harry standing there, green eyes full of hope and yearning and wonder, she doesn’t spare him a second look. Her head whips around just as quickly, looking at her mother with a small shake of her head.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Nora says, meaning every word.

And when she drives away from Townbridge for the final time, she’s suddenly brimming with happiness at the fact that she’ll never have to see those people again. And more importantly, she’ll never have to see Harry Styles for as long as she lives.

*** A/N: When I started writing Fade, it sort of ended up playing out in three acts. So with that, this is officially the end of Act One (and officially my favorite chapter of the entire high school years.) Let me know your thoughts and predictions, my inbox is always open for those who want to scream at me. It’s probably going to happen a lot with this story.

To make room for editing and ensuring I have enough written ahead of time for Act Two to keep with the weekly update schedule, (and because I sort of like the idea of separating things into acts because I’m annoying like that) I’ll be taking a week to sort everything out. Therefore, the next chapter and start of Act Two will be posted on Friday, March 12th. Until then, stay safe and be kind! x

taglist: @ilovegolden @stylishmuser @solllaris @ficnarry @thatnightin2008 @harryswinterberries @morethanamelodyy @coffee-doodle-doo @stepping-into-the-light @piawhat @sylcolt @burberryharold @sapphicspacecult666 @adoremp3 @beautifulletdownfics @thefangirlingbarista @iwantedmacmaddybutitstaken @veryplatoniccircunstances @live-at-the-forum@heslilac @kakayam @caramello-styles @ifheartscouldwrite @rubytersteege @mybm1998 @harrykingofcamp @cherryyharryy @15christyxoxo @harrys-cherrry @cherryruins @awomanindeniall@sing-me-a-song-harry @sunnybusiness @hhh33-3l @ashwathx @ficsthatmakemeswoon @harryinsweatersandbandanas @ihearthemcallingforyou @niallgolden @pastequeharry @tinyfelthat @70s-harry @booksncoffee @somebridgesburn @millennial-teenybopper @sunfloweratheart @cherrygoldenn @for-fucks-sake-h @pastequeharry @justhereforlurking @mellamolayla @cosmictali @zcjt @grace-ful-gold @sunflowervolsimp @15christyxoxo

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #1dff #1dffupdates #upcoming #harry styles imagines #fic: fade #she's a long one!!

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chocolate-raspberries · 4 years ago

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What Happened to those Nights? Isaac Lahey x Reader

Summary - All of a sudden you lost your best friend, with no explanation. All you wanted was some sort of answer as to what could’ve went wrong.

Prompt - “I read that when you cuddle a pillow you’re missing human affection, so maybe you can cuddle me?”

Paring - Isaac Lahey x Reader

Words - 1.6k

A/N - Hi! This is the very first fanfic I have ever written, all honestly it’s probably the first thing I’ve written that isn’t some sort of school essay or lab report. This is for @stiles-o-dylan24 1k celebration! So go over to her page and send some love and kind words, because she is a beautiful soul and writer. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Warnings - some light swearing, mostly angst until the end

Just as you feel yourself fall deep into sleep you feel a slight dip in the bed. Turning your head slightly you notice Isaac quietly trying to slip his way in next to you. This was at least a weekly occurrence, but every time your heart breaks slightly for the boy laying next to you.

As gently as you can, you raise a hand to his face to rub the tears away as you asked,

“Isaac, what happened.”

A few moments pass, as you place your hand under his cheek, lifting his head slightly in order to make eye contact.

“I- I didn’t finish the chemistry homework, it slightly lowered my grade, I can’t let him find out Y/N” he states softly, as a few more tears threaten to leave his eyes.

Moving closer you put your free hand in his curly locks, knowing it brought him comfort. You didn’t know the full extent of his father’s actions, but enough to know he shouldn’t be living there. You wanted to bring up the conversation. The one where you’d beg him to let you call the authorities, stating he can stay with you as long as you needed. You would do anything to bring his happiness. However, he always said that a part of him still remembers the man from his childhood and he doesn’t want to lose the last of his family. So, you did what you could- as you held him in the middle of the night, trying to find the right words. When you hear him begin to state that:

“Sorry, this is stupid I shouldn’t have woke--”

“Isaac, I care for you so much, whatever you need I am here for you.”

You wanted to add more, state your true feelings outside of your friendship. How whenever you were able to see his true smile and joy your heart skipped a beat. How despite everything he still had a sense of confidence around him. For hell's sake he asked Lydia Martin out freshman year. How he somehow managed to worm his way into your heart.

For now- you turn off the lamp besides you and pull him slightly closer as you both fall asleep.

That day was weeks ago. It has been weeks since Isaac spoke to you, hell even took a look in your direction. It seemed that overnight things changed. You didn’t know what you did wrong. You wanted to confront him, beg him to tell you what you did wrong. However, every time you caught sight of him, he seemed to disappear the second you started to walk his way or he would be accompanied by Erica Reyes. The once-shy girl who now can’t walk the halls without guys drooling over her new found confidence.

With the ring of the final bell, you begin to rush out the doors. To the hopes of being able to climb into bed and reflect on another day passed without answers. Pondering how he went from softly laughing next to you in bed on a Friday night to now not even noticing your existence. Losing yourself to the flashbacks of previous nights, you lose awareness of your surroundings as you make your way to your car - until you hear yourself saying “Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention”

Suddenly, you look up to find the ocean-blue eyes you fell in love with so long ago. A heavy weight fills your chest as every single argument you’ve created in your head seemingly vanish. The only thing coming out was a soft whisper, one that you barely could hear yourself.

“Isaac?”

You swear you could see his new personality disappear for a split second when he looked at you, but before your heart could complete a full beat it came back. Slightly pushing you away he began to walk away from you, without a single word said. Suddenly, you felt all your emotions come back to you. The initial denial of thinking it was all in your head- the anger that he could just deny your presence - to the final sadness that filled your room with used tissues and tear-stained pillows. All of a sudden you felt his arm in your hand as you attempted to force him to stop and turn around to look at you.

“Listen, I don’t know what the hell I did, for you to hate me - I mean I have been racking my brain on what it could possibly be, but I always come up with nothing,” you pause, trying you attempt to let your rational thoughts to guide you- but the weeks of built up emotions still take charge. “I know--I know that life has never been ideal for you, especially with the recent passing of your father, I just want you to talk to me-” then suddenly he sharply cuts you off with “You know nothing about my life, Y/N”

Taken aback as you hold the tears threatening to spill you harshly retort with “So, what these past couple years were just nothing- seriously Isaac come up with something better” As you were about to continue your rant two strong hands are on your chest pushing you up into the nearest car. “Oh, Y/N, he’s right - why don’t you just walk away when you're ahead” Erica purrs as she continues “Just leave us alone, drop this silly school-girl crush you have,” ending with a slight scoff.

Her hands leave you as Isaac rips Erica off of your body. As you watch the scene unfold you swear you see a small glint of gold in his eyes, but you brush it off as a reflection of the sunlight. Bringing yourself into the moment, cheeks flaring from processing Erica’s comment you walk to your car as fast as you can. Tuning out the hushed conversation that began between Isaac and Erica.

As you step into your room, you let everything out. The tears rushing down your red eyes as you climb into bed. You grab one of your pillows holding it towards your chest as your sobs continue. Tired eyes threatening to close, for you figured out that you’ve gotten so used to falling asleep next to him that it feels foreign to sleep alone, you bring yourself to remember the nights from just a few weeks ago. Thinking of how your body easily molded into his, the slight gasp whenever you buried your head into his chest, the cocky glint in his eye whenever he noticed the slight shivers down your spine when he gently rubbed it.

A soft knock abruptly takes you out of your thoughts. Opening your eyes, you see Isaac standing in your door-frame. A copy of your house-key you made for him in his hand. He looks at you as if to ask permission to enter your room. You wave your hand to let him come forward as you let go of the pillow and leave your bed to meet him in the middle of the room. You know he can see the disarray of your room, but that does not stop you from standing your ground.

“What do you want, Isaac?” you spit out at him. He looks down, the look you’ve seen many times before, you could tell he was disappointed, upset at himself. “Listen, I’ve changed” - “well, no shit” you interrupt, but he continues. “I- I wanted to keep you safe and the only way I knew how was to push you away” There’s a pause as you try and process his words. You knew he was telling the truth, but you just didn’t know the implications behind that truth; however, he continues, “I want to tell you everything, please, give me another chance. Let me explain.”

He looks up at you, his confidence beginning to crack. You let out a slight scoff and gently grab his hands. “Isaac, I trust you, completely, all I ask is for you to just tell me what’s going on, please don’t shut me out.” You felt one of his hands softly caress your cheek as he looks at you. You see that slight golden tint in his eyes once again as he stares at you. “Y/N, experiencing life without you was the worst mistake I made,” he whispers “You are the light of my life” he continues as his eyes drop to your lips. You feel yourself losing focus between his eyes and lips. Feeling his hand slip to under your chin you let yourself close your eyes as your lips met. Although it was just for a few moments, you felt every unspoken word that took place between you two in the last few weeks.

Letting yourself live in the blissful moment for a few more seconds, you wait to open your eyes. When you do you are met with his beautiful smile, that you will soon learn is only reserved for you. Confidence striking him he says “you know darling, I read that when you cuddle a pillow you’re missing human affection, so maybe you can cuddle me?” A small chuckle escapes your lips as you guide him into bed with you. You lay down as you suddenly feel one arm wrapping around you to rub small circles on your back while the other softly caresses your cheek. Facing each-other you move yourself slightly closer to him in order to softly place one of your hands in his hair, being to absentmindedly play with it.

With a soft smile he looks at you beginning his story with “It all started a few weeks ago while I was at work…”

#stilesodylan24celebrates1k #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #ronnie writes

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bang-to-the-tan · 4 years ago

Text

Moth to Flame

Chapter 16

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot That is Rapidly Getting Out of Hand Dear God Why Please Help Me

Warnings: Cunnilingus, Mentions of Various Sexual Acts Including Blowjobs and Group Sex, Complicated Morality, Lots of Stockholm Syndrome, Addiction, Possessiveness, Vampires (Graphic Depiction of Biting, Blood-Sucking and References to Death), Depictions of......uh. Drug-Use Equivalent?, Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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You smell Hoseok.

Feel his palm, warm and comforting, soft, against your cheek. You huff a small sigh at the feel of it, loathe to open your eyes just yet. The world spins around his touch and you wish you could melt into the feeling, becoming nothing to the universe but how he holds you.

“We’re moving, pretty girl,” he hums, and he’s a lot closer than you thought he might be, his breath casting across your forehead. You want to kiss him, but when you arch forwards, his hand slips from you and his smell moves away.

Mewling quietly in disappointment, you crack your eyes to peer up at him. Your body is tangled in the sheets, and you’re clutching a pillow to your chest like you might drown without it. Your head is already threatening to start to ache, and it only gets worse when you get an eyeful of the overhead light. Above you, Hoseok has his jacket and hat on, his lips pressed into a straight line that dimples his cheeks.

“Hobi,” you mumble.

“Come on,” he adds, reaching to rub at your shoulder. “Everything’s packed.”

“I didn’t—” you struggle to sit up, desperately clawing yourself from both the heavy effect of a hard night’s sleep and the bedsheets, which you’ve managed to bundle about yourself like a straitjacket.

“Hoseok,” you continue, voice lowering, trembling, “I don’t remember hitting that man. I’m not…”

Emotion, emotion, bubbles up from your throat as you try to keep going, but he shushes you.

“I know. I know you don’t. Come on, you need to get dressed.”

He has to know, does he know? Does he really understand how you feel? You can’t tell. You want to keep pressing the issue, but when he presents you with his hand, palm-up, you’re grabbing it, pulling it into yourself to sit up. You could cry when you stagger upwards off the bed and land in his arms, head on his chest. The gentle scent of his body wash floods your senses, the feeling of him around you, body heating yours, promising that you belong there. You wish it didn’t break your heart when he steps away and lets go of your hand.

“Namjoon and Yoongi are already in the car,” he says. “We called in a favor and got some clothes for you so you can wear them, plus one of Namjoon’s sweaters.”

“Another one of Namjoon’s?” you mutter, rubbing at your eyes and casting a glance around the room, only just now realizing that there’s so little of it left. It’s mostly gone. The drawers are open, raided, but the side table is still here. The bookshelf is empty. The frog is missing. You have no idea how they managed to do all that while you were sleeping.

“He wore it all last night,” Hobi says. “We’re hoping it helps Yoongi while we’re in the car.”

Yoongi.

You disguise your sharp inhale as a yawn. Hoseok gives no indication whether he notices.

“Do you need any help?”

You shift your legs, but the ache between them has dropped enough that it’s barely noticeable. You shake your head.

“Alright. I’ll be just outside the door. Get ready quick.” He slips out, closing the door behind him.

Dammit. Why did you answer honestly? He could’ve wrapped his arms around you, held you like he did in the shower, close and sweet and caring. Why did you have to tell him the truth?? You get dressed in miserable silence, drawing a discarded comb through your hair briefly. There’s no mirror, so you just assume it’s good enough. Namjoon’s sweater is a cardigan this time—oversized enough that on you it’s almost a dress, covering your hands and draping over your shoulders. Like a hug. You pretend you don’t nose into it for the briefest of moments. You reach for the handle, taking a deep breath and curling your palm over it.

Back to Jin’s.

What do they think of you over there? Are they going to accuse you of being a murderer? Are they going to call you a threat, too?

You don’t know.

Even though you slept presumably through the daytime, you feel tired. Achy.

The car ride is hell. A cacophony of the rap track playing insistently over the speakers versus the heavy, sullen silence of the passengers. You do your best not to look at Yoongi too much, but when Hoseok herds you into the seat at the front, you do catch a glimpse of him. He’s wearing a hoodie that dwarfs his entire frame, turning him into a little black lump, scrunched up in the corner of the car furthest away from you. He’s even got a black face mask and cap, all but hiding his face. You can’t see his eyes from here, but what little skin you can see, peeking above the fabric over his nose, is drawn and pale. Shining. He’s sweating, and you can see him shivering. Hoseok clambers in beside him once you’re in, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and you have to turn away. Looking to Namjoon is pointless. His expression isn’t angry. It’s blank. He’s obviously lost in thought as he starts to pull out of the driveway, coaxing the car to speed down the road, leaving the tiny apartment in the dust. You eventually settle for staring out the window, losing yourself to the threadbare scraps of thought spinning lazily in your head like a typhoon played in slow motion.

At one point, Hoseok quietly asks Namjoon to pull over, on a stretch of road cutting through miles and miles of farmland. There’s a shuffle as both he and Yoongi stumble out, Hoseok mumbling encouragement, shutting the door. Namjoon throws them a glance out his side of the window and hangs his head, brows pulling taut. You turn back to your window, watching a nearby street light flicker. They’re out there for a couple minutes before you hear the click of the door and both of them scooting back in. The car rocks as they move.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, low, in the kind of voice that suggests he knows what the answer will be.

“Never better,” Yoongi croaks, hoarse.

“We’re almost there, big cat. Just...hang on.”

“Just feeling a little carsick, is all,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s alright. We’ll get you to Jin’s and give you a break. See if we can’t get you something to help.”

Something to help.

It takes real effort on your part not to chase the spark that flits through you at that. You return by force to thinking about nothing much at all.

The car continues, taking a side road out through a half-dead forest, over a rocky path that all but disappears through bare trees. The way the vehicle navigates the bumpy terrain has you feeling mildly ill yourself, misgiving pooling in your gut. The space opens up with no warning, revealing a wide field, the remains of an amusement park that’s been long abandoned. Booths, tattered and worn, rides that are all but rusted into nothing, clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Your heart rises in your throat when you recognize that must mean you’re getting close. It’s impossible to know if you’re more excited or anxious, but all the same you can’t help the warmth in your chest when the car makes a turn and suddenly you can see a hotel, notably better taken care of than the rest of the park, rising in the foreground. Standing in front of it, on the patchy, half-dead lawn, is Jin’s household, minus Jungkook.

All of them are smiling. Jin stands by, arms folded, looking almost businesslike. Jimin and Taehyung, by sharp contrast, start whooping and waving as soon as you pull into view. Even before Namjoon puts the car into park, they’re dashing for the vehicle, bouncing, grinning so widely their eyes disappear.

All of you step out, you and Yoongi on opposite sides, and you watch with a faint sense of jealousy as Jimin launches himself at Namjoon, who catches him easily in a spin, a tired but contented smile crossing the taller man’s face.

“You’re home!” Jimin crows, burying his face in Joon’s collarbone, and as their revolving slows to a halt, you can tell that he’s getting choked up.

Taehyung immediately guns for Yoongi, who, even in the state he’s in, opens his arms slow, embracing gently. You can see his eyes squinting up past his mask.

“You finally took those contacts out,” Hoseok laughs at Tae, pointing at him with a wide grin.

“Ahh, they hurt my eyes,” Taehyung complains with an exaggerated lean.

“They made you look like a cartoon character.”

“I thought they looked cool…”

Yoongi chuckles, shoulders quaking.

“We cleaned your rooms for you,” Jimin’s trying to explain, but he’s bubbling up with tears, sniffling, rubbing at his face. “The whole left wing. We’ll help you with your stuff.”

“That’s alright, Jimin��”

“It’s not alright, I said we’d help—”

“—Honestly, we’ve got it—”

Namjoon turns while he tries to argue light-heartedly with a stubborn Jimin who clings to him with a handful of his upper arm, and the moment he and Jin lock eyes is felt throughout the minor crowd. Everyone stills, watching the two vampires eye each other for a beat. They both stiffen, and you can taste the tension on the back of your tongue. Bitter, aged. Dangerous.

But Jin breaks first into a smile, stepping forward, arms outstretched, and Namjoon immediately copies him, the two embracing shortly but familiarly.

“I’m sorry it was like this,” Jin says, quiet enough that you almost don’t hear him. “But it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Jin turns to look at you, and it feels like the first time since you’ve gotten into the car that someone has noticed your presence. You’re thrown back to watching him denounce you on television, smartly dressed, telling the world to avoid you, and you realize you’re petrified. But longing courses headily through you when his smile doesn’t dissipate, sending warmth through every inch of your body, curling up your spine, holding your breath hostage.

“You kept her,” he says.

Namjoon sighs through his nose, jaw working. There’s a moment where it seems like he might say more, explain more, but instead, he nods once. “Yeah.”

There’s another beat, where Jin looks to Joon again.

“...do you mind if I give her a hug?” he asks, hushed.

The surprise that lifts Namjoon’s brows only lasts for a second, even though it feels significant. He blinks, and nods again, looking away. His attention is immediately claimed back by Jimin, who, sensing the tension has left, starts insisting again that he help with the luggage, peeling off the taller man finally to jog back towards the car. You can hear him chastising Taehyung as he goes.

Jin goes to take a step forward, but you’re already running, feet gifted wings, flying across the lawn into his arms so fast you don’t even feel the earth under you. He laughs in delight when you land solidly into his chest and you can feel it resonating through you, wrapping your arms around him, squishing your face against him as closely as possible, inhaling deeply the comfort, the belonging of him. When he curls around you, tender, one hand caressing the top of your head, and then leans forward to rest his cheek on your crown, the dam breaks and you start sniffling, eyes watering.

“Hello, darling.” he hums, deep, pleased.

“Jin,” you croak, tightening your hold.

“It’s good to see you again.” he adds, swaying a little with you, back and forth. “Have you been good?”

“I missed you.”

He hums again before letting go, and once more you could cry at the loss of the comfort you’re so suddenly needy for, but at least he doesn’t move away, warming your side. Even if he isn’t touching you, it’s something, and you can’t help the immense feeling of relief that he hasn’t decided to be mad at you. Unlike some people.

“Well,” Jin says, raising his voice to address everyone, “Like Jimin said, we cleaned up the rooms. Even the spare one,” he adds conspiratorially to you with a flick of his eyebrows, “So you get your own room this time.”

You beam back at him, drunk off his affection, fingers itching to hold his. Everybody starts to file past you into the house, Jimin and Taehyung bowing and shuffling under the weight of bags and boxes, competing to see who can pick up the most, Hoseok and Yoongi chattering congenially with their youngers as they slip past the handsome mahogany doors at a slow, easy pace.

Namjoon casts a brief look up at Jin, his mouth twitching in a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t turn to you as he stalks past, following the others. You frown at his back, swallowing down disappointment.

“So,” Jin says after a beat. “Our own little criminal, hm?”

Something coils in your stomach and your world threatens to lurch beneath you. You almost forgot.

“I don’t remember doing it,” your neck snaps around to plead with him, but he’s only watching you kindly, lips quirked. “I don’t remember hitting him. I don’t even...I don’t even know why I would do that.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” he pauses, inhaling a wry breath, throwing a side glance to where Namjoon disappears into the hotel. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

“It’s—I don’t remember doing it at all,” you argue. “I know it was me, but it doesn’t...Namjoon….”

You feel Jin’s hand alight on your shoulder, squeezing once, and you nearly cave at the gentle touch, threatening to lose your train of thought.

“He’ll figure out where he stands eventually. Come on,” he urges, brightening. “Come see what we did for your room.”

Jin leads you into the hall, underneath the chandelier, up the stairs, to the left wing. You recall the last time you came this way and repress a shiver at the scraps of memory. As you pass an open door to your right, you can see Hoseok unloading a meticulously packed suitcase set on a newly polished dresser, still talking with Taehyung, who’s sitting cross-legged atop the four-poster bed, cuddled up with a pillow, listening to his elder talk with all the rapt attention in the world swimming in his now-brown eyes.

To your left, you can hear Jimin chattering above the clatter of what you assume is electrical equipment from the apartment being shifted about the room. Ahead, there’s a click as the door at the end closes. Namjoon’s room. You remember that well enough.

Something indescribable swells in your chest when Jin skips in front of you to the door directly to your front, a proud light in his eyes as he wraps his palm over the knob and twists, pushing it open with a wide grin and a grand gesture.

The room past the doorway is clean, newly dusted, smelling like cleaning solution and every member of the household. As you step inside, you could swear you can sense the separate touches each man put into it. The thick duvet, when you brush against it, reminds you of Jin, and you can almost see him draping it over carefully, patting out the creases in the fabric. The lamp in the corner, scooted to and fro no doubt by Jimin’s hand, before settling on the perfect placement. The bookcase, filled with all sorts of books—thick, leather-bound encyclopedias and even some trashy romance novels, it looks like. You suppress a laugh. That’s Taehyung, you bet. It feels like him to you.

A stereo, just underneath the window facing out towards the side of the house. Jungkook’s contribution, no doubt. You brush your fingers against it, and you can almost feel him underneath you.

“Where is Jungkook?” you ask, turning to look to Jin. His excitement deflates a little, shoulders dropping, but he masks the emotion well by turning instead to a cheesy display of an affronted huff.

“He’s wandered off like a spoiled teenager,” he replies, quickly turning the subject back to the room. “But never mind him. Look! We got you your own clothes for the dresser. Namjoon gave us your sizes.”

Something twinges inside you at that, and you have to pause, watching him carefully.

“...You’re ‘keeping’ me,” you say after a beat, mirroring his phrasing from earlier. It’s easy to get caught up. It’s easy to forget what’s really happening, especially when your head is starting to ache and your bites are starting to itch and every casual touch leaves you feeling like it’ll never be enough.

“Things are... still difficult right now,” he begins, swaying on his feet, bending slightly, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.”

“While it lasts.”

His smile fades some, his body stilling from its energized motions before he straightens. He takes a few hesitant steps forward, circling you deliberately, reaching a hand out to your face. It surprises you as much as it does him when you don’t move back, allowing him to stroke across your jaw, thumb brushing your lip.

“As you like,” he acquiesces, barely above a whisper. “But you’re still here, anyway, aren’t you?” His eyes search yours. You’re reminded of when he asked to cuddle, what seems like months ago. That same strange vulnerability lurking. “You said you missed me?”

Your breath catches. “I-I did. I do.”

“Then? Do you like your room?”

“...Yes. Thank you, Jin.”

The smile that breaks across his face is blinding, creasing his eyes. Despite yourself, the sight of him fills your own heart with light and air. He leans down hastily, and you jolt when you feel the plumpness of his lips caressing yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. He tastes like fine wine. Like velvet and furs. Like home. When you return it, pressing forward to feel more of the warmth, the silk of his pillowy lips, he hums deep in his chest.

“Good,” he murmurs decadently into your skin, kissing you again, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as if savoring it. This close, you can see the shadows trying to develop under his eyes. He disengages and leans back up just as fast as he’d come down to your level, hand slipping from where he’d cupped your cheek.

“There’s real food in the cabinets, too!” he adds, returning smoothly to excited, walking backwards towards the hall. “I’d love to cook with you sometime...if you wanted.”

“I’d like that, Jin.”

“You remember where my room is?” He starts sliding behind the door with a raise of his brows. Your door.

It’s a struggle to snap out of the loop that single thought throws you for. “Yeah.”

“If you need anything.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Jin disappears behind your door, shutting it behind himself, but hesitates just before fully closing it. His head pops back out around the corner, his expression genuine.

“Welcome home,” he adds, quiet.

You feel warmth in your chest, spreading through you steadily like a cup of tea on a cold day.

“...Thanks,” you reply finally.

The click of the door is too loud. Your skin is cold where his hand used to be. For a moment you just stand there, staring into nothing. What’s even happened to you? What are you even doing here?...But you can’t deny—you didn’t want to stop kissing him. You can still taste him on your lips, can still smell him against your cheek.

You decide to spend a little time checking out your new room. Having your own space is nice, but you wish you had someone to share it with...You pause, frowning at your own thoughts, halfway to the dresser. That would circumvent the whole point, wouldn’t it?

Maybe. But still.

The clothes are a wide variety of styles and varieties, all of them the same sizes you and Namjoon had figured at the store. Namjoon...your lips still tingle with Jin’s furtive kiss. He kissed you like that once, too. Kissed you like you meant something to him, in the middle of the discount rack. You’re not going to cry over him. You aren’t, this is stupid. You’re not going through a breakup, you’re a kidnapping victim with stockholm and an addiction to fucking vampires. And fucking vampires.

But your hand remembers how he entwined your fingers on the sofa.

You aren’t going to cry over him, and yet, there is something wrong with your vision, even as you wipe furiously at your eyes. Your head’s starting to hurt more fiercely.

Jungkook’s here. You know he’s standing behind you, just at the doorway, before you even recognize the click of the door opening.

“Hey.”

You don’t even turn to look at him until you’ve successfully banished the start of what would surely be a full-blown pity cry if you let it get out of hand. You pretend to be focused on folding the clothes you pulled out of the dresser and shoving them back in before you move to acknowledge him.

“Hey.” Your voice is a little more hoarse than you’d like. He doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s back to looking a little worse for wear—not as bad as the last time, but obviously what he took from you is starting to wear off. What a shame. You wonder if anyone in this house misses you, or just what’s in your veins.

“You’re okay?”

Loaded question of the century. You grimace.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t so much as blink, lurking by your doorway like a kid waiting to be chastised.

“Have fun over there?”

“No more fun than I had over here.”

His cherry colored head bobs, eyes suddenly casting downwards. An amused grin ghosts at his lips, but he hides it by passing his hand faux absently over his mouth.

“I’m glad you’re still alive,” he admits. “I was really worried.”

“Were you?”

He nods again. Hesitates. He throws his gaze to an indeterminate corner, dark brows creasing, before he looks back to you.

“I’ll...I’ll see you around?” He sounds hopeful. You almost want to laugh. Fangs aren’t the only thing he inherited from Jin.

“I’m sure you will.”

That seems to satisfy him for now, and with another awkward duck, he slips out of your room. Your gaze sticks to the door for a little longer, rubbing at your chest before you even realize you’re doing it.

You didn’t get a good look at Jimin or Taehyung, but you could bet money they’re starting to go gaunt around the cheekbones, too. Dark in the eyes. Hungry.

A shiver rolls through you and you lick your lips nervously. A house full of vampires, and all of them need the same thing you need. The same thing you need. All of you itches, flaring to life as suddenly as if summoned by just the thought.

Hoseok doesn’t look too bad yet. Namjoon, either. You don’t know where they’d been feeding, who they’d been feeding on, but you won’t think on it too long lest you allow that festering emotion any more room in you to grow into full fledged jealousy.

It’s fine. They’ll come around eventually. They’ll have to.

Jimin and Taehyung didn’t even come to see you. Your guess is that none of the younger vampires are meant to be hanging out with you. On probation, of sorts. You’d hate for anyone to get in any more trouble, cause any more issues between the houses.

Jin won’t risk pissing Namjoon off this early into their being back. He’s too diplomatic for that. Even his kiss felt stolen.

That just leaves one person.

You shake your head. No. No, this train of thought is no good to dwell on.

Isn’t there a bathroom? Is that what that other door is for? You know it is, it’s the same layout as Namjoon’s room. You half-expect to find frog stickers decorating the tiles.

Frog stickers...Remember when Jungkook fingered you in Namjoon’s bathroom? With Jimin in the other room?

No. There’s no use chasing that memory.

You can’t have them right now.

...But Yoongi. Yoongi is sick. He doesn’t look too good at all. You can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now...the poor guy...if only you could help him somehow.

You spin on your heel, turning instead to the window. Wonder what it looks out at. Probably just more grounds. Like you faced when Jimin talked you down from the sill. Before you followed him out to Namjoon’s room. Before he forced you down his cock. God, you can almost taste him.

Not too far removed from when you sucked Yoongi’s cock, either. The weight of him on your tongue? The taste of his sweat? His groan echoes in your ears and it sends shivers reaching long fingers down your back.

How about how worried Namjoon was about him?

It’s a public service, basically—if you, say, offered yourself up. If you offered him what he needed. What you need.

Maybe you should go downstairs instead.

That one room would be nice. Down the stairs, through the hall, to the left. Namjoon, petting your cunt, sinking his teeth into your fucking skin. Jin, pistoning into you, sweating above your body, biting at your neck. Perfect teeth, perfect bliss, hurting you and hazing you and biting you and making everything golden and right.

...You wouldn’t even really be in the wrong, if Yoongi drank from you. Either of you. You’re both consenting adults, who says you can’t? Namjoon? Fuck him. Fuck him, he doesn’t know how badly you need it. Namjoon did the same thing, by giving you to Jin. It’s the same thing. He can’t stay mad at you if you helped his brother. And what about poor Yoongi? So hungry. Why not?

A strangled, frustrated noise leaves your throat of its own volition and you want to curl up on the floor, clutching handfuls of your own hair. There’s no argument you can make against yourself. Now that your brain has gotten ahold of this idea, you can’t seem to shake it from its grasp.

The mark at the inside of your thigh itches so terribly. It burns. God, you came so hard when he bit you there. You scratch at it absentmindedly, trying to hold off from grinding against your own hand at even so much as the memory.

What if he kills you? It’s a possibility. They’re definitely capable of it.

And so what?

So what?

You’re a murderer, apparently. An addict. A pet, at best.

Who knows how long they’ll ‘keep’ you.

‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it’. Isn’t that right, Jin?

And what would you enjoy right now?

You cast a glance towards your door. The surface of your skin prickles in anticipation, but your mind has already resolved itself. You don’t recall pulling the door open, but soon enough you’re facing the hallway, limbs twitching, thoughts furtive as if at any moment, someone might stop you.

Maybe he won’t be in his room. Maybe you don’t even know for sure which one he’s in.

You remember where Namjoon’s room is.

And you saw Hoseok in the room further down.

You take the steps necessary to stand in front of the other door, the one you heard Jimin in. Is he still there? No. No, you can tell, he’s left. It’s just Yoongi. You can feel him through the door, like a miasma, a siren’s song painted with sharp teeth through the wood panelling.

Electricity skitters down your body and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of how much of a very bad idea this is. It’s a terrible idea. An awful idea. It could go so badly. He could lose control. There’s so few scenarios you can see panning out where you come out of this intact, and yet your fingers are still ghosting towards the door, brushing the handle, curving, turning, the excitement in your chest flaring when you realize it’s unlocked.

Before you can rationalize your way out of it, you’re throwing yourself inside, pulling it shut behind, eyes trained on the form curled up on the far side of the bed taking up the right corner of the room. He has his back to you, legs pulled up to his chest, head resting on his knees. He doesn’t move, not even when the door clicks into place.

He’s left the lights off, illuminating the room only barely with the moonlight coming through the window. Even in the dark, you can see that on the dresser, littered across the sides, placed delicately on the desk are all sorts of electronic boards. Drumpads, some, keyboards, speakers. A computer whirring in the background. Vaguely, you recall what Hoseok had said about making music.

But that’s not important.

It really isn’t. Not now.

You clear your throat, wavering.

“Yoo—”

“Out,” he rasps, low, dark.

“Yoongi,” you start again. “Listen—”

“No. Get out.” He interrupts sharply.

You take a breath, and find that you’re shaking, but from what you can’t tell. Fear or excitement? You’re still taking a step forward, despite every inch of your animalistic senses screaming predator. Danger.

“I want you to bite me.”

He shifts, the movement erratic, curling further in on himself.

“Get out,” he repeats, and his throat sounds raw, hoarse.

“I want it,” you insist, voice sinking as your heart pounds its way through your chest, threatening to overtake your veins. “I’m consenting. Right?”

“Get out.”

“I dream about it sometimes. Being bitten.”

“No.”

You switch tactics. “I know you’re sick. I know you feel like you’re dying. Let me help.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to hurt you.”

“Good.” You pull up short, shocked at the truth in your own words, when you hit the edge of the bed and realize you’ve been stalking the whole way across the threshold, close enough now that if you leaned over and stretched your fingertips, you could touch him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

A flash of trepidation courses through you and you’re gifted a second of clarity. Pity. But you’re so close that a sinister triumph oozes through you insidiously, like oil on water, until the uncertainty is tampered and almost entirely snuffed out. You’re so close to your quarry, and he has nowhere to run. You’re between him and the door. You’re so close.

“It’s the only thing I think about,” you continue to wheedle, soft, as you start to skirt around the bed to his side. “The only thing I want. I need it. Fangs in my skin and haze in my mind. I want it so badly. Just as bad as you do.”

Yoongi laughs at that, the sound humorless, short, wheezing. He moves his head to rest away from you, shoulders scooting when he tightens his grip around his legs.

“I could kill you.”

“You could. I wouldn’t mind.” Wouldn’t you? You’re not sure what you’re saying. You can’t think above the rushing in your ears.

“No? You don’t think so?”

There’s no warning. One minute you’re almost at his side, reaching forward. You’ll put your hand on his shoulder, maybe sneak it down his front if you can, slip it under his shirt. Feel for his skin, ease him open. Your mouth waters at the thought of being the agent of temptation. The next second, you feel force against your upper body, darkness obscuring your vision, hiding you from the judgement of the scant moonlight streaming through the window, bedding at your back and heat, heat, feverish, burning through your clothes at your front, legs forced apart by a knee knocking into yours, arms pinning you to the mattress, panting warmth across the column of your neck as he hovers, eyes obscured by the hair that straggles across his face. You can’t breathe, you’re so excited, a rush dashing through your limbs, adrenaline activated just that second too late to be of any use, fizzing into your fingers and toes like too much soda pop.

“It’s okay—” you try, eager, but he’s violently releasing one arm to tangle his fingers into your hair, yanking your head into the mattress, baring more of your skin to his uneven, slavering breaths, forcing your vision limited to the wardrobe in the corner.

He doesn’t reply to your mewling gasps, and instead you next feel a wet, velvet heat tasting a path up your neck, the opposite side to Jin and Joon’s marks, licking up the underside of your jaw, a growl resounding deep within his chest.

His soft lips, next, mouthing there, a carnal pantomime of a kiss. Arousal, thick, insistent, boiling in your belly, curving your back towards the creature hunkered over you, your own mouth falling open, eyes rolling. So close. So close. You’re murmuring encouragement you aren’t even aware of, trying to pull him nearer to you.

His bite is so quick, so sharp, that you barely feel the pressure at all—only an intense pain, shattering across your skin and immediately casting fire down your body. He buries his fangs into your flesh, as deep as he can force them, the sensation crystal clear, acute, and yet dull, aching. He takes his first heady gulp of the life from your veins, tongue laving against you.

You watch every star burst and cascade into glitter behind your eyes as the two of you gasp out for breath in unison, roiling towards each other like beasts. Yoongi readjusts to swallow down more of you desperately, the sound of your rushing blood deafening in your own ears, tasting your heartbeat in the back of your throat. Your body twitches under him, some survival mechanism beyond your control reaching to push him away, arms seizing, but he only pins you more firmly, and dimly you know you’re thanking him.

Time slows into a syrup, its passing marked only by the ebb and flow of Yoongi feeding, the suction of his lips, his gulps, vehement breaths drawn through his nose, his hair tickling your cheek, hands constantly twitching, squeezing at you where he has you held down with a grasp like iron. Fire licks up from your fingers, coils around your torso, dips into your cunt, and you exhale it with every breath, feeling your vision sizzle and spark with its embers.

The wardrobe swims, changing colors, dissolving and reforming as you stare, open-mouthed, sinking through the bed, falling endlessly into sultry velvet nothingness.

The suction at your neck breaks, pain resurfacing, welcoming, when he’s torn away from your skin, fangs retracting with a sick noise, and you arch, struggling, mind scattered, empty, but a slick fever bathes a trail from beneath your ear to your collarbone to calm you back into a hazy lull with a contented purr, lapping at the new wound that stings, smarts, compelling your frame to throb every time he licks back up at it.

Your pants are moving. Namjoon’s cardigan slipping off you, your deadweight falling limply away from it, back into the cushion. The shirt. The jeans. Both socks, one by one, jerked at restlessly, until you feel a chill all over, raising goosebumps over your flesh. It doesn’t last long.

The crook of your knee, hoisted up, meeting a warm shoulder, hair tickling at your thighs. Your head lolls drunkenly when you crane your neck in curiosity, bleary. The thing crouching between your legs meets your gaze, luminous in your sight even with the limited light, catlike eyes glassy, blown so wide there’s hardly any iris left, unblinking. He nuzzles forward, tongue parting your folds, beginning to kiss and nip there, quickly becoming unforgiving, rough. He snarls into your wetness when you gasp soundlessly, hips rising to meet his hot mouth. He pushes you further into yourself, pinning you again, attaching to your clit with a strength of suction to match what he’d done to your neck. You’re crying, twitching, head thrown back, half-lidded stare at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into his hair, tugging, pulling, moving him with you as you hump his ruthless tongue.

Fingers stroking at the inside of your thigh, just by his head, the scab. He sucks harsh at your clit, sweeping up, tasting your shriek, his breath moving from your cunt to reattach in a decadent kiss, soothing the itch, the ache, the desire carved into your flesh. His digits slide, wet, so wet, curling up through your pussy, knuckles circling, fingertips parting your velvety walls and you sigh.

Again his fangs pierce you, pulling you under a new wave of pain, pleasure, reality fracturing all around you into nothing but the pull of blood from your veins, the stroke of his lips, the rocking of his hand into you, and suddenly the knot in your belly is tightening, static crawling up from your toes, forming a tsunami that crashes over your entire frame, and you’re cumming, vision blurry, head full of cotton, teeth bared, keening and crying, tearing your throat into raw threads and so, oh so perfect as you convulse thoughtlessly.

The universe stops existing but for this moment of pleasure, pain, curled up into yourself. Your body dissolving, nowhere, everywhere, everywhere. The blackness of the room swallows you whole, pulls you apart and holds you hostage between the stars.

Warm lips at your ear, kissing softly. Sweetly.

A low voice, a groan, humming, muttering, insistent, constant, thrumming. The bed beneath you is soft, wet, cushioning your naked body. Cold. You’re starting to feel cold. Your hands twitch, fingers curling one by one as you slowly regain presence. There’s rapidly-cooling wetness up your thigh, something half-hard drifting up your leg as the shape above you shifts his weight, and it’s strange to you, peering up at him as your vision starts to clear, wavering, how brightly he wears the moonlight. It glows across his bare shoulders, casts flares down his stomach, his arms, lights icy blue embers off his hair. He’s shining with sweat, glittering with it. Where once he was obscured, you can see him almost flawlessly. Is he naked? His fingertips press delicately into your cheek, appraising, and you blink up to meet his gaze again. Yoongi.

His tongue flits out between his lips, nervous, eyes darting to and fro. “Are you gonna pass out? Fuck. Do I need to—what do I do?”

Your neck hurts. Your thigh hurts, too. Even your pussy kind of aches, with how hard it clamped down. You’re lost in musing, taking warm, faded inventory of yourself, but your eyes flit back to meet his, an amused, satisfied grin creeping over your face at the wide-eyed expression of concern on his face.

“—orgive myself if I fucking killed you. Goddammit. I-I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not gonna pass out.”

His head drops with a rush of a sigh, arms curling around you in an awkward almost-embrace.

“Fuck,” he whispers, heady with relief. “Fuck.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“I thought I fucking killed you.”

“Not dead.”

“No, not yet. Thank fuck.”

“Stop swearing.”

“How the fuck are you okay?”

“I dunno,” you hum. “Are you naked?”

“Yeah. I kind of…” he clears his throat. “On your thigh.”

“Makes sense.”

He sighs again, sucking air through his teeth, before he raises his head to peer at you, eyes searching yours.

“You’re not dying?” he reiterates, shifting upwards.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Fuck.” he pauses. “That was really dangerous. Really dangerous.”

“Paid off for both of us.” you point out with a raise of your brows, moving uncomfortably. You sweat the hell out of his sheets. It’s soggy beneath you. He doesn’t seem to care, looking at you like you’ve grown another head.

“Ah. Right. I get it. You’re crazy.”

“‘Crazy bitch looking to start a war’. Wasn’t that it?” Maybe if you joke enough, eventually it won’t hurt. Not yet, though. Not yet.

Still, he chuckles at that, a wry grin pulling at his face, baring his gums briefly, pushing into his cheeks. He leans forward, and when he presses his silky mouth to yours, you can taste your own cunt and blood. You can almost see why he likes it so much.

“If you’re sure you aren’t dying,” he hums when you part, licking at his lips. “Then...?”

Your neck twinges and you reach to brush it lightly, swallowing down an inhale when the fresh marks spark pleasure down your exhausted body. Your fingers come back sticky and you make a face at them, rubbing absently.

“...Shower?” you suggest.

He bounces his head to the side. “Shower...sounds...good. Yeah.”

Previous Masterlist Next

#moth to flame #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts vampire au #bts x reader #so anyways #man im getting deep in this huh phew #the only way out is deeper look ive got it on lock #can you feel the yoongi stan really jumping out #im sorry i promise shell have some quality time w everybody else too #just #look #when im stressed i wanna yoongi so theres #theres yoongi alright #oh btw thank u for being patient with me i really needed that extra day #there were some structural changes once i realized an alleyway i wanted to go down w this #dont worry about it

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lvlyhao · 4 years ago

Text

「PART TWO: FEAR」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: took me long enough to post, I know, but thank you to that last anon for reminding me of the series lol with school i tend to forget what i have and haven’t posted but i’ll do better from now on. i hope you like this :)

important: this chapter includes mentions of vomiting and though i’ve already put a warning for violence and gore in the masterlist, i’m saying it again: please don’t read this if you are not okay with that!!!!

word count: 2.1K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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“I’m heading out”, your hands fondly squeeze Taeyong’s shoulders from behind him. He does not look up from his task for a few seconds, counting rolls of gauze. Then, upon processing your words, he twirls to face you. His eyes trail up and down your figure, making a mental checklist of everything you need to be safe. Apparently, one thing is missing.

“Take Jaehyun with you”, he asks, “or maybe Yuta. Johnny is always good to have around, and so is Renjun. Those swords of his are no joke”, he rambles, losing focus. The way he places his hands on his hips and sighs tells you he’s absolutely drained. “Or maybe I should go with you—”

Shaking your head fervently, you pat his cheek for his attention, observing the streaks of noon sunlight across his face. He stares at you with concern and shifts his weight.

“You’re staying right here and so are the boys, Tyong. We haven’t found a survivor in weeks, and taking one of them is always more stressful than anything”, you reason. Recollections of how the boys attract trouble wherever they go cloud your mind, far too many to count. The air suddenly feels too chilly, with shivers running down your spine.

“Just stay here and maybe find a way to rest. You know Doyoung won’t mind keeping track of the supply for you.”

At this point, he knows it’s no use arguing.

“Just be careful… and get back before dawn”, he adjusts the collar of your jacket, thinking back to the weather outside of the grey walls of the dorms. “All I’m saying is you never know what you’re gonna find.” Giving you a tight-lipped smile and a nod, he resumes his job, and you leave him. Headed to the heavily locked iron doors guarded by the towering figures of Shotaro and Sungchan, you ask yourself if there was any hidden depth to Taeyong's words.

“You never know what you’re gonna find, huh", you mutter.

Now, roaming the deserted streets on your own and basking in the orange glow of the afternoon, you just think he was wrong.

It’s already been a couple of hours since you left: you’ve explored parts of the district you barely even knew before the virus, seeing all kinds of animals scurrying around your path. You’ve also eaten the rice balls Jaemin packed for you, and you’ve gawked at the decaying building that used to be your favourite theatre. It’s all the same as you imagined it would be. Not many walkers litter this part of town—just 7 or 8 you managed to avoid—and no people. No one worth rescuing.

Wandering like this, in silence, brings back memories you're not sure you like. Weekly game nights with your friends, attending Jisung’s dance presentations, playing in the park’s playground at night... All of those feel foreign to you, parts of life too good to have ever been yours. Still, the need for a shot of wistfulness takes over, and you sigh. Better now than when it gets late, then. With a shake of your head, you pick a destination and start moving.

You’re conscious of your surroundings as you keep one hand on the bow and make your way across the square. Dry, fiery leaves crunch under your boots, being the only sound you pick up. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, either. The same old abandoned stores seem to look down at you, their busted windows moaning in the wind. But, right then, something jabs at your gut. It's a silent alert to a threat you can't see.

Damnit. You better pick up the pace.

As soon as you make a turn to the left, spying the pizza place you used to visit, you freeze. Walkers, maybe 10 of them, whimper and try to get past the debris to reach something inside a pharmacy.

How could you not notice them earlier? They’re not a quiet horde, and the awful stench is not something you should have missed either. Have you been that lost in your nostalgia?

Whatever happened, you don't have much time. If the undead are making that much effort to get around the rubble, there has to be someone inside. A fellow human being—hopefully, a nice one. Someone you can help.

Acting out of instincts, you drink in your surroundings. Having your back hastily pressed against a tree trunk is not ideal, but it's what comes to you. While you can't call yourself a strategy master, jumping right into action is not the right plan when someone else's life is in danger.

Mind racing, you know you need a better shooting spot now if you want to make a move. Drawing them out to an alley is not a totally bad idea either. They wouldn't be able to escape, and maybe then they could flee.

As soon as you found a perfect corner for that, the screech of old door hinges catches your attention. A second later, shattering glass.

Shit. They broke in.

With no more time to assess the situation, you quickly climb up a rotting picnic table. The zombies, some missing a limb, slowly drag their feet towards a man in a plaid, blue shirt.

He's petrified, head lashing from side to side, looking for a way out. You know very well there is none, and soon enough it will be too late. He’ll be just at reach for those disgusting, putrid fingers. If they get a bite in, it's over for you, and it's over for him.

That’s when you take the stupidest decision of your life.

Screaming.

“YO, YOU POINTLESS MEAT SACK! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK OVER HERE?”

The boy might just get whiplash from how fast his eyes find yours. His are dark and desperate, but there is something else to them—to him. Something you will never find it in you to explain.

It could have been the way the stares right at your soul, or how his face displays every emotion from relief to terror. You could even say it was how his knees buckled under his weight or his fluttering hair in the wind. You can blame your reaction on a lot of things, but none of them startles you as much as yourself.

A cold hand grasps at your heart, squeezing it tightly in your chest. Blood drains from your face, and your frame shakes in the wind. You know this sensation all too well to have doubts, although it is what you swore never to feel again. Fear. Not for yourself, no, even when the undead start walking towards you instead. You don't—can't— care enough about your life, and you know it. It is all for him, the beautiful stranger you are going to save.

The first two arrows find their aim, speeding right through the undead’s skulls, but something shifts in your arms. The rest of your arrows now seem to swerve a bit to the sides, lodging themselves on necks or shoulders. In other words, not where they are supposed to.

Oh, how much you hate that the walkers will only die if you damage their brains.

“Annoying bastards, I swear—”

Falling into a state of near panic, you drop to the floor unceremoniously and race to the horde. If your bow won't do the trick, your other weapons will.

Momentarily thankful for their lack of agility, you pull out the knives hidden on the sides of your shoes. In a flurry of drive, you slash and stab everything around you. While throwing some hand-to-hand-combat here and there, your eyes start to burn. The walkers smell even worse from up close, you bitterly recall from past encounters. It's one of the things that make fighting harder—the urge to run away from them at every second.

The more daring among them clutch at your clothes, keeping your movement limited, but you manage to cut off their hands. The slick sound it makes is enough to make bile rise up your throat, but you swallow it back.

“C’mon, Y/N”, you pant, kicking what had once been an adult woman in the chest to send her down to the asphalt. “You’ve had tougher battles than this." With a breath as deep as you can manage, your knife cuts at another zombie.

It is true, you know. It's impossible to count the times you’ve been up against groups of 20 or more. You were always fine. Right now, though, wincing from multiple wounds scattered around your skin, you question how the hell did you do it.

Hurriedly glancing to your right, you notice 5 are already dead—well, dead-er than they had previously been. The lady you kicked struggles to get up, giving you a gap to spin and bury your knife into her scalp. She goes limp right away, and you stare. 4 more to go.

Just as you retrieve your blade and turn to face the other walkers, something bites your dominant hand. Hard.

With your knife tumbling down in a metallic clunk, fire shoots up your arm. The first thing you do is wiggle your hand back and forth. Some part of you thinks it was going to let go like it’s some sort of dog. You realize you were wrong when darkened saliva flows into the cuts, your mind going blank with agony.

You figure it was one of the undead you had pushed down before, only to lose sight of him later. And, yes, wiggling was a poor attempt at getting him to drop you, but you did it out of pure alarm. Fear is gradually taking over you now, freezing cold and impossible to fight.

With only your non-dominant hand free, you sloppily sink your blade down however many times it takes for the corpse to stop moving. The pain you feel is sharp, travelling through your veins like blue fire. As his grip slackens, the body slumps to the ground, a wet thud echoing. Despite the agony that threatens to blind you, you're aware of the other 3 walkers you have yet to take down.

One is easy enough, with an arrow embedded deep on one side of her neck, and another coming down on her brow bone. Repugnance swirls in your gut, and you have to look away. Their skulls are incredibly soft.

Your remaining enemies pace at either side of you, circling you with dead eyes and faltering strides. You keep your wounded hand close to you while the other clutches the leather grip of your weapon. It's time to put an end to this.

Choosing to go for the right first, you slash at his chest, grimacing at the black blood that oozes. It taints his shredded red hoodie and sprinkles at your front. The shudders that course through you in silent rage give you the strength to finish it off.

In one clean, powerful strike, your knife goes through an eyeball, but he collapses a bit too fast. You can't recover your blade.

Having no weapons on your hands, even for a second, is critical. The walkers are borderline sluggish, but it was easy to lose track of them: your severed hand was proof.

To your relief—or mild disgust—, hasty strides bounce at the pavement behind you, followed by heavy thuds on a slimy surface. It takes no more than 3 seconds for the last body to tumble by your feet, face down.

It's only then you see the skull, or better, what is left of it. Blood and brain flow over a gaping crack, done by something sharp. You could guess it was the heavy, black rock that you find before you, held in the hands of the man you are supposed to be saving.

From there, you realize his medium length hair is a faded blue, with dark brown at the roots. A grey university hoodie hugs his slim figure under the plaids, matching his cargo pants and busted sneakers. His face is all sharp angles and soft edges, but his gaze is nothing short of magnetic.

Wide, chocolate eyes glare at the body with such horror your own throat tightens. Then, with no words shared, he lets go of the rock and stumbles back like he cannot believe what he did. Your own eyes divert to the cloudless sky, hearing him vomiting on the concrete in a matter of seconds. Poor dude.

Pity, combined with the reminiscents of adrenaline and dread, settle in you. Your thoughts boil down to one small detail: the Sun is setting.

The throbbing on your hand momentarily vanishes, lost in the memory of Taeyong very clearly telling you to be back before dawn. Aside from that, the memory of what you did to get the walkers' attention still burns at your mind. That goddamned shout. Having a sense of hearing as acute as they did, you are sure any other zombies around you are coming your way.

You have fucked up big time.

-------

final notes: ik chapter one wasn’t all that exciting but i’m hoping this one is better wheeze two more to come, stay tuned <3

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fics-kats-procrastination · 5 years ago

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Elevators and Disneyland (Chris Evans x Reader)

Word Count: 2.5k

Requested: No

A/N: I’ve thought about making a second part to this depicting their day in Disneyland, so let me know if y’all would want that! (: Also, GIF not mine. Credit to whoever made it.

It’s common knowledge that everyone is born with a soulmark that leads a person to their other half. Their perfect someone. A human being with a soul crafted entirely with the intention to complete someone else. Soulmarks are an outline of a hand or finger, placed precisely where a person’s soulmate will touch them for the first time. Once the soulmates have touched, the outline fills in with the soulmate’s favorite color. Unfortunately, your soulmark is still just an outline of a handprint on the right side of your waist. The palm resting above your right hip while the fingers press against the soft skin of your lower back.

As a child, the story of how your parents met was used to lull you to sleep. It was your favorite bedtime story. Although you never worried much about meeting your soulmate during the stress-free years of elementary school, the thought of meeting your significant other ran rampant in your mind once you reached your teenage years. Growing up in a small town meant that 97% of people met their soulmate during high school; however, you weren’t one of those people. You graduated from high school with a black outline while the rest of your senior class graduated with a variety of colors painting their skins and massive grins etching their lips. Knowing that your significant other didn’t live in your town, you left home and headed upstate for university. After completing two years and still majoring in undecided, the enticement of a gap year made itself known, leading you to where you are now.

You and your best friend, Y/F/N, are currently soaking in the last rays of California’s setting sun by the hotel pool. A vacation to Disneyland was sure to kick a gap year off right and hopefully help you narrow down what career path to take. Y/F/N is lying on her front, eyes closed as she listens to whatever song is on her playlist. Her feet lightly bobbing in time to the music. Meanwhile, you are sitting up in a sun lounger, attention divided between relaxing in the heat or ignoring text messages from your family. While you believe taking a year off from schooling is in your best interest, your parents and siblings feel as though it’s a reckless move. They have no problem making you aware of their dissatisfaction either.

A muffled vibration from your hand causes one of your eyelids to drift open so you can lazily peek at your phone screen. Instead of another text message, like you had expected, a tweet from one of your favorite actors popped up in your notifications. You make a mental note to read it later before you casually shove Y/F/N’s shoulder. Y/F/N’s head lifts languidly from her arms and she pulls out an earbud to talk to you. “Are you ready to head back up to the room?” You ask, noticing that the sun is barely visible between the many hotels surrounding your own. Y/F/N nods, sits up, and stretches her arms over her head before grabbing her towel to wrap it firmly around her body.

“Do you have the room key?” Y/F/N wonders. “I didn’t bring mine, so I hope that you remembered to grab yours otherwise we’re locked out.” A cheeky smile accompanies the teasing words she throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you stand up and copy Y/F/N’s earlier actions, wrapping the towel around your body to hold in all of the warmth you gained from California’s hot sun. The pair of you pad over to the outside door where you swipe your keycard with an obnoxious grin directed at Y/F/N. The flashing green lights signal that the door unlocked, so Y/F/N tugs the door open, allowing you both to waddle inside.

Cool air from the hotel’s air conditioner greets you causing goosebumps to rise along your exposed legs. You silently curse at the temperature change while hurrying over to the elevator. Y/F/N follows closely behind, grumbling to herself. Repeatedly pressing the call button for the elevator, you tug your towel tighter around your frame. “Why is it always so cold in hotels?” You rhetorically mutter as the elevator dings. “Thank the lord!” Y/F/N and yourself enter the, thankfully empty, metal box; you press the button for floor 17 on the control panel as Y/F/N presses herself into the corner in a half-hearted attempt to gain more heat. “Okay,” you begin once the elevator has started it’s ascent, “what’s tomorrow’s Disney action plan?”

Immediately Y/F/N begins gushing about what rides she wishes to go on first tomorrow and which rides could be saved for a later day on your trip; however, you’re only half-listening because the elevator stops on floor 9 to pick up three new male passengers, all of them fit, attractive, and wearing ball-caps as well as sunglasses. There’s something about the blue NASA hat that catches your eye. You squint, studying the cap more intently until you notice the wearer of it flashing you a timid smile, fidgeting with his long fingers. You offer him an apologetic smile for the obvious discomfort you caused him and allow yourself to tune back into Y/F/N’s rambling. “-Mountain needs to be done first thing though!”

“Of course!” You agree, trying to appear excited about the following day, although you’re not sure if you caught anything she said. The elevator steadily climbs, reaching around floor 15 before the lights flicker followed by an unusual rumble. A pit forms in your stomach while all of the elevator’s occupants glance unsurely at one another. Your anxiety climbs when the elevator screeches to a halt, causing you to drop the towel and be thrown into the arms of Mr. NASA. His right arm wraps around your waist to catch you and press you firmly to his steady frame. One of your hands land on his bicep while the other presses against his pec in an attempt to steady your own frame. Heart pounding as you right yourself and push your hair out of your eyes with shaking hands, you spare a quick glance around the elevator before asking, “Is everyone alright?”

Y/F/N pulls herself up from the ground with help from one of the other men on board. A gasp settles in your throat, but doesn’t escape, when you recognize the person aiding your best friend. Although his hair is cropped shorter than previous press junkets and he has more color in his cheeks, you’re positive that you’re standing in the same elevator as Sebastian Stan. His hat and sunglasses lay askew on the floor. “Wait, Y/N!” Y/F/N shouts once she’s fully standing again. Her eyes grow wide, and she crosses the elevator in two long strides before she’s gripping your arm to force you into turning more towards Mr. NASA. His hands automatically find your hips when you stumble a bit from your friend’s enthusiastic push. “Holy…” She trails off and you feel her touch, lighter than air, drawing on the bare skin of you back, visible thanks to your swimsuit’s cutout.

“No way!” A deeper voice joins in on Y/F/N’s speculation. A shiver runs down your spine when her touch raises goosebumps on your flesh but your attention is focused on the new speaker. He’s got a slight accent that you're able to connect to Louisiana, New Orleans to be specific. He reaches up to put his sunglasses over the bill of his hat. You notice his eyes trailing along the spot Y/F/N’s still softly tracing-a corner of your mind makes note that Y/F/N’s fingers are doodling the empty, colorless space of your soulmark-before they trail up your arm and Mr. NASA’s arm, settling on Mr. NASA’s broad, strong chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me, bro! Take off your shirt. Take it off,” he bugs NASA.

NASA lightly steps away from you with a scoff, exasperation coloring his tone. “I’m not just gonna take my shirt off, Mackie!” Anthony Mackie rolls his eyes at the answer and steps closer to the other male. Anthony reaches for the hem of NASA’s shirt, resulting in NASA swatting at the offending appendages. “Stop it, man!”

“Take it off, man or I’ll take it off you!”

“I’m not going to take it off. Stop it!”

“You made me do this!”

Soothing motions across your back tear your gaze from the small argument in front of you back to Y/F/N. “Could you please stop that?” You question, goosebumps still littering your skin when she finally stops the constant, moving pressure. Sebastian’s head cocks toward you as you turn to face Y/F/N again instead of NASA. About to thank her for ceasing, your eye catches on a new color in the reflective surface of the elevator’s wall.

A small noise of confusion leaves your lips as you twist and turn your hips in an attempt to better stare at the skin there. One last wriggle before the reflection is clear, heart beginning to race faster than a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Your mouth drops open while your eyebrows furrow, hands trying futilely to pull your skin closer to your own eyes. “Judging from your reaction, I’m assuming that hasn’t always been like that?” Sebastian’s inquiry takes you by surprise because...no, it HASN’T always been like this. It’s never looked like this before now! Where a thick black outline of a handprint used to rest, blooming drops of navy blue have filled the entirety of the space. There wasn’t a spot left within the border that your skin was visible thru.

Your gaze snaps up to meet Y/F/N’s own ecstatic stare, your hands numbly dropping from their hold on your hips to rest by your side. “Oh...oh!” Pressing a palm to your temple, your body leans until the wall of the elevator is at your back, supporting you as you slide down it to sit. A trembling finger points accusingly at the attractive man still arguing with Anthony. “Y-you’re...you’re my soul…you’re my soulmate!”

In spite of your voice being barely louder than a kitten’s snore, both men stop talking and snap their heads towards you. A self-satisfied smirk rests on Anthony’s lips as he cockily says, “Take your shirt off, man.” Eyes slightly glazed over but filled with curiosity, you look over at NASA who takes off his hat and sunglasses then grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and tosses it over his head too quickly for you to see his face. You’re desperate to see what handsome features accompany this Adonis-like body, yet you let your eyes drop to roam over his chest and arms. A splash of Y/F/C dances along his left pec enhancing the same color being sported by his right bicep. A choked off gasp comes from your throat and your breathing becomes shallower the moment you allow yourself to see his face.

Eyes bluer than the clearest waters are framed by the thickest set of dark brown eyelashes. They’re overset by well-kept eyebrows, in a shade of hazelnut that perfectly match the messy hat hair he’s currently supporting. A nose shaped like a ski-slope sits proportionately on his face and draws attention down to a full pair of lips. His upper lip is carnation pink and slightly skinnier than the lower lip it rests against but that thought flees your mind when a shy smile causes his mouth to quirk upward while revealing two rows of shiny white teeth, straightened perfectly by years of dental work. Although there’s some light scruff dusting his cheeks and jawline that causes your cheeks to flush, you can tell he was clean shaven a few days ago and your heart lurches at the appealing thought. His tongue quickly peeks out to wet his lower lip while he tries to come up with words to explain the unneeded tension in the atmosphere. You beat him to it.

“You’re Chris Evans.”

Chris stares at the floor, gaze resting on his feet that are gently shuffling. His hand rubs at the back of his neck, cheeks flushed with color. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage, sweetheart,” he chuckles, Bostonian accent thick on his tongue. Heat rushes to your cheeks at the familiar sound of his voice. Memories of all the times you’ve gushed with Y/F/N over how attractive Captain America is floods through your brain making the light pink color dusted on your face darken to a rosier hue. A quick glance at Y/F/N’s face assures you that she’s thinking the same thing especially when her eyes meet yours and she laughs awkwardly, cheeks rosy as well. Since he hasn’t received an answer, Chris sweetly prompts again, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N,” you answer, a soft grin tugging at your lips that mirrors the one on Chris’ face. Although, you have to admit that the action looks much more enticing on his beautiful features. A strong lurch pushes you against the elevator wall, and soon the elevator is making its ascent once more. Floor 16 passes quickly and soon the elevator stops on your floor. Y/F/N bids goodbye to everyone with a sweet smile and a light wave while stepping out of the elevator. She pauses once outside as she notices that you haven’t followed her. “Oh, this...this is my floor…” you nervously chuckle as you reluctantly side step Chris to exit. You do so and begin to walk away before you whip around and shove your hand into the doors to stop them from closing. You’re able to catch a glimpse of Chris’ downfallen face light up. “Wait!” You exclaim, “We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow,” you motion between Y/F/N and yourself. “Would you three like to join us?”

An awkward silence follows your bombardment. The longer it stretches, the more the smile falls from your lips and the more you’re starting to feel like a fool for even asking. They probably had more important things to be doing than going to Disneyland with you guys. They’re celebrities for crying out loud. Disappointment washes over you and you nod gently while stepping back from the elevator. “Or not. That’s cool too. You’re probably really busy. So um...yeah, I’ll just see you guys another time.” You turn and give Y/F/N a grimace and a shrug. Her comforting gaze just makes you feel even worse. You both start to walk back to your room.

“No! We would love to go to Disneyland with you!” Chris proclaims, causing you to turn back to face them. He’s halfway out of the elevator and reaching toward you like he was going to stop you from leaving. “I mean, we’re free tomorrow and Disneyland sounds like a great way to spend a free day.” Matching smiles light up your faces. You can’t wait for tomorrow.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans soulmate #chris evans imagine #soulmate #chris evans blurb

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general-mahamatra · 4 years ago

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Geminus (Chapter 1)

Genre: Medieval/Modern Fantasy mix

TW: Stalker themes

Wordcount: 4079

Read it on AO3 here

Note: ARG!Wilbur AU but... with my own take. Kinda inspired by the Hunger Games :)

In a world mixed with medieval fantasy and modern fantasy, it’s easy for things to go awry under everyone’s radars. Especially when the tournament master, Wilbur Soot, gets replaced by a nearly perfect carbon copy of himself. After all, what can someone do if they don’t even know a doppelganger exists? Not much.

Though... what would happen if someone was a bit more knowledgeable than the doppelganger thought? Or, say, a pair?

Waking up in the middle of the night was a common occurrence for Wilbur. It wasn’t for any particular reason, it was just… normal. Fall asleep hours into the night, wake up a while later, then pass out just before sunrise only to be forced awake not too soon after he closed his eyes. But he really didn’t mind, not in the slightest. Those hours where he sat hunched over his desk, computer screen reflecting off his glasses and glaring at his tired eyes were his most productive.

No wonder coffee and energy drinks quickly became his best friends.

He had no time to focus on his own projects during the day. Between Tommy’s tournaments and training sessions, Techno’s exploration, and making sure they had food on the table every day, personal time wasn’t an option for Wilbur. Not that he cared too much about that. He’d do anything for his brothers to make sure they lived their best lives.

They all had ambitions but when Phil left one day… got Wilbur up in the middle of the night and explained what was going on… the curly haired Brit made the decision to put his goals to the side to support his brothers. And he would do it over and over again at the drop of a dime.

Staring at the screen, Wilbur rested his cheek against his fist. Eyelids heavy, he could barely keep his focus on the tiny words. They faded in and out, letters merging together and becoming incoherent. When his head began to fall forward, he jolted upright, running his hand through his hair as he blinked away the bleariness.

His eyes were sore and his head was pounding. Like a jackhammer against his skull, making him groan and press his hand against his forehead. God knows how long he had been working on the piece, let alone how long he zoned out. With a deep breath he sat back in the chair, pulling his feet up to wrap his arms around his legs.

Reading over what he wrote, he sighed. Disappointment mixed with exhaustion and he closed his eyes. Pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to pull out his guitar, try the words with the cords… but everyone was sleeping.

The one night he wanted to practice is the one night he had to be quiet.

Opening his eyes, he leaned forward and closed the laptop. Other than the slim strips of moonlight that filtered through the blinds, the room was swept into darkness. Wilbur sat there for a while, blind, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low light.

The glimpse of a piece of paper catches his attention. Curious, he picks the small note up, unfolding the lined paper. For a few moments, he squints at the scrawled writing, a small frown tugging at his lips. It was too difficult to read.

So, he got to his feet and grabbed his glasses. Slipping them on, he approached the window and held the note under the light. He had no recollection of writing anything down for the last few days--at least, not that he kept at his desk. But the all-too-familiar handwriting said otherwise. It was his own; something he wrote and probably forgot about.

You work so hard at night, maybe you should stop straining your eyes. It ruins your pretty face. I’m sure neither of us want that.

Wilbur found himself unable to look away from the note. A look of horror covers his face as his hands shake ever so slightly. All sense of fatigue is gone, replaced by the need to run. Hide. Get away.

He crumpled the note and looked up. His heart raced, dread drowning out any previous thought he may have had. At some point, it was there. It was in the same room as him watching him work. Wrote the note and set it by the laptop without Wilbur noticing. Because it wasn’t there when the Brit got up.

When he couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, he cautiously looked down at his fist. Uncurled his fingers, watched the paper unravel just a bit.

A creaking floorboard makes his head shoot up. Heart rate quickened at the snap of a finger and he watched, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

Footsteps.

He spun around, wide eyes glued on the door across the room. Obscured by shadows, form blurry in the blackness of the bedroom. A thin, dim light can barely be made out through the crack under the door. Paler than the moonlight, most likely a trick of the eye.

His eyes were trained on the light, only occasionally glancing up at the knob to see if anyone would open the door. Seconds tick by, feeling like neverending minutes trudging by as slow as possible. It was agonizing.

The handle turned with a click and Wilbur froze. Stared at the door, watched it swing open and watched a shrouded figure stride into the room. Their hand trailed behind on the knob, slipping off once the stranger was fully in the bedroom. The glint of moonlight from the cracked window blinds lands on the strangers face, reflecting from their eyes and highlighting the white teeth of their sly smile.

“Who the hell-”

Wilbur’s voice fell short the moment he made eye contact with the stranger. Locked into a staring contest, words refusing to come out. He went quiet, lips partially parted as a stillness came over him. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock up, the brit’s only movements the rise and fall of his chest and the natural sway of his body. He watched the stranger approach, breath catching in his throat and his fingers twitch… the only sign of him trying to move.

The stranger slowly advanced, grin only growing as their face became illuminated by the moonlight.

It took Wilbur a moment to process what he saw. A familiar face. Curly brown hair partially covered by a crimson beanie and keen hazelnut eyes were the first features he took in. And then the barely tanned skin and stature to perfectly match his own…

An exact carbon copy.

“Look at you,” the copy purred, leaning in close, its voice disorientating for Wilbur to hear. Set his nerves on edge and made him internally cringe. Like listening to a recording of himself… only he never said those words.

A cold hand pressed against the side of his face, the copy’s thumb caressing Wilbur's cheek as its breath hitched. It stayed like that for a moment. Unspeaking as it kept its hand in place, grin turning to a pleased smirk as its expression grew fond. “Up so late… you know that’s bad for you.” It lowered its hand, smooth fingers trailing along Wilbur’s jawline before eventually dropping entirely. It held its hand between them, palm open as the hand barely hovered over the man’s chest. Similar to a cold child to a fireplace.

He wanted to scream. Cry out and shove the copy away, force it to step back and stop touching him and ask what the hell was going on. But he couldn’t. No matter what he tried to do, his body wouldn’t listen. It wouldn’t move.

All Wilbur could do was stand there and take it, eyes trapped and mind entranced by the copy’s gleaming gaze.

It had to be a dream. None of this could possibly be real, doppelgangers exist, yeah, but not… not like this.

Or was he hallucinating?

“Come on Wilbur! Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to take care of yourself.” It reached up, twirling a strand of the brit’s greasy hair with a seemingly disappointed huff. “It’s a shame, really, finding you like this.” It shrugged, moving its hand to Wilbur’s chest where it now tapped along his sternum. “Not like you’ll get any better anyway,” the copy said, much to Wilbur’s horror.

It’s while they stand there in silence that the copy took hold of Wilbur’s glasses, pulling the round metal frames off his face. It studied them, turning the frames in its hands before holding it up to the slits of light.

Then it placed them on its face.

The copy blinked a couple of times, squinting as its vision adjusted to the lenses. Then, it tilted its head to the side, its open-mouth smile somehow appearing calmer than before.

“Thanks for the glasses.”

With one hard punch to the jaw, Wilbur crumpled to the floor.

“Dude, Tubbo, come on!” Tommy shouted, turning around as he walked backwards, slowing his rush. “Hurry up or they’re gonna catch us!”

A shorter boy ran after Tommy, hands scrambling to get a hold of the backpack straps to keep it from bouncing all over the place as his feet slammed against the dirt road. It was heavy, stuffed with books, a laptop, and two small notebooks (one of which the corner was peeking out from the zipper Tubbo was unable to close) and was a struggle to keep from completely falling off.

“I’m sorry! You’re the one who dumped this on me!”

Once by his friend’s side, Tubbo passed off the bag. The taller one gladly took it with a laugh, slipping it on over his shoulders and tugging the straps to tighten it around his thin frame. Then, teasingly, he remarked, “you’re my sidekick! Learn to deal with it!”

Tubbo scoffed with a small chuckle as the two picked up the pace, relieved to have the weight of their haul off his shoulders.

As Tommy spun around to face the direction they were headed, he cast a quick glance back. No one was following them, not yet, but he could hear them. Shouting in the distance, inaudible as it was all muffled by the storefronts on the corner. They were a good 50 feet from the street corner before the first pursuer came into view.

Grabbing Tubbo by the sleeve, Tommy shouted, “RUN!”

And they took off.

Adrenaline pumped through their veins, pushing them to go faster than either has ever run before. With the advantage of long legs, Tommy found himself pulling ahead of his friend. It forced him to slow long enough to take Tubbo’s wrist and drag him along, much to the shorter boy’s protests.

“Get back here!” A man shouts. “You thieves! Come back here right now!”

Tommy cackled and continued to pull his friend behind him. Ducking into an alleyway, he didn’t stop, weaving through the many twists and turns that eventually led to an open street across the block.

It was far more lively. Younger children running around with a dirty ball tossing and kicking it across the street, older teens riding bikes along the center of the road, and so many others just walking around with bags of goods from grocery stores and clothing shops. An easy enough place to lose the men coming after them.

With a quick glance either way, Tommy darted across the street, Tubbo in tow. His target was yet another alleyway, this one a bit more shrouded by the hustle and bustle of pedestrians than the one they left. Straight into the dim lighting and around another corner, narrowly dodging large dumpsters and a stray cat that darted across their path.

After yet another turn, Tommy came to a stop next to a dumpster. Ducking down behind it, he motioned for Tubbo to join him as he took the bag off.

Both of them were breathing heavily. Tommy practically panting as he struggled to unzip the backpack and Tubbo keeled over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Holy shit,” Tubbo wheezed, lifting his head so he could look at the younger boy. “Why are you so fucking fast?!”

Tommy chuckled. He waited to respond until he finally got the zipper unstuck and practically ripped the bag open. “Because unlike you, I actually did well on the pacer test!” he proclaimed as he scrambled to catch the small notebook before it hit the trash-covered ground. He then grinned up at his friend. “I got a fucking 83. Fucking try me, bitch.”

The shorter boy giggled lightly as he kneeled down next to his friend. While Tommy was going through the notebook, Tubbo dug around the backpack to get ahold of the laptop. “You’re lucky I have a charger for this thing at home,” he remarked, flipping the lid open. “This thing’s probably barely charged knowing them.”

Tommy hummed in response as he thumbed through the pages. Each one was covered in scrawled writing. A mix of cursive and print, both messing and intricate at the same time in a way Tommy didn’t even know what possible. Granted, it was almost as ineligible as his own chicken scratch.

Along with the writing was a bunch of diagrams hastily sketched out in ink and pencil alike. Extra pages were taped and stapled in here and there and some areas looked like pages had been ripped out. Jagged corners stuck out where papers were just shoved into the notebook and the cover was worn to the point of nearly falling off.

“This is so weird,” he said, turning a page. “Who has the time to write this much and draw all this shit? Like-” Tommy held the notebook up so Tubbo could see, pointing at a diagram of what looked like a tall, spindly, bipedal creature. Everything was scribbled in with the familiar texture of a scratchy ballpoint pen except for its eyes which were small, beady, and red. “Who?”

Tubbo glanced up from the bright screen to look at what he was being shown. His eyebrows rose in mild surprise at the site. “The hell is that thing?”

Turning the notebook back, Tommy read, “A… zexane.” He frowned. “Fucking weird.”

“A zexane,” Tubbo repeated, gaze trailing back to the laptop. “Interesting.”

“It says here that it lives in the forest and is only active during the night,” explained Tommy, squinting slightly at the intricate handwriting. “It can mimic the voice or sound of anything it can hear and its presence can usually be determined by a flock of crows in the forest.” He flipped the page again. “Who has the time?”

“Someone does,” Tubbo said absentmindedly, fingers tapping away on the keyboard. How the boy was able to do as much as he can was beyond Tommy. Oftentimes he would sit there and stare at Tubbo’s work, simply awed but what he’s capable of.

Now was one of those times..

Tommy shuffled over, closing the notebook over his thumb to keep his place. His blue eyes settled on the bright screen as he watched Tubbo sift through the files. “What are we looking for again?” he asked.

A couple moments passed before he got an answer.

“A digital version of what you’re holding right now.”

Tommy glanced down at the brown cover, gaze trailing over the weird symbol on the front. He traced his hand over it only to find that it was engraved into the leather. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

“Do with what?” Tubbo looked over as the taller boy held the book so he could see. “Oh… OH!”

His attention shifted to the computer. “I think I know what that’s called.”

It doesn’t take long for a browser page full of similar symbols to take up the entire screen. Tubbo turned the laptop towards Tommy with an enthusiastic smile. “A unicursal hexagram! It’s really uncommon and really weird looking but once you know what it is, you can’t forget it.” He set the laptop down and took the notebook from Tommy. “You see the circle around it and the star in the center? That might mean it’s a symbol!”

Tommy swiped the book back and frowned slightly. He didn’t get a chance to comment on it before Tubbo continued.

The older boy pointed at the center of the star. “Look closer right there.”

Squinting, Tommy pulled the worn notebook closer to his face to get a better look at what Tubbo had shown him. At first he saw nothing, just the weathered material of the cover. That is, until he tilted the book and watched some sort of shape flicker in the sparse light.

A number.

“Seven?” The boy questioned, now placing his finger over the number. Unlike the hexagram, there was no engraving, nothing to feel to show it was there. Tilting it back away from the light, Tommy couldn’t even make out any writing.

It wasn’t there.

Tubbo once again took the book back and flipped it open. He was practically buzzing at this point, excitement taking over his original plan of searching through the computer.

“Tubbo what are you-”

“Shh.”

The shorter boy thumbed through the pages, eyes flicking across the words faster than Tommy thought possible for the boy.

Then it clicked.

Tubbo wasn’t reading.

With the frantic page turning and constant scouring, there was only one other thing that could possibly be going on because there was no way Tubbo was just looking at pictures. He was searching for something.

“Aha!” Tubbo exclaimed, slamming his hand on the book, pointing at something in the corner. He shoved it into Tommy’s face a bit too close for the younger to see. “There! Look!”

Carefully pushing the book away, Tommy examined the section Tubbo was pointing at. Weird, runic-like letters were scrawled on the side. Definitely not English.

“The fuck?”

Tommy was pretty sure the other was vibrating now.

Tubbo tapped the notebook, forcing Tommy to stay focused on the words. “It’s Batari! Tommy it’s Batari!” The only response he got was a blank expression which made Tubbo huff. Taking the book back, he started to explain. “It’s the written language of magic. It’s read the same as English but it’s magic. Tommy it’s MAGIC!”

The boy flipped through a couple more pages until he came upon a loose piece of paper, folded into quarters. Setting the book down, Tubbo unraveled the paper. The moment his eyes landed on the writing, he seemed to glow with joy. “There’s so much of it!”

And so Tommy’s curiosity was piqued. “Can you read it?”

“Not well,” Tubbo admitted. “But… It’s not… it’s not a spell or anything like the one in the book.” He picked the notebook back up and passed it off to Tommy. “Open it to the page with the Batari.” Tommy obliged and Tubbo began to compare.

“It’s different,” he finally said. “Look at this.” He pointed at the spell and then at a sentence on the ripped paper. “The structure is different, so is the handwriting. Look- the spell? Words are connected and there’s extra letters to words and some are even removed. The note? It has regular grammar. Like someone was trying to write in code.”

Tommy’s eyes darted from the Batari to Tubbo. “What does it say? The stuff you can read? What is it?”

There was a moment of silence before Tubbo answered him.

“It’s a diary entry.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve EVER heard!”

Quackity flinched at the shouting and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. This whole thing was so stupid. He didn’t want to be here, he never did! Yeah he ran for the seat of mayor but he didn’t actually want to deal with the whole legal side of it all. But, alas, merging his votes with Schlatt came with… repercussions.

“It’s exactly what we need to do!” a deep, accented voice countered. “It’s what the people need, how the fuck is it dumb?”

A hand slammed on a table followed by the sound of a chair sliding on a hardwood floor. “I don’t care, Eret. You’re not the one in charge here, it's not your decision.” Schlatt snarled. “This is my city, not yours. You simply work for me. And I say that is the worst thing I have ever heard.”

“But we need the land!” Eret exclaimed. Upon opening his eyes, Quackity came to find the tall man standing as well just across the table. “We need to be able to farm, we can’t farm without that land!”

“We import everything, we don’t need to start making our own fucking food.”

Eret pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. An attempt to calm down. “Schlatt, we don’t export anything. How are we supposed to sustain ourselves when all we have is the tournament?” They were the only one who could keep their cool around Schlatt. Something Quackity dearly wished he had. “Listen. Our economy is failing, we need to do something to boost it during the months we don’t have the tournament or soon enough we will fail and the tournament will be taken away. What will you do then?”

Schlatt glared at the tall man, stance unwavering. Though silent, he was still imposing, hard stare, something Quackity never wanted to be on the receiving end of. If looks could kill… Eret would be no better than dead.

The other took the silence as an answer.

“We’re nothing without the tournament right now,” Eret continued, gently placing his hands on the table. “We need to change that as soon as possible if we want to stay significant! Because who knows what happens if the next tournament master is born hundreds of miles away?! If we aren’t established as the regional capital, we won’t matter anymore!”

Schlatt scoffed in response, turning away from Eret for a moment. “God, Alister, you’re so fucking dumb.” The use of their real name made Eret freeze. Finally turning back to them, Schlatt continued. “We won’t have a new tournament master for decades. He’s not gonna die any time soon, you’re so fucking stupid.”

There was a flash of anger in Eret’s eyes joined by the barely noticeable flicker of a glow… a sign that their magic was just below the surface. Despite their clenched fists now pressed against the table, they kept a steady, diplomatic tone. “We don’t know that. Anything could-”

“Wilbur sits on his fucking ass in front of his computer whenever he’s not out with Techno, nothing bad is gonna happen to him anytime soon,” Schlatt snapped, easily cutting the other off.

“We don’t know that,” repeated Eret. “We don’t know each and every detail that could lead to something happening to Wilbur. He’s a target, Schlatt, you know that!”

Schlatt’s face twisted to one of confusion and disbelief. “Who the fuck would target the fucking tournament master?”

“Someone who’s mad at the results,” Eret delineated matter-of-factly.

Quackity stood before Schlatt could say anything, placing his hand in front of the man as one would do to hold someone back. “You guys really need to shut up holy crap.” Schlatt swatted his hand away and Quackity shook it out, begrudgingly bringing it to his chest while mumbling a small “ow”. He then continued. “You’re acting like two old women fighting over if they should spend money on yarn or fabric in the middle of a fucking Joanne’s. Put your granny diapers on and sit back down oh my God.”

That earned him a swat on the back of the head from Schlatt.

“Hey!” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “The fuck was that for? I’m not wrong! You’re literally two overgrown diabetes babies. You should really rest your legs before you fall down the stairs on the way out!”

Next thing he knew he was being grabbed by the ear and dragged away from the table. “Ow, ow, hey! C’mon man I’m sorry let g- ow!” The shorter boy stumbled after Schlatt, tripping over his own feet as he was rendered off balance. “Schlatt!”

Eret was giggling off to the side, finding far too much enjoyment in this.

“The only reason you’re here is because you legally have to be,” Schlatt snarled, pulling Quackity closer. “You’re supposed to sit there and be a witness, not act like some idiotic child who finds penis jokes funny.”

“Puta,” Quackity mumbled.

“Alexis.”

Quackity laughed nervously, eyes almost as wide as his nervous smile. “Haha, yeah! Yeah I get you big man! Mr. Mayor guy! Big ol’ Mr. Man!”

That seemed to be enough for Schlatt, the taller man letting Quackity go and immediately turning back to the table. Left Quackity standing there, pouting as he held the side of his face.

This was going to be a long evening.

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #quackity #jschlatt #eret #arg wilbur #wilbur soot arg #fanfic #dream smp #dream smp rpf #tw stalker #cw jschlatt

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

Text

Contradictions

Summary: Google meets Bim for the first time, and comes to realize that Dark is full of contradictions.

A/N: Google is my curious bean and I want good things to happen to him (looks at the angst I have planned and sweeps it under the rug) nothing but good things.

Also the files mentioned are the other’s kids that Dark is planning on “adopting” in the coming month which is when the Lost Ones story I wrote takes place.

~::~ 14 Years Ago ~::~

It had been a couple weeks after Dark had taken Bim to the office for the first time, he had brought him back again. In that week, rumors flew like mad. Most people were writing off the encounter, but others took and exaggerated it to an extreme degree.

Dark’s blue soul might have helped with some of the wilder ones. But he had to set up some insurance after Bim lost himself in a shopping mall.

So Dark was back in his main warehouse office with Bim, two of his most loyal enforcers, his lieutenants, and Google.

Google was staring at Bim, an expressionless mask over his face.

“I have many questions,” he finally said.

“I have even more,” Bargs agreed as Dark’s other lieutenant was walking forward.

Sierras pinched Bim’s cheeks, almost knocking the child frames almost tied to his face, “What a cute little thing.”

Bim was trying to push her away.

Bargs was just staring at the kid, looking uneasy, “Where’d he come from? Is he Wil’s?”

“That would be the most logical conclusion,” Google agreed.

“The official statement on the books is that Edgar procured him for me,” Dark warned, as the man in question walked in with a stack of six five files.

“Here yah go,” Ed sighed, handing Dark the files who began quickly flipping through them. Before sliding them through the Void, and acting like he’d never been given them in the first place.

Edgar realized Bim was standing there and gave the boy an uncomfortable look before nervously eyeing the door. “Am I released now?”

“Ed isn’t he just the cutest.” Sierras smiled as Bim finally pulled himself free and walked over to Dark.

The southern gave a look towards Dark, “Sure, yeah, yah’all need anythin’ else, or am I good?”

“You can go,” Dark dismissed. “Get to work.”

“Thank yah,” Ed rushed out of the room.

Google watched him go, observing every twitch he made, once the door closed the android dared to comment, “And the reason for this clearly false statement?”

Both Dark’s lieutenants looked nervous, staring at Google.

“I have a suspicion that he’ll look more and more like Wilford as he gets older,” Dark admitted. “I want to avoid people that Wil has slept with in the past trying to extort me.”

“So he is Wil’s?” Sierras asked in surprise, trying to look around Dark’s leg where Bim was glaring angrily at her.

Google knelt down, trying to get a good look at the boy, already taking in observations like the nice clothes and the glasses.

“Like everything else he does he acts before he thinks,” Dark explained. “Wil’s nickname for him is Junior, that will suffice.”

“That’s not my name,” Bim told Dark, clearly upset,

“We talked about this,” Dark scolded calmly.

“I wanna go back to Daddy,” Bim told Dark.

“In a minute, I have to talk with the and then we’ll go,” Dark’s voice was firm, noticing that Google was now staring at him.

“Well all I have to add is that if either of you spot him running loose, which should never happen,” Dark glared at Bim on that last part of his statement, “he should be brought back to me. If anyone asks you about rumors about him, you are to deny them, even if the statement is incorrect.”

All three of them agreed to his demands, and then Dark dismissed his lieutenants, keeping Google in the room with him and Bim.

“Just say it,” Dark ordered him.

“This . . .” Google went quiet for a second. “This contradicts your previous actions.”

Dark clasped his hands behind his back, internally cursing Google for being too useful, “How so?”

“You show regular disdain for others, even your captains and lieutenants who you allow to live despite their many constant failings, like breathing,” Google explained. “However inordinate care was given to Wil’s child. He has a pair of glasses showing you regularly take him to doctors and specialists, because I highly doubt Warfstache would show such foresight. I tally that with your own clothing style, this boy’s suit must cost a similarly proportional amount.”

Walking forward, Dark thought for a second about the best way to go about this, “I’m going to need you to agree to something, a simple NDA.”

“Why not just command me?” Google snarled, hating the idea of being silenced by any means.

Dark looked back at Bim, “We’d agreed not to speak of that in company.”

“And why would I want that?” Google asked.

Bim made a gasp, and pointed at Google, “Why do you have his face?”

“It’s not polite to point, Sunshine,” Dark corrected, using his aura to push his hand down.

“Sunshine?” Google repeated. “May I ask who his maternal donor was so I can mentally prepare for the court case? Or should I preemptively kill them beforehand?”

“Bim is a clone of Wilford and I,” Dark admitted.

Google froze and he pointedly stared at Bim, “A clone, I was not aware you were interested in that?”

“If I tell you anything else,” Dark warned. “You will agree that everything I tell you, from his real name to his status as a clone stays between the two of us. Any information that I divulge, you can also communicate that information with them, but not anything more than that.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Google admitted; so long as he was not denied the information, he didn’t care who else Dark excluded. Smiling, Google brought up a holographic screen with the exact terms Dark had brought up. That Google would stay quiet so long as Dark shared information with him.

Dark read through everything and they both agreed to it.

There was a quiet gasp and Bim walked over, trying to grab the screen. “So cool.”

The Entity frowned at Bim, but before Dark could nudge Bim away, Google brought up one of his screens and had some glowing circles on it. Google watched his pupils briefly dilated before he touched the screen. The circles looked like they were exploding into fireworks when Bim tapped them.

Bim began slamming his hands against the circles as they appeared, Google calculating his reflexes as he went.

“You were saying?” Google urged Dark, the android hadn’t taken his eyes off him.

“Now that we agree to the terms, and I demand you print out a copy of that immediately,” Dark ordered.

“Done,” Google was already sending the information to Dark’s personal printer. “So whose DNA was used to make him?”

“By the records I have both mine and Wil’s were used,” Dark admitted. “No, I do not know how that works. In time, when I can trust your silence, I will give you access to his medical record. Junior’s real name is included in our little arrangement. You will address him as the others do.”

“Okay,” Google agreed, before observing Bim a little more closely, he’d gotten bored with Google’s little test and was tapping all over the screen to get it to do something else. “Why use Warfstache’s DNA? Was it for creating a more powerful clone?”

“As if I would use anyone else’s DNA,” Dark scoffed. “Wil is one of the few individuals I can tolerate on a regular basis.”

“An aspect of your personal life I fail to understand,” Google admitted. “Warfstache is loud and invasive and an overall security risk. If those traits were learned by a child it stands to reason that it might be an annoyance rather than beneficial.”

Dark just about took Google’s head off for his barbed comment, and the android felt Dark’s aura tightly curling around his neck, a warning sensor silently went off.

“Unless those traits were purposely selected?” Google corrected, unsure how to word his way out of Dark’s anger. He didn’t understand Wilford. The first time he’d met him Google had shot him and was consequently shoved aside by Dark. Wilford was, by all records that Google could find, indestructible. He didn’t die. Warfstache walked into the warehouse on many occasions with singed hair, clothes riddled with bullet holes, cuts that would kill a lesser being, and drenched in blood. His own or another’s Google was unsure and uncaring

Perhaps the demon found such displays “attractive” but that was something Google understood even less. Dark was a violent individual, something Google found he could actually understand, but Google barely had the ability to understand human mating patterns as it was . . .

But if Bim was a product of this relationship, perhaps this was standard demonic reproduction. Just applied with modern technology.

Dark’s vast power with Warfstache’s indestructibility . . . in an easily controlled and easy to teach package.

“Of course,” Google realized, his thought train lasted mere seconds to the outside world. “Naturally it would be.”

Dark seemed more confused than angry, and his aura constricted a bit looser than before.

“Are Wilford’s powers linked to his personality, or is his personality a byproduct of those powers?” Google wondered out loud, his processors already going off.

Dark raised at eyebrows, hands lightly clasped behind his back as he tried to use his aura to keep Bim from physically touching Google. The little boy was trying to reach up to touch the glowing “G” on his chest, and Dark didn’t trust Google not to electrocute Bim on reflex.

Thankfully Google hadn’t noticed and wasn’t waiting for an answer, his brain was already spinning with the applications that a child with demon heritage could be used for, seeing Bim far less as a person, and instead seeing him as a weapon. A prototype stage of a weapon, but a weapon nonetheless.

He was roused out of that when Dark spoke up, “I think you’re overthinking about this too much. Wil is a particular indulgence of mine. He is a good outlet for relieving stress.”

“How many people know about this?” Google asked.

“Apart from you and me? Two other people.” Dark pushed Bim away from Google and the little boy huffed and glared up at Dark, stomping his feet a little bit. “You will keep your hands to yourself, or you’re not going to the station afterward.”

Bim looked more offended then threatened, silently gasping before closing his mouth and puffing out his cheeks, turning away from Dark.

Dark visibly rolled his eyes, looking down at Bim for a couple seconds, then he turned back to Google and looked as if the exchange had never happened, “Anyway, you understand the need for complete secrecy. I understand and expect the information will get out eventually, but hopefully not until he’s more physically self-sufficient.”

“Does his development usually require close supervision or do you just leave him with a caretaker of some kind?” Google looked over Bim, trying to see any other signals that someone else looked after the boy.

“What is Wil’s belongs to me.” Dark motioned to Bim, “And he is Wil’s, I am not entrusting him to anyone else.”

“That makes sense,” Google agreed, going completely, inhumanely still. “Less cross-contamination.”

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation,” Dark admitted. “But so long as you keep quiet, I don’t care what type of conversation we’re having.”

“If I might ask, why tell me at all?” Google asked.

“Because I can bully and threaten the others not to ask questions, or just leave them to believe that Bim is purely Wil’s son,” Dark told Google. “You however, I can’t afford to leave you to just ask questions, particularly around other people who will also ask the right questions.”

Google was fairly certain that was just a compliment, the first he’d ever gotten from Dark.

Then Dark added, “Then there’s also the fact that when you fixate on a task, I benefit from the information you find. So there are more pros than cons to bringing you into confidence.”

Blinking a couple of times, Google found he couldn’t fault in that line of logic. Google had never come into contact with a human clone before.

Google knelt down to get a closer limp and when Bim grabbed his face he used every ounce of self control not to shove him away. He did pull Bim’s hands down, trying to be as feather-light so he didn’t stress a single bone.

The android had never had to be gentle, it was a strange expectation for him. Not only for other people to have of him, but for him to have that same expectation of himself. “Everyone in the network calls you an underground Kingpin, I suppose that would make him a prince.”

Bim was tapping on Google’s glowing icon, Google refusing to let him access his settings or anything.

“He certainly acts like one,” Dark admitted, a softer expression on his face as he looked at Bim. “Wil enjoys spoiling him, but he is an only child so there’s nowhere else to put that attention. Besides, Bim is more than deserving of attention.”

“And what are you?” Google asked out loud, wondering about Bim’s hormonal and physical state.

“I’m gonna be a big tv star, like my daddy,” Bim smiled, holding his arms out. “I’m gonna grow a mustache just like him.”

Google projected this would just lead to another Warfstache, and Dark was letting out a long, controlled exhale, muttering to himself with a tone of absolute contempt, “Another actor in the family.”

Bim looked over at Dark, hurt and confused, “Huh?”

“Nevermind, Bim,” Dark opened up a portal. “Let’s go find your father, come along.”

Bim ran through the portal at full speed, an excited smile on his face.

“Remember our little arrangement,” Dark warned Google.

“As long as you supply me information,” Google agreed. “I will.”

“Of course,” Dark gave him a little grin and disappeared into the portal after Bim, leaving the android alone.

Quietly and stiffly, Google stood up and strolled out of the room, more than a little gleeful at the secret knowledge he harbored.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Markiplier #Darkiplier #Googleplier #Bim Trimmer #ed edgar #fluff #Google is a curious boi #Darkstache #but it's background only

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millennial-star-gazer · 5 years ago

Text

The Draconic Demon Within: Chapter 4: A Demon’s All-Consuming Rage

The Draconic Demon Within

Genres: Romance, Friendship/Family, Drama/Angst, Hurt/ Comfort, & New Adult Fanfiction

Vera's April 2018 Prompts: Soul, Empyrean, Savage, Memory, Trust, Fear, Unstoppable , Resilient, Supernatural (Implied) Lost (Implied) and Loathing.

Nalu Lovefest 2017 Prompts: Dreams

Nalu Week 2019 Prompts (Implied:) Lost, Curse, Trial, Treasure, Chance and possibly Bare.

Pairing: Nalu/EndLu,( Natsu x Lucy/ E.N.D. x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You have been warned!)

Summary: Now faced with the reality of who he is truly is, the son of Igneel must contend with the new darker instincts of his new demonic identity- all while navigating through his ever-growing, intense feelings for a particular celestial wizard. Originally a Submission (semi -au) for Nalu lovefest 2017 (on my previous celestialgeekmage account and now an entry for nalu week 2019 with chapter 3. (Also was on my earliest previous accounts of teamedwardjace/Twishadowhunter in the past. Also part of Vera's April 2018 prompt challenge from fic-writers appreciation on cosmicdragonwizard).

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Chapter 4: A Demon's All- Consuming Rage

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A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl back again with another installment of TTDW! Fun fact: Being temporarily off work for a few weeks due to pandemic has provided some extra free time to edit and posta new chapter for this fic ( which is on account of the temporary closures of public institutions, and public spaces along with non-essential businesses/services in Ontario-the Canadian province I'm from). This isn't to suggest I'm not without fear or concern about the pandemic or potential effects on global infrastructure but at least I'm mostly coping as best as anyone can at this time. Hope you guys are all too. ( A bit more on this in the A/N at the end of this chapter .) Anyway, hope that this chapter and my other fanfics along with those from amazing writers can help you all while stuck at home. All right, that's pretty much my whole spiel for now. Without further ado, here's Chapter 4 of TTDW-Enjoy!

(Note: Scroll down past the read more button/cut for the designated legend menu and actual story content).

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Disclaimer: Fairytail does not belong to me, but to the most honourable Hiro-sensei instead, for whom without this work of love wouldn't be possible.

Read Previous Chapters of TDDW and on platforms here:

(Copy and paste the links into another window if need be)

A. Tumblr

Previous (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/185917542578/the-draconic-demon-within-chapter-3)

Next (Coming Soon:)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13113898/1/The-Draconic-Demon-Within-Reupload-from-cosmicdragonwizardaccounts)

C. A03 (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365061/chapters/40861307)

2. Ongoing Master Post Of All My Writing (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized, stylized Word(s) or bloodthirsty fantasies

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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"Your body is full of rage.

Every sinew. It is easy to read.

You speak volumes with a clenched fist."

( Paolo Bacigalupi: The Drowned Cities)

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"Seriously? Luce's alive?

That…. I can't...

A wave of overjoyed relief was washing over Natsu from the spectacular news about his best friend still breathing.

"Hear that Luce?!" He sobbed, not bothering to wipe the moisture from his eyes." You're alive and gonna be okay— Thank God! Really... don't ... know what I'd do without ya…," Scarlet-red eyes remained focused/trained on the face on the motionless angel in his arms.

"Pretty sure the guild and the rest of the people we know would be just as devastated if they lost such an incredible person and wizard . Glad you're okay either way though." Natsu's hands were stroking sweat-plastered strands of Lucy's hair back from her eyes with delicate care .

Really glad she's still in fact alive and kicking…

In that very moment , it was as if the world had fallen away; leaving just the two of them. Nothing else seemed to matter then . Not cold-blooded enemies in the room, or the recent battle just moments before; Not even E.n.d's unnerving metamorphosis. Just a dragon-demon and his most precious star with those subtle breaths, the visible rise and fall of her chest that somehow escaped any kind of major notice before.

Words can't even describe how relieved I am . Digits combed through Lucy's blonde tresses from crown to tip in a physical display of tender affection.

Hmm... Lucy's hair feels really nice. Natsu couldn't help but marvel at texture of her beneath his fingertips .Don't think I've ever stopped to fully appreciate it before .

"Gotta say that your hair feels really nice, Luce." Natsu voiced this innermost thoughts aloud; though his words were coming in soft. ."Smells real amazin' too."

Damn was the appealing fragrance of jasmine with a hint of cyclamen flooding his senses beyond intoxicating."like jasmine and that other flower we saw once— cyclamen, I think. . You've been using a new scented shampoo again, I see. Not that I'm complainin'."

"Psh—Listen to me" Natsu tacked on with a rueful chuckle that was still a bit thick from all that weeping before. " Gettin' all sentimental and crap. Hell... stripper would never even let me live it down if he heard . Still be damn proud of you though just like I am for how well you handled yourself in battle. Why don't we tell him all about it once you're awake and we're out of here?. Bet he'd like that . Till then, the two of us just need to sit tight and figure out our next move, okay?"

Wait ...

The fire demon's hands continued their fond movements- only for blood to freeze in his veins when noticing an unsightly contusion on Lucy's forehead; accented by a small gash just above her brow.

When did this happen? I swear those injuries hadn't there been seconds before .. .

Crimson eyes scanned his best friend's battered frame for further damage in alarm . My God... Natsu's breath caught in his throat at the sight of that line of discolorations on her legs . Not to mention all those scratches along with the small gash peeking out through the tattered remains of Lucy's Star dress .

"Oh Luce..." He sighed, remorseful voice breaking on her name. "Can see that you're in pretty rough shape right now. I'm so sorry. Honestly don't know how or why you had a delayed reaction to all the damage. But this wouldn't have happened if I only had grabbed you and run or got your spirits to transport you to their world, Hell— Maybe we could've both escaped and I could've helped kept you safe while figuring out this new demon form means for us together. Anyways, time to put pressure on your wound."

A hand tore a loose piece of fabric to apply pressure on the hemorrhaging wound. "See? You'll be okay . Gonnal get ya' all fixed up and good as new in no time ."

Damn Luce stills looks like an angel to me, Natsu mused in reverent admiration . Even with those injuries...

"Ooh- how cute!" Jackal's dervisie voice cut through the other demon’s reverie; whose arms automatically protectively tightened around Lucy's frame out of fierce instinct-automatic without a second though. Not to mention those two pair of eyes he could sense that set him on edge."

"Aw Damn." Jackal broke in again with a gleeful taunt that bordered on sadistic."That poor,pretty girl of you is covered in ugly bruises and scratches, Dragneel."

That little ...

Natsu's head automatically snapped around to meet Jackal with a baleful snarl. Damn was that all that black rage roaring in his veins all too consuming.

"There's that growling again" Jackal cackled, clearly unfazed at by the alpha demon's bared canines ." Bared fangs and what not. Such a shame what happened to Blondie here , or is it? You really did a number on her, huh Tempester?"

"Huh," Tempester mused, bland disinterest colouring his tone."it seems I did . Kind of forgot that my curses can sometimes have o delayed side effects on people . Who knows? That pathetic wrench might even have internal bleeding.

"You goddamned bastard!" The flame- eater raged, fury boiling over. "Lucy ain't pathetic or some kind of toy to play with ... God.. All those injuries… are you fault and . I swear that You're both gonna pay for what you did to her!"

"Oh-You think so?" Jackal scoffed with let out another infantilizing laugh —beyond infuriating .

"Someone's rattled." Tempster pointed out, listless eyes trained on the stone-brick wall ahead. "Unfortunate."

"You don't say," Jackal deadpanned, with a disdainful roll of the eyes ."But Seriously Though , E.N.D, do you even hear yourself? .I mean getting all riled up over a human girl in that way —talk about pathetic. Sure said girl is extremely beautiful with a killer bod and feisty personality to boot—I'll give you that. But is she worth losing your cool over or fraternizing with? I don't think so and neither should you . God knows all that pent up rage and aggression would be far more suited for another cause. Not to mention, you'd better off without her life tainting your judgement and hindering your full potential as the most powerful of all etherious. So let's resolve this, shall we? Hand over the celestial wizard and I'll gladly dispose of her for you . Sound good?"

" 'Sound good?'Sound Good?!’ Are you kidding me?"!

Good God did those last words only serve to incense the snarling dragon further.

" There's no way in hell I'm gonna give Lucy up or let either of you touch her!"

"Come on Dragneel-be reasonable."

"No-rot in hell!"

"Oh honestly E.N.D.-"

"My name is Natsu!"

"Well okay then, Natsu— Just calm down ." Jackal's couldn't seem to resist reprimanding the fire demon; as if he were some errant child pitching a fit ."You're being ridiculous. Anyways, tell you what. I promise to make her death as qui-"

"Shut up!"

" Quick and mostly painless..."

"I said shut up!" En.d's voice rose to an ear-splitting roar that could've struck terror into the hearts of the gods themselves. "Try anything on her and I swear I'll kill you!"

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To Be Continued

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A/N: Well that's Chapter 4 folks- hope you enjoyed! Now a bit more about the pandemic situation in Ontario . Like many other provinces and countries around the world,, the government of Ontario has opted to shut down/ temporarily close non-essential services, businesses, public spaces and institutions to help curb the spread of the virus for a few weeks (or more) before spring break. Such institutions include all schools and childcare centres/ services in those settings which applies to the childcare company I'm currently employed with. You know on account of most of their centres and programs being based in public schools. (Independently-run Daycares also remain closed. And yes i'm a ECE by trade for any who were wondering or didn't already). Schools and child cares were tentatively scheduled to reopen after April 5th; though the closures have been extended for another month (according to Doug Ford (the premier/leader of Ontario). Not ideal but at least it gives me some extra time for me to work on things alongside my writing(i.e editing upcoming chapters for fics and WIPS). All right folks, that's all I have to say on that subject.

As usual, please feel free to let me know what you think by leaving a comment/review , through a reblog or by any other means. Be sure to check out the rest of my writing while staying tuned for future updates of my fics and new projects along the way! (Links above, in the navigation and in bio If on tumblr . Also on fanfiction.) Anyway, take care and stay safe! Ta ta for now!

#fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #etherious natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #future lucy dragneel #the draconic demon within #my writing #millennial stargazer writes #millennial star gazer #please reblog

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sugar-kisser · 5 years ago

Note

Here I come with my requests. I’m in a really angsty mood lately, but fluff at the same time(?) So I was thinking about an wooyoung angst scenario, like him not appreciating y/n and cheating on her, with a Yunho fluff ending, being the puppy he is. Cuz let’s be real, Yunho is pure boyfriend material

( I’m so sorry this took so long. I’ve had so many other things going on, but I hope you enjoy! I’m trying to stay as active as I can!! )

PANCAKES & SUNFLOWERS

warnings: cussingfeaturing: Jongho

Nothing hurt more than to see him holding her hand, laughing at something she said, and lightly kissing her lips. You can almost feel his lips ghosting over yours as you watch them from the other side of the road. You weren’t suppose to run into them; that was never the goal. You simply had errands to run while Wooyoung was at his ‘practice’, but you quickly realize his lie.

You stand on the edge of the sidewalk and when Wooyoung turns his head after catching something familiar in the corner of his eye, his smile drops. But it doesn’t drop to shock or to a face of a child being caught with candy they aren’t suppose to have. But it’s a rather cold-look. The look alone freezes your heart and it weighs down in your chest. A cold winter breeze brushes your face and you can feel the warm tears on your cheeks suddenly cool.

You watch as the two continue walking down the other side of the road and you turn to continue about your day if you can. Your eyes glue to the ground and you find yourself walking the two miles back to your apartment, but you don’t really pay much attention. A car horn breaks you out of deep thought and you look up at the annoyed driver, who honks again. You quickly finishing crossing the street so the impatient driver can make their turn. You look up and stare through your wet and clumped eyelashes at your apartment, and someone running towards you.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice calls out to you. You watch the tall boy rush up to you, grabbing you by your biceps before quickly looking over you.

“Are you okay? You almost got hit,” the boy asks. You stare blankly ahead of you, at his shirt, but you don’t focus on it.

“Y/N?” He calls out to you. He bends down to reach eye level with you and that’s when he see’s your red puffy eyes. He mumbles a ‘come on’ before lightly tugging your arm, pulling you towards the apartment complex. He pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment before pulling you in. The warm air fights against your cold skin in order to warm you up. He guides you to his couch and pulls you down to sit next to him. He turns away from you to grab his large fuzzy blanket from the back of his couch and wraps it around you to warm you up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks while also knowing that if you’re really upset about something you might want alone time before talking to anyone. You very subtly shake your head no and the boy pulls his lips to a thin line, understanding and respecting your decision.

“Stay as long as you want. I’ll be at the dinning room table finishing my project,” he tells you, lightly laying his hand on your upper back. He stands up before removing his hand and walking towards his cluttered table. Colored paper, glue, cardboard, pencils, markers, and scissors litter his table but he manages with the space to work.

You stay on his couch, slowly beginning to feel warm under the blanket that’s trapping all the heat it can. You stare ahead at a spot on the white wall next to the flat screen television. In the corner of your eyes you can see your miserable state through the dark screen on the TV screen, but at this point you don’t care how you look. You never really did most days anyway, so why would you now?

In your mind events play over in your head. Starting from some of your happiest memories that you and Wooyoung created together all the way till you noticed him starting to get busier and busier with his work. The past month he would stay late at his dance studio, or at least that’s what he would tell you. You began to notice the smell of someone else’s perfume on his but you brushed it off considering that he work with female dancers and they are always working for different entertainers which means different types of routines to learn. So you brushed off any thought of him not being loyal, but now you wish you had talked about it with him. You begin to wonder what Wooyoung was really doing all those times he came home late or when he missed your dates. Was he with her? Was he with another girl?

You’re brought out of your thoughts when a warm mug is placed into your hands. You mumble a barely audible ‘thank you’ and the boy walks back towards his table.

“Don’t think about it too much,” he tells your from his table, “I know whatever happened isn’t good. But I’m sure it’s not your fault.” But what if it was? Had you said something? Had you done something wrong? Did you not give him enough of your attention or time?

“Y/N. You’re doing it again,” he calls to you. You look over to him and see him softly smiling at you before looking back to whatever he was doing before and continuing. You look down at your mug and notice your favorite drink, hot chocolate, and you bring the cup to your lips before taking a sip. You take a deep breath and finally looking around the room, to distract yourself from your thoughts. Your eyes lay back on the boy at the table and you find it in yourself to stand up and walk over to him. You take a seat quietly next to him.

“Hi,” he whispers as he brightly smiles at you before looking back to the paper he’s writing on with a marker.

“What is the project for?” You ask him quietly.

“It’s for my history class. We could pick anything to present. So I chose Greek mythology,” he explains to you. You almost perk up at the mention of Greek Mythology because you love it so much. It’s your favorite thing to learn about. You even teach the young kids in your class about Greek Mythology.

“I was actually going to ask you to help me with some parts. But you don’t have to,” he awkwardly chuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind helping you if you want it. You know I love this topic,” you tell him.

“I know you do,” he agrees and hands over a couple pieces of paper, “can you go over all of these and make sure they’re all correct?” You nod your head and take the sheets of paper and begin reading over the Greek Gods. You grab a pencil and make the necessary changes to the paper.

“You did some pretty good research. Only a couple things I’ve added,” you tell him handing back the paper. His eye’s widen when he sees the scribbled paper.

“A couple?” He asks looking over at you causing you to slightly laugh.

“Use whatever you want of it. Just wanted to add as much as I could. Your project is going to look so cool,” you tell him. He laughs and sets the papers to the side before handing you blank sheets of copy paper and markers.

“Can you draw symbols that represent the gods and goddesses?” He asks.

“Yeah!” You answer quietly but happily and look at the list of names and begin to sketch out all the different little symbols.

The two of you sit work for the rest of the night in a nice silence, occasionally talking to one another about the project. At some point you fall asleep, your head resting on the table. The boy next to you smiles softly at your sleeping figure. He slightly shakes you and when you half wake up he helps you over to the couch and you fall back asleep as soon at your head hits a pillow, causing him to silently laugh. He drapes a soft blanket over you and returns back to his almost finished project.

The next day you wake up and leave a goodbye note before returning to your apartment next door. Your mood instantly drops smelling Wooyoung. You take a deep breath and walk into your kitchen and flip on the light. You set your bags on the counter from the previous day and you turn to face towards the living room. You quickly walk off into your bedroom and when you walk into your closet you heart drops even further and all the horrible things you were feeling flood in again. All his clothes are gone. You quickly walk into your bathroom and it was half empty. He must of cleared out last night, you thought. You were happy you weren’t home then and next door for the evening. What if he had brought her over, and you not only had to face him but her as well?

You take in another deep breath and head back into your closet and pull out one of the old moving boxes. You open it and bring it out into the living room. You quickly begin taking all the picture frames from the room and putting them into the box. You also take all the small little knick-knacks you bought for each other and place them into the box as well. You hear a knock at the door and you call for whoever to come in recognizing the knock.

“Hey do you wan- what are you doing?” your neighbor asks.

“I’m trying to suppress memories,” you tell him as you continue to place items into the box.

“Y/N, what happened yesterday? Did he-“ he asks only causing you to turn around and your tear stained cheeks is a good enough answer for him.

“Oh Y/N,” he quickly walks up to you, wrapping you into a bear hug and you begin to actually cry. Your body shakes and you grip his arms to hold yourself up.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this,” he tells you and he runs his hand down the back of your head.

“But what if I did?” You ask him.

“Please don’t say that,” he whispers, “you don’t deserve anything horrible. You work your ass off and care so much for the people you love. You deserve nothing but happiness and good things to come your way.”

“You think?” you ask gripping his arm just slightly tighter as if you’re holding on to your last string of hope.

“I know that,” he answers, “it’ll hurt right now…. but it’ll get better over time. So please don’t give up. It will get better, I promise you.” You slow your crying and just stand in his arms hoping that it could get better from there. You can only hope he’s right.

————

Wednesday morning you walk back into your small classroom, a group of kindergarteners following you.

“Miss Y/N! Look! You have flowers!” One of your students squeals pointing to your desk as you stand at the door, holding it open for all of your students. Once they all take their respective seats, you close the door, and walk over to your desk almost baffled.

“Who are they from!?” Another student calls.

“Is it Wooyoung?” another student calls out and you feel a knife plunge in your heart slightly.

“I don’t think it’s Wooyoung, honey. We are not together anymore,” you tell your students with a soft smile, blinking back the oncoming tears. You takes the little enveloped card and open the card. ‘Thank you so much for the help. Everyone loved my project. I owe you. Midnight breakfast Friday? -Yunho’

“Yunho,” you whisper smiling.

“It was a boy!” Another student screams causing the rest of the class to get restless.

“Okay, okay!” You call to your students who instantly calm down, “it was from a friend. It’s a thank you letter. Which is what we are going to practice for the rest of the day. Christmas is coming up so we need to practice our thank you letters for the people who give you gifts.” You set the little letter on top of your laptop and grab the stack of cute christmas themes lined paper and begin handing them out to your students as they pull out their pencils. You then write a template out on the white board of a letter the kids can write and sit at your desk after letting them know if they have any questions they can come to you. You take a seat at your desk and look over the flowers and smile.

Yunho had even managed to get your favorite flowers, sunflowers. How did Yunho know your favorite flowers are sunflowers? Had he asked you before? The thought makes you think about how Wooyoung could never remember that you liked sunflowers. He’d always mistake them for yellow daisies…. which you are allergic to daisies, how fortunate. You wonder how he could never remember that daisies are the one thing you happen to be allergic too.

“Miss Y/N?” A student quietly calls to you as he stands at the end of your desk. You snap out of your thoughts and smile to the young boy awaiting for his question.

————

You walk down the hallway to your apartment, the vase of flowers in one of your hands and keys in your other.

“I’ll take it as you got my flowers?” Yunho asks popping his head out his apartment door.

“I did. Thank you,” you smile turning your head to look back at him as you unlock your apartment door. You push open your door and walk in, Yunho quickly following behind you.

“So are you agreeing to go out for midnight breakfast?” Yunho asks as he leans again your kitchen bar counter as you place the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Sure. I’ll go to midnight breakfast with you,” you answer as you look at the flowers, which prompts a question, “how did you know that I love sunflowers?”

“Oh,” Yunho’s cheeks slightly blush and he scratches the back of your head, “I’ve noticed that whenever he brought home flowers you would get sick, and you own a lot of sunflower-like items. Your school folder, your favorite summer dress, that painting.” Wow, you had no idea Yunho paid attention to all the little details, it makes you wonder if Wooyoung ever did.

“Well I know you have papers to grade, and your show is on in an hour. I’ll let you be. But for Friday, wear pjs!” Yunho smiles before seeing his way out of your apartment. You slightly smile to yourself and look back at the sunflowers sitting in the vase. You twirl a petal lightly between your fingers, carefully to not pluck it.

————

You check the clock and watch as the time slowly ticks on. You’ve been ready for an hour, but you still have 45 minutes to go. You would prefer 45 seconds with how slim your patience is running. You pat down your candy apple red pj bottoms. You wonder if your pjs are too childish to wear. I mean your pj bottoms has a crown pattern on them while your long sleeved top is fuzzy, both inside and out, and has ‘princess of everything’ with a crown on it. But they’re the only real pj set you have; usually you just wear a giant hoodie to bed… but you can’t exactly wear that out to a midnight breakfast, or really anywhere outside your apartment.

A knock interrupts your thoughts and you stand up and quickly head to the door.

“Hey,” Yunho greets, “I didn’t really want to wait 45 minutes. So I thought I’d see if you’re ready?”

“Yeah,” you nod your head, “let me just grab my coat and shoes.” You leave the door open and Yunho steps inside from the cold hallway. You quickly slip on your shoes and grab a winter coat. You grab your keys and the two of you leave after locking your door. Yunho guides the two of you to his car, and he opens the car door for you to get in. You thank him and he quickly closes the door and gets in on the drivers side. He quickly turns everything to do with heat on in his vehicle before pulling out onto the thin covered snow ground and drives towards the small pancake house a few miles away.

“How was you class today? Today was the last day before winter holiday, right?” Yunho asks.

“Yeah, the kids were really hyper,” you laugh recalling on how the kids ran around screaming almost the entire day, “but I guess that’s what you get when you plan a Christmas party.”

“You held a Christmas party and didn’t invite me?” Yunho asks, dramatically offended causing you to laugh.

“I’ll invite you to our next party,” you promise through your small laughing fit.

“You better,” Yunho continues, “Which movie did you show to them.”

“That new Grinch movie. It’s so cute,” you tell him.

“I still haven’t seen it. I think my brother is going to make me watch it when I go home for Christmas,” Yunho explains.

“It’s really good,” you tell him, “I’m no film critic but it’s one of the best Christmas movies I’ve ever seen.” Yunho smiles listening to you talk about the movie. He turns into a small lot and parking in one of the few parking spots.

“The diner doesn’t even look open,” you lean forward to look around through the windshield.

“Technically it’s not. But I know the owner and he owe’s me a favor,” Yunho brightly smiles as he turns off the car, “let’s go.” He steps out of the car and waits for you to get out as well before locking his car and he opens the door for you. The warm air hits you quickly from the cold rush of hurrying from the car to the door.

“Oh, Jongho!” Yunho calls as soon as the door closes behind him.

“You are early,” Jongho comes out of the back room and smiles when he see’s you, “Y/N! You didn’t tell me you were bringing Y/N!”

“Hi Jongho. I didn’t know you owned a pancake house,” you greet the boy.

“My parent’s do. I just work here,” he explains.

“How do you two know each other?” Yunho asks completely baffled.

“Y/N and I grew up down the street together and we went to school together for a little while too. Now she’s teaching my niece,” Jongho explains. Yunho’s mouth shapes to an ‘o’ and nods his head.

“Well this will be less awkward introducing people,” Yunho laughs.

“Sit where ever. I’ll be out in a moment. I’m still turning on a couple things,” Jongho shoo’s you two towards the seated area. Yunho takes off his coat and takes yours as well and rest them over the backs of bar chairs near the door and you decide on a booth by the window to watch the light snow fall outside.

“Okay. You don’t get to pick your drinks. I already brought you hot chocolate,” Jongho sets two rather large mugs on the table, “what do you guys want to eat?”

“Can I get some waffles?” Yunho asks mischievously.

“You’re in a damn pancake house and you ask for waffles,” Jongho takes a deep breath, “move tall boy I’ll go on a date with Y/N instead if you want to act like this.” You burst out laughing when Jongho tries to push Yunho over and the two push up against each other with their shoulders. Jongho gives up and look over to you as he brushes himself off.

“Y/N what would you like?” Jongho asks smiling as if nothing just happened.

“I’ll take blueberry pancakes,” you answer, “three please.”

“Anything for you,” Jongho smiles sweetly before turning to Yunho again, “better think wisely or I’ll spit in your food.” You almost choke on you hot chocolate causing you and the boys to laugh.

“Surprise me,” Yunho tells him. Jongho pats Yunho’s back before heading back into the kitchen.

“He’s really something else,” Yunho states.

“He’s still the same old Jongho,” you tell him before a short silence falls over the two of you.

“How was your day? I didn’t even ask you earlier,” you ask.

“I didn’t do much. I finishing up my last assignment for a class. Then I watched a lot of Netflix,” Yunho explains, “so today was slightly boring because I was waiting for midnight to come but time wanted to drag on.”

“Poor Yunho,” you tease as you lightly laugh.

“Well glad to see you’re at least feeling better,” Yunho smiles.

“I still do think about him. It hasn’t been long at all. But I’m not as upset as I should be. We were together almost a year,” you could feel your mood drop just thinking about him.

“Hey,” Yunho lightly places his hand on top of yours, “you don’t need a crusty bitch like him.” You burst out laughing at how serious Yunho sounded saying such a ridiculous phrase. Yunho smiles in content with his little action of making you laugh. He only ever wants to see your smile and hear your laugh. You deserve to be happy and maybe if Yunho tries a little harder he can finally be the reason for your happiness.

“Here are your pancakes,” Jongho places two plates down in front of you and then brings over different flavors of syrups for you to use, “I’ll be in the back. Yell if you need anything.” You both thank the boy before he disappears behind the kitchen doors. The two of you quickly dive into the warm milky pancakes and finish in no time.

———

“Alright kids!” You call over your class, “are we all ready to pass out Valentine’s?” The twenty kindergarteners cheer and hurry to their backpacks that are hanging up on the back wall and pull out their bags of valentines and candy. You walk over to your desk and pick up the large box of little goodie bags you, with the help of Yunho, made the night before. Once the kids were all back in their seats and you made sure the room was cleared so no kids would trip, and then you send them off to fill up everyone’s valentines box.

In the middle of the madness your classroom door opens and a tall boy walks in, startling the kids at first but they all cheer when they see him.

“Miss Y/N! Yunho’s here!” The kids cheer.

“Hi Yunho,” you smile walking up to the tall giant and giving a small hug.

“Yunho what are you hiding?” One of the kids calls as she looks at his hand which is behind his back. Yunho slightly blushes and pulls out a bouquet of sunflowers and presents them to you.

“For me?” Your cheeks lightly turning pink, “thank you.” You accept the flowers and the two of you move towards your desk and out of the kids way so they can continue to passing out valentines.

“How has your morning been?” Yunho asks as he takes a seat in one of the small chairs by your desk.

“Hectic. They are so hyper,” you laugh, “how is your morning?”

“I barely slept last night so I’m running on one of those five hour energy drink-shot-things,” he answers.

“I’m sorry to hear. Why couldn’t you sleep?” You ask.

“Just nerves,” Yunho smiles, “its’ nothing big.” He laughs and when the two of you notice that it’s slightly gotten quieter you look over to see your students back at their seats talking to each other, eating candy, and showing off their valentines.

“Alright, who is ready for my Valentines?” You ask the students who instantly cheer. You go to pick up the box but Yunho beats you to it and he follows you around as you hand out all the little goodie bags to your students. When you return to your seat you plug your computer into the overhead projector and pull up the movie Tangled and begin it. You and Yunho return to your desk and quietly chat.

“Hey what are you doing tonight?” Yunho asks.

“Probably watching tv and cooking dinner for myself, why? What’s up?” You answer.

“I was wondering if you would like to go on a date?” Yunho looks down and then back up at you, his cheeks and ear slightly pink. The question completely catches you off guard and you blush a mad red, but break into a big smile.

“I would actually really like that,” you tell him, and when you answer you feel an erupting feeling of butterflies in your stomach. As if they all broke out of the cage you were keeping them in

“Oh, good,” Yunho awkwardly laughs with a biggest smile, “I know the perfect little pancake house we can go to.”

“With the same little strong sassy baby at?” You tease on causing you both to laugh. You slow you laugh down and watch as Yunho does the same. He’s quickly distracted by the movie but you can’t help but to stare at your neighbor who picked up your broken heart that Wooyoung left. The same heart you didn’t want to touch, or anyone to touch, but Yunho insisted anyway. In the train of your thoughts, Yunho subconsciously intertwines one of his hands with your across the desk as he keeps his focus on the movie. Your lips pull into one of those smiles where you don’t want to smile like an idiot but you still manage to have a sweet smile plastered to your face. You take a silent deep breath in and exhale with the content feeling that everything id right where it needs to be in this very moment, and you wouldn’t ever want to change it for the world.

PART 2

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perriewinklenerdie · 5 years ago

Text

Goddess of Dawn (Ethan Ramsey x MC) {AU} *part 4*

Open Heart AU, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note: Hello, hello, hello! HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! I hope this next year brings only smiles and friends into your life, all the happiness and love you want and need <3

We’re kicking this year off with AU, because I can :D Slowly but surely, we’re uncovering just what exactly is Claire hiding, and it’s a fun ride if I do say so myself

Previous parts:

~II

~III

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903765/chapters/52679245

Tag list: @paleweasels , @lilyofchoices , @hopelessromantic1352 , @kittykatchoices, @aloehasrose , @valiantlychaoticbarbarian , @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, , @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h

Enjoy! <3

----------------

IV.

Luca pulled up to the back entrance of the hospital, looking around for a place to park. His eyes went to the rearview mirror, observing his boss. She was sitting comfortably, chatting with ‘Dr. Ramsey’, or so she called him. The gazes he sent Claire when he thought no one was looking were familiar to him. After all, those were exactly the same emotions Luca himself had when he looked at his own wife. That Ramsey guy was far gone for his boss, and there was no denying that. Claire turned to the front of the car, smiling at Luca brightly.

“Wait here, we’ll be back in a few minutes. And check on Joe, would you? He should be done by now.” she said calmly, her voice getting colder as a memory of what happened a mere hour ago came back into her mind. He nodded, saluting her playfully.

“You’ve got it, Boss.”

Ethan got out of the car after her, not missing the look Luca gave him. It was a complex one, one that he couldn’t exactly dissect or understand completely, but definitely carried with it the protectiveness and some sense of… pity? Shaking his head, he followed Claire to the hospital, deciding not to dwell on it too much.

Hospital at five in the morning wasn’t as busy as during the day, doctors going through their graveyard shifts quietly, most of the patients sleeping. Ethan moved quietly through the halls with Claire without saying a word. They agreed to split, with him going to his office to grab his things and her checking on Charlie before going to the locker room to get her stuff. After that, they were supposed to meet out back again, but because he was faster, he went to the locker room to wait for her there. Her blonde hair was still tucked into the braid when she came into the view, her white coat back on her body. Her eyes sparked up when she saw him, a smirk tugging on the corners of her lips.

“You’re a fast one, aren’t you, Dr. Ramsey.” She laughed, walking towards her locker. He stayed put, observing her from the sidelines as she took her coat off, smoothing it out on the hanger before putting it into the locker. Her shoes came next, leaning down to take her flats off and put her heels on. His eyes were glued to her, and when she stood back up, she threw him a playful look over her shoulder, biting her lip a little. Her fingers undid the braid, letting her hair fall freely from it, framing her face delicately.

“You ready to go?” she asked a moment later, grabbing her purse and closing the locker. He nodded his head slightly, almost as though he was pulled out from the dreamy haze. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked, a rhythmical sound giving him something to focus on, anything, just to not think about mess of a situation he witnessed earlier. Luca opened the door for them, wordlessly closing them after they got inside, starting the car. Ethan decided to break the silence, not even music could soothe his mind.

“So, you’re not living with your friends anymore?” he spoke, clearing his throat near the end of the sentence. She shook her head, leaning back against her seat.

“Even when I was living with them, I had my own place. I needed some place to live in like a normal person, and my house… would make it difficult. You’ll see for yourself in a moment.”

----- ----- -----

Ten minutes later, the car took a turn off the main road, getting lost in the thick forest. The sun was slowly rising out from the horizon, water reflecting its light. A mansion came into the view, concealed from the public view by trees and bushes. Despite that, the house seemed to have a private beach, its own big garden and a pool. Luca stopped the car in front of the house, turning around to face them.

“We’re here, Boss. I called Joe, he’s home, everything taken care of. I’ll be heading home if that’s all.” He reported, his eyes trained on Claire. She nodded with a relieved smile.

“Thank you, Luca, get home to your family. Kiss the girls from me?”

“You got it, Boss. Same time as on all days off or is there any…” his eyes ran to Ethan for a moment, a slight smirk on his lips. “… possible change of plans?”

Claire laughed slightly, shrugging her shoulders a little.

“You never know. If there is any change of plans, I’ll let you know. Have a good night, Luca.”

“You too, Claire. Oh! I talked to your maid, she said that she didn’t have time to clean the guest room after Liam left yesterday.” He winked and with that, he drove off.

Ethan’s mind was racing at the mention of another name, but he didn’t have time to question it, for Claire was already moving towards the front door. Lights came on when they sensed motion, and seconds later, door fell open, letting them in. He took in surroundings, the room overwhelmingly breathtaking. He turned to her, only to see her taking her shoes off, her bare feet touching the ground. He mirrored her actions, still looking around.

“Rookie, enlighten me, because I am utterly lost. You have this mansion, and you called my house nice? My apartment is the size of three rooms in here!” he laughed, staring at her. She giggled, touching his shoulder softly as she moved past him.

“I like your apartment! The view is to die for, the rooms are amazing, and the localization is great. Besides, I couldn’t just come into your apartment and say ‘Your apartment is great, but you should see my mansion.’” She hurried to explain, shaking her head slightly.

He took a breath to argue back, when he heard a loud hiss, followed by a sound of paws scratching against the floor. He looked down, only to see three cats, running away in frenzy from him, their tails high and voluminous, indicating they got scared. By what, he couldn’t tell, but Claire crouched, laughing a little as she called for them.

“Jack! Meredith! Archer! Come here, he doesn’t bite! Or, he does, but not cats!” she sent a sly grin his way, a double meaning of her words resounding.

“Are they scared of me?” he asked, leaning down next to her. She nodded her head gently.

“They are scared of about half of people they don’t know.”

“And the other half?”

“They other half gets scratched the second they come into the room. I guess you got lucky.” She stood up, squeezing his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a short tour of the ground floor while the water in the pot boils for pasta.” She moved into the kitchen, getting the said pot going, before coming back to him.

She stood in front of the entrance to the kitchen, smiling brightly at him. Her hands framed the sight before him, her face twisting into the playful grin.

“This is my kitchen; all the cooking and late-night snacks happen here.”

“You don’t say, Rookie.” He mused, following her into the living room. Claire sat down at the back of the couch, her hands on either side of her legs.

“The living room and dining room, many late nights with files, many parties, many evenings with cats and tea.” She recalled, pointing towards the glass door. “This is the way to the beach, want to take a stroll?”

Various images flashed in his mind, flying right before his eyes. The way her hair would look in the dim light of the dawn, the way water would wash against their feet, the way his arms would wrap around her-

He shook his head, both to stop his trail of thoughts and to answer her question. There would be time to go to the beach, or at least, he hoped so. For now, he needed to get some answers, or he would go insane.

They moved on to the library, walls lined with books upon books, a small couch in the middle of the room, small lamp illuminating the room. Ethan ran his hands over the spines of multiple tomes, noticing the familiar one among them. He pulled it out, turning to her with a smug expression.

“You still have it?” he asked, his eyebrow lifting slightly. She stood by his side, looking at the book.

“This copy is six years old. I’ve read it so many times, it’s a miracle it’s still in such a good shape.” He opened it, searching for the note he wrote in it on the first day… only to find it empty.

“Where’s the note I wrote you?”

“It wasn’t my book. It was Landry’s.” she shivered at an unpleasant memory. A look of confusion twisted his features.

“Whose?” Ethan asked, making Claire laugh so loudly and strongly she had to lean onto him to catch her breath.

“He would be so pissed if he heard you say that. But yes, your note is in his book… what a pity.” Claire mused, taking the tome from his hands and putting it back onto the shelf.

“I’ll write you a new one, one day.”

----- ----- -----

They made their way back to the kitchen. Ethan sat down on the bar stool, watching as Claire worked behind the counter. She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, her hair on top of her head in a bun. She was cutting chicken into smaller pieces when three cats returned, jumping and rubbing against her legs, fighting for attention. She gathered a few pieces into her hands, turning to Ethan.

“Want to see something fun?” she asked playfully, throwing pieces onto the floor. Jack and Archer growled at each other, throwing themselves at their food, their paws covering small cubes in a frantic fight. Meredith stayed back, watching the other two with curious eyes. As fast as they appeared, they ran away, leaving Ethan and Claire alone again.

“Do they do that often?” he wondered, tapping his fingers against the countertop. She finished preparing their food, turning around to get their tea ready.

“All the time. You get used to it, even though it’s always equally entertaining. Now, come on, we’ll eat on the couch.”

He took their plates, while she took their cups, full of steaming liquid. When she put them down, he noticed slight traces on her wrist. He touched it slightly, running his thumb over it. His eyes asked a silent question, and she went to the bathroom to get a makeup wipe. Taking off the concealer, she revealed a tattoo. A snowflake, colored with blue and purple colors, swirling around the black lines that formed the shape. He stroked her skin there, sending a shiver through her body.

“How did I not see it before?”

“I covered it with makeup, the risk of getting it recognized was too high.” She took her hand away, lacing her fingers together.

“What does that mean?” he muttered under his breath, letting her have all the time she needed to start talking. After a moment of silence, she exhaled loudly, her eyes trained on the tattoo.

“It’s a symbol. A symbol of my cartel.” She raised her green irises to meet his blue ones, seeing shock mixed with worry. “I’m the head of the biggest drug cartel in USA.”

#ethan ramsey #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey choices #dr ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #open heart #open heart fanfiction #playchoices #playchoices open heart #choices #choices fanfiction #fic #au #ethan x mc

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taexual · 5 years ago

Text

HOLIC - 36 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: fluff + some suggestive themes

words: 3.7k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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It looked like most rooms at the motel were vacant when you arrived and the middle-aged clerk seemed almost excited to see you – even though it was obvious what you and Jaebum had gotten up to. Not even the remaining hour drive to the motel could erase the undeniable atmosphere of sex around the two of you; and it wasn’t like you were trying to hide it anyway, with Jaebum’s hand settling down on your waist as soon as you two stepped out of the car.

The lady at the front desk, after greeting you in an overly enthusiastic way, informed you that all rooms of the motel were designed the same way, so you could pick whichever one you wanted. All of them included a bathroom, a TV set, a mini-fridge, and two single beds. She sounded apologetic when she said that last part as if you’d turn around and leave, not even stopping to consider sleeping in separate beds.

“It’s alright, we know,” Jaebum said. “We’d called before to get a room reservation but were told not to worry about it.”

“That’s right, we don’t get many guests. It’s a small town,” the clerk told him, fishing a key off the hook on the wall next to her. “How many nights will you be staying with us?”

“Just this one,” he replied, releasing your waist when the lady passed him a form to sign. “We’ll be gone tomorrow.”

She nodded knowingly – although you weren’t sure what was there to know; but, then again, you and Jaebum probably weren’t the first couple that showed up here out of the blue, stayed for one night, and then disappeared in the morning – and then, after making sure your stay was documented and paid for, she finally passed you two the key to your room.

“Have a good night!” she said, her eyes shimmering in a way that suggested she knew you two would.

After thanking her and saying a quick goodbye, you and Jaebum retreated to the room. Contrary to what you’d expected from a motel that not a lot of people frequented, the room wasn’t awful at all. Just like advertised, it had two single beds separated by something that looked like a broken nightstand, a TV set – even if it must have been one of the few leftover relics from the early 90s in this room – a mini-fridge that buzzed so loudly, you thought you’d stumbled upon someone snoring when you’d first entered, and a tiny bathroom. The sight of the latter excited you the most.

“Will you be alright here?” you asked, throwing your phone on the bed closer to the bathroom, never having enjoyed sleeping next to a window – especially not when you were on the first floor – and turning to look at the only other person in the room. “I’m dying to take a shower.”

“Oh. Well, if you’re so concerned about my entertainment,” Jaebum, initially surprised that you were worried about leaving him alone for however long it’d take for you to finish your shower, was now smirking as he finished, “then you can just invite me to come with you.”

You gave him a blank look. “I have an important meeting tomorrow and it would certainly help if my legs could actually work.”

He laughed at that – obviously, taking it as a compliment – and then tried again, “I can be gentle.”

“Of all the things you’ve told me since we’ve met,” you replied, “that is the one I find the hardest to believe.”

“I can prove it.”

“Hmm,” you shook your head, merely blinking and then noticing that Jaebum had taken a step closer to you, his grinning face was now centimeters away from yours. “I’ll keep that in mind. Not tonight, though.”

He shrugged his shoulders, stepping away from you and plopping down on the bed next to the window with a deep sigh. “Fine. Your loss. Leave me here, bored and completely alone.”

His exaggerated dramaticism made you snicker. “There’s a TV. Knock yourself out.”

“I can turn your hot water off for more entertainment,” he teased.

“I know you can,” you said. “But I’m not playing games anymore. I’m strict now – you do that, I’ll kill you.”

“You’ll kill me anyway, one way or another,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I might as well have fun while I wait for you to do that.”

You shook your head again, throwing your shoes off by the door and finally heading for the bathroom. After inspecting it – the shower seemed decent enough and the drain didn’t look like it was going to swallow you whole as soon as you stepped into the booth, either – and then turning around to face the room one last time.

“Yell if you need me,” you told Jaebum.

“I need you!” he yelled immediately, earning a surprised – but amused nevertheless – look from you as you stopped halfway out of the bathroom.

“You’re in an unusually great mood,” you observed, smiling to yourself when you realized that this – happy – was your favorite version of him. “Stay that way until I come back.”

When you got out of the shower less than twenty minutes later, however, Jaebum was nearly asleep. Traces of his smile from before still lingered on his face, but his soft breaths indicated that, although still obviously happy, he was now more exhausted than anything else. You didn’t blame him. He’d endured a full day of work and then drove for more than six hours for you.

Smiling appreciatively, you hovered over his sleeping frame, considering leaning down and wiping the stray strands of hair from his forehead but not risking it in case that would wake him up. A second later, you jumped back because he suddenly opened his eyes anyway.

“You’re awake,” you pointed out the obvious. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“No,” he replied in a husky voice and then yawned right after. “I need to shower, too.”

“Sorry,” you bit your lip. “You can go ahead.”

With a tired blink of his eyes, he sat up and reached for his phone – that he’d already placed on the nightstand in-between the two beds – and sighed after checking the time. Aware of his exhaustion, you offered him a smile.

“Need help with your shower?” you asked, earning a small chuckle from him.

“It’s alright. You should go to sleep,” he told you, climbing off the bed and stretching. “Busy day tomorrow.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply. For the majority of the day today, your mind was occupied with the trip here, but now that you’d actually made it into town, the nerves about the interview that awaited you tomorrow have started to poke at your mind, replacing the previous anxiety with slightly more prominent one. While the trip over here was stressful, it was still something that you could, more or less, plan out. The interview tomorrow, on the other hand, was completely out of your control.

“Nervous?” Jaebum asked, noticing the change in your expression. But he continued before you could reply, “don’t be. They will love you.”

“Normally, I’d say no and let my insecurities get the best of me,” you admitted, “but, God, I really hope you’re right.”

He smiled hearing this. “I am. You’ll see.”

“I probably won’t be able to sleep the whole night tonight, to be honest.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Jaebum said, sitting down on the edge of his bed as you sat down on yours, “then wait until I come back from my shower and I can tell you a bedtime story. Something that will take your mind off of tomorrow.”

Another thing he was willing to do for you. Your stomach had suddenly clenched so hard, you could barely breathe.

“No,” you said softly. “You need to rest. You’ve already gone out of your way to—”

“I haven’t done anything you haven’t done for me,” he replied. “Although, I’m not doing this because I owe you. I’m a simple man – when I offer to do something, it’s because I genuinely want to do it.”

As your chest swelled with even more adoration, you shook your head.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you said. “Or I’ll start to think aliens had abducted you and replaced you with a very well-made copy.”

“When would they even do that?” Jaebum laughed. “I’ve been with you the whole day.”

“Well, I was just in the shower for half an hour, lots of things could have—”

Taking you completely off guard, he cut you off mid-sentence by reaching over and pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. You could feel him smile into the kiss when he heard your breath hitch in surprise.

“Did that feel like me?” he asked after pulling away a moment later, his classic grin back on his face.

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “That felt like you alright.”

Chuckling again, Jaebum nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom, indicating that he was really going this time.

“Wait for me,” he reminded you, standing up.

“Hmm,” you nodded, mumbling under your breath so he wouldn’t hear (although you had a feeling that he still did), “wouldn’t be able to do anything other than that anyway.”

You lied down on your bed while you waited. The sound of the water running in the bathroom, just a few meters away from you, was soothing and, for a few quick moments, you actually thought you might end up falling asleep, after all. Just as you felt yourself sigh in content, however, the first hints of slumber fogging up your mind, you heard a gentle melody coming from the bathroom. You thought you’d imagined – or dreamt – it at first but when you opened your tired eyes, you could still hear it.

And, after sitting up and turning your head towards the bathroom door, you realized that this was Jaebum, singing in the shower.

With your heart bursting, you smiled to yourself and tried to listen better – harder – so you’d make out the words of the song but you didn’t seem to recognize the melody at all. Perhaps you just didn’t know the song or… perhaps this was an original piece that he’d created, maybe even the one he’d mentioned working on in the car on the way here.

Knowing very well that this was, technically, a form of eavesdropping, you still flipped onto your back so you could hear better but the running water inside of the bathroom made it difficult to discern the words. You couldn’t help but want desperately to ask him about this new song he was writing – if this was indeed a new song – but you knew he wouldn’t tell you much, not until he had the song all done and ready, which, based on previous experiences, could take ages.

Among the bits and pieces of separate words you’d managed to catch him sing, the only full phrase you were certain you heard was, “I want to be with you” but that was more than enough for you to understand that Jaebum had moved on from writing songs about his ex-girlfriend and was now working on a piece that was entirely different.

He’d told you once that he could never write songs about abstract concepts and instead preferred to write lyrics about his own personal experiences. He’d said he wrote the words that described the strongest emotion he was feeling at the given moment and you felt yourself smile at this memory. The sound of his voice behind the wall separating this room from the bathroom – and the words that passed his lips as he continued to sing – could have only meant that the strongest emotion he was feeling right now was not anger. Not anymore.

Holding your breath, you listened more and managed to overhear him curse silently every now and then – when he messed the melody up, most likely – which supported your hypothesis even more. Jaebum was right there, behind the wall, singing a new song that he had written himself.

And then the water stopped abruptly.

Gasping quietly, you turned to your side, your back facing the bathroom door, and closed your eyes. You’d very much prefer him thinking that you’d fallen asleep than have him catch you eavesdropping on him – in your defense, he was not being subtle about his singing at all; he had to suspect that the walls were thin.

Another moment later, you heard the door of the bathroom open. You still kept your eyes closed, your heart beating rapidly, the emotions caused by overhearing him sing still fresh in your mind.

You didn’t hear anything else for a good few minutes and debated opening your eyes so you could check what was it that he was doing without making any noise, but another second later, you were forced to find out what he was doing when he wrapped his arms – still dripping wet – around you, startling you.

“Shit, Jaebum!” you jumped up, turning your head as much as his body – now on the bed next to you, his damp skin soaking the sheets – allowed you to. “You’re wet—what are you doing?!”

“I thought you fell asleep,” he said, grinning mischievously. “So, I had to check.”

“Clearly, I’m awake!” you shot back – earning a very pleased look and a quick kiss on your cheek from him – but Jaebum was already standing up. “Did you suddenly forget how to use words?!”

“Using words is not nearly as much fun,” he said and instead of helping you find a proper response, your mind suddenly shut the function of your lungs completely off.

The sight of Jaebum standing in the dimly lit motel room in only his boxers, his hair falling on his face haphazardly as water dripped from the strands of his hair and landed on the smooth skin of his cheeks and chest, didn’t just make you do a double-take after you first laid your eyes on him. It made you battle your own mind so you could muster up enough strength to look away.

“Well,” you sat up on the bed, clearing your throat and feeling the sheets around you, “now my bed is wet because you can’t use a towel properly, either. Thank you.”

“Oh, hey look at that,” he said nonchalantly, reaching for his travel bag to find something to wear to bed, “looks like now you have to use my bed.”

You raised your eyebrows at this and shook your head, realizing that this might have been his plan all along. The previous exhaustion he had been feeling was seemingly gone now.

“You could have just told me you wanted to sleep with me instead of this,” you said, checking your shirt and shaking your head at the soaked material. “Now I’m considering sleeping here out of spite.”

“Oh, but you can’t. What if you catch a cold?” he asked, mock-concern evident on his face as soon as he pulled his shirt over his head, the material immediately clinging to the droplets of water still glistening everywhere on his skin.

“You are intolerable,” you told him matter-of-factly but Jaebum could see right through you. You weren’t nearly as annoyed as you were pretending to be.

“Come on,” he said, throwing the quilt that covered his bed to a side and patting the mattress. “Get in.”

“Not while you’re wet.”

“We can use body heat so I would dry faster.”

“I prefer sleeping in a dry bed,” you fought, resisting the pull of his eyes.

Jaebum enjoyed the challenge you were throwing at him, however, as he never ceased to smirk.

“After all that I’ve done for you,” he started and you were already able to guess where he was going to go with this, “after I’ve spent my precious time driving you over here and then making sure you really remembered this trip before you even got to the gallery,” he paused, reading your face as if to check if you understood which moment of your trip he was hinting at. You did. “And now you won’t even—”

“Okay, fine!” you stood up in a huff, took one step towards him and climbed into his bed instead, all while glaring at him as if he was making you participate in the most unpleasant activity of your life. “I knew you’d use that against me. It’s never “just a favor” with you. You always want something in return.”

He didn’t bother to deny any of that as he got into bed after you, throwing the quilt over your bodies and wrapping one arm – his skin still damp – over your body as he held you in a spooning position, nuzzling his head into your neck in an attempt to get more comfortable.

“I believe you promised me a story,” you reminded him, ignoring your suddenly accelerated heartbeat and the goosebumps that were woken up by the feeling of his breath on your neck, “and now I think you’ll have to keep talking until you’re completely dry and it no longer feels like I’m laying in a swamp.”

“In—in a swamp,” he chortled, the comparison amusing him. “Okay, alright, let me think of something to tell you. Something that would make you feel like you’re laying in a beautiful meadow full of daisies, since that’s what you’d prefer, yeah?”

“Jaebum, I’m in a very convenient position to kick you out of the bed,” you warned, bringing your foot over his shins to prove your point.

He laughed again, gently kissing your neck as an apology. “Okay, okay. Let me tell you about the time I left Mark to babysit my cats for me when we were back in college.”

And then he did. He got into explicit detail about the depth of the wounds his cats had inflicted on Mark and about how long it took him to convince Mark to come over again after that. Then, he told you about each cat he used to have individually, describing them so vividly, it was almost starting to feel like you’ve met his cats yourself.

He told you about how he had to give them away so he could get a job and stop worrying about leaving the poor animals home alone for the whole day every day. He told you about how his mom always cooked him food when he started his job at the radio station and how, whenever he opened the plastic containers she’d packed the food in, crowds of other producers would swarm to his studio to have a taste, too. He didn’t talk about his family much, focusing solely on his mother and, thus, answering the question he’d ducked out of answering in the car earlier today. He was indeed close to his mom.

By the time his throat got hoarse from all the talking, you had already turned to your other side and lied facing him instead. He had told you so much and, even though none of his stories involved the song you’d heard before, listening to his voice as he talked about his favorite moments from his life felt a little like hearing him sing and that was enough.

You weren’t sure when you began to feel drowsy and stopped focusing so much on the way his hair tickled your cheek or the way his minty breath washed off on your face every time he chuckled at the memory of the event he was telling you about.

Jaebum had succeeded in making you forget about the potentially life-changing interview you’d have to endure tomorrow because, as your mind floated between consciousness and slumber, you were thinking about something else entirely. In fact, the one thing that would not leave your mind was the realization that this didn’t feel that much different from home.

You were lying next to Jaebum here, too, his arms around you. You could hear his soft breaths, feel his heart beating against your chest, smell the soap on his skin. And when you opened your eyes, you could see that he was watching you, his gaze tender and full of vulnerability – your hand, sneaking up to rest on his chest, could have held the sharpest blade and he wouldn’t have cared. You could tell that this scared him, but not getting to hold you scared him even more.

As you thought back on all the times the two of you had wished to find yourselves in this exact position – hands and legs entangled together until one could no longer tell where your limbs ended and his began – you were even more inclined to believe that this here felt just like home. You’d spent so much time resisting the magnetic pull between your bodies until you finally gave in to it because fighting the inevitable was pointless. It just took you both some time to realize and accept this.

And now, even though your bodies were pressed close to one another, occupying only a tiny part in the corner of an otherwise enormous room – proof of how little physical life meant in comparison to all that was hidden in the universe – it felt like your souls, intertwined irreversibly, were so much bigger than this whole room. Bigger, even, than this world.

And just like Jaebum at the gas station hours before, you gasped quietly, a startling realization settling inside of your mind: his arms wrapped around you wasn’t just a reminder of an apartment somewhere far away from here. His embrace wasn’t just a mirror of all that had happened inside of his bedroom back at home.

Jaebum wasn’t just a piece of your home that you’d brought here with you.

He was your home.

“What is it?” he whispered, pulling away slightly, your gasp taking him by surprise.

“Nothing,” you replied breathlessly. “Thank you for telling me about all of that.”

“It’s okay,” he said, “are you tired?”

You nodded weakly. “I am. But I—”

“Sleep,” he told you, cutting you off before you could explain the epiphany you’d just had. “I’m here.”

He may not have heard the specific words from you – because you weren’t sure if it was possible to explain how a decidedly simple person, with nothing at all extraordinary about them, could ever discover what the true purpose of life was – but he felt them. He felt them in the tender touch of your fingertips on his chest. He felt them in your eyes when you thought he couldn’t feel you watching him. He felt them in your lips when you leaned in slowly, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Jaebum had figured out what the purpose of life was, too. It filled the otherwise empty space of the motel room, pulsating soundlessly all around you and him. It filled the vacant cavities of his chest, bringing life to his exhausted heart. It filled his mind, giving his thoughts and dreams the meaning they’d always lacked.

And, in truth, this purpose had never been hidden from him – it was right there in front of his face the whole time. He’d just been too stubborn to open his eyes and notice it.

But he saw it now. He held it in his arms, whispering a gentle “goodnight” and promising wordlessly to never let go.

chapter directory

#got7 #fanfiction #got7 fanfiction #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 fanfic #got7 jb #jaebum #got7 au #roommate au #e2l #e2l au #got7 x reader #got7 roommate au #got7 e2l au

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crying-gay-tears · 4 years ago

Text

Brighter Than The Sun

Chapter 2: The First Day

“G-Gon?” Killua’s mouth fell open in surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you find my room?” Gon looked so excited and he had no idea why.

“Killua!! I didn’t know this was your room! I just got home and wanted to meet my roommate!”

“Home? Wait, does that mean-” realization hit him suddenly. “Are you in 405A??”

“Yes! We’re roommates!”

Killua stood in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of how to feel. Of all the people on campus to have as his roommate, it turned out to be Gon, the bubbly and strange boy he had ironically just been thinking about.

“Can I see your room? I peeked in earlier when I arrived but it was empty.”

“Uh, sure” he stepped to the side, letting him into the room. “I haven’t really done anything in here yet. I got in right before orientation, so I didn’t have time to start unpacking. When I finally got back after the library I put some stuff away, but I’ve mostly just been hanging out.” Killua blushed, suddenly hyper aware of the chocolate robot wrappers on his desk, and his haphazardly arranged belongings. His suitcase was lying open on the floor beside his dresser, stacks of books were scattered across the desk and floor.

“I think it looks great already! I haven’t had the chance to unpack or decorate at all yet. Is this your favorite band?” He nodded to the crooked poster on the wall above the bed.

“One of my favorites, yeah. It’s the one playing right now.” He motioned to the bluetooth speaker sitting on the windowsill.

Gon walked over, sat on his bed, and began bobbing his head to the music.

“They’re really good! You’ve got nice taste in music.”

Killua chuckled, “This is only one song! I like a lot of different stuff, there’s a lot to listen to.”

“Well, you’ve got the whole school year to show me!”

His smile was warm and real and it shook Killua up quite a bit. No one had ever really shown interest in the things he enjoyed before, but here was someone he had just met, genuinely excited to be listening to underground rock with him.

They hung out while Killua finished unpacking his suitcase and getting settled. After that, Gon wandered back to his own room to start his unpacking and when he did Killua followed and this time Gon played the music. His taste was a little weird, and mostly pop, but Killua didn’t mind. He was enjoying the view as Gon danced around his room, tossing clothes into his dresser and arranging trinkets on his desk.When he went to the bathroom to unpack his toiletries, Killua stood over the desk, checking out all of the small momentos Gon felt were important enough to bring with him to college. Among them was a few seashells, a green ring, and a fishing hook in a small glass jar. A photo in a blue frame near the corner of the desk caught his eye, and he leaned in for a closer look. Gon, wearing a graduation cap and gown, was facing the camera, eyes squinted with a beaming smile on his face. One arm held his diploma in the air, while the other was wrapped around a teary eyed woman. Her head came up to his shoulder, and where her hazel eyes and orange hair bore no resemblance to him, her warm and genuine smile was a spitting image. She must be-

“That’s my Aunt Mito!” Gon chirped, eyes lighting up as he walked over to where Killua was standing. “She burst into tears right after this picture was taken. I know she was proud and happy for me, but I’m pretty sure she was really sad that day. Mostly worried about the future, I think.” His face fell a bit. “She knows I want to follow in my dad’s footsteps, and since he’s so busy and always overseas I think she’s worried I’ll just leave and never come back.”

“What does your dad do?”

“He’s an archaeologist.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

“Yeah, that’s why I want to see for myself! If his job is so amazing that it was worth missing out on my life and Mito-san’s life, then I want to know what it’s like!”

Killua felt kind of bad hearing that. He knew what it was like to have a dad ditch you for work, but at the same time, his parents were also very involved with his life. Suffocatingly so. They had appearances to uphold, afterall. His parents were far from perfect and even farther from pleasant, but he still couldn’t imagine one or both of them just leaving and not returning. Plus, what would Gon do if he finally got the job and it wasn’t as amazing as his dad made it seem? Killua knew from experience that hope usually just led to disappointment.

He pulled out the desk chair and swung his leg over it, nestling backwards in the seat, his arms folded across the top rail of the chair, and his chin resting on top of them. “So what’s your dad like?”

Gon sat on his bed across from Killua and was lost in thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve only really seen him a few times in my life. . His name is Ging. Ging Freecs. He’s pretty rough around the edges, but well respected. He’s famous in parts of the world for his finds and research. I don’t know much else, except a few stories Mito-san has told me from when they were kids on Whale Island together. She says I’m a lot like him though. ” He shrugged, “By her tone of voice, I can never tell if she means that as a good or bad thing.”

Killua surprised himself when he spoke, “Whether you're like Ging or not, and whether that’s good or bad doesn't really matter. You’re you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty cool.”

They locked eyes and a huge smile broke out on Gon’s face.

“Thanks, Killua. I think you’re really cool too! I’m glad we’re roommates!”

Killua just grumbled a bit in response, his mouth set in an awkward smile. Gon could be so embarrassing sometimes.

They slipped into a comfortable silence after that, music still playing softly through the room as Gon continued organizing his stuff and Killua scrolled on his phone. After a while Gon let out a huge yawn and decided it was time to call it a night. They were both mostly unpacked, and even though classes didn’t start for two more days, he wanted to get up early to explore the campus some more. Yawning himself, Killua followed suit and once behind his closed door, stripped to his boxers and flopped onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to drift.

It had been a hell of a day. Aside from his text letting them know he arrived safely, he hadn’t spoken to his parents at all. Where this wasn’t too different from the norm--they were usually too tied up with work and social ladder climbing to give him much attention--it was still nice to have space from them and his life back home. He’d been so excited for the freedom college was going to provide him. Freedom from the claustrophobic walls of the Zoldyck estate, from his siblings, and best of all, freedom from his parent’s cold judgement. He was finally able to live his life without them breathing down his neck and criticizing his every move. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, but he was so happy to finally have the space to explore and figure it all out.

The only thing he was really worried about when he left for college was who his roommate would be, and he was pretty relieved to have Gon. They’d barely known each other a day, but he had the feeling that living with him was going to be a good time. He’d never met someone so… open and warm. His joy was almost contagious, it was a nice contrast and welcome change from his boarding school roommates and family. For the first time in a long time, he fell asleep excited for what the future would hold.

~~~~~~~~

The next two days were a blur of course catalogues and video games with his roommate, and before he knew it, Gon found himself on the way to his first college class, Biology 101. He was practically skipping down the brick walkway and, thanks to all of his previous exploring, he was able to find the classroom with no issue. He snagged a spot towards the front by a window, and as he sat, noticed a neatly bound packet lying face down on the desk. He was curious, but resisted the urge to flip it over, choosing instead to check out his surroundings. There were a few other students scattered at the tables around the room, and a short woman with green hair stood at the front. He watched as she neatly wrote in neat and swoopy cursive across the white board.

Dr. C. Yorkshire

Adjunct Professor

Biology 101

Fall Term

Class A

So she was the professor, Dr. Cheadle. She looked put together and kind, but he’d be lying if he said her calm demeanor was enough to soothe his nerves. School was never really his thing, he much preferred to be outside learning with his hands and on his feet, and his grades usually reflected the trouble he had with studying. His teachers in the past had always been nice enough, but he hated disappointing them with his test scores, and he wanted college to be different. He wanted to put his best foot forward with his new life and really prove himself. He was determined to give it his all.

A few more people shuffled in and filled the open desks, and when the wall clock marked the top of the hour, the professor faced the class and cleared her throat.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to Biology 101. I’m Dr. Cheadle Yorkshire and I’ll be your professor. As you should know, this class is accompanied by a mandatory lab that will meet once a week. You’ll all be partnered off and expected to work together for the lab as well as in class activities.” Her eyes scanned the room, mouth set in a stern smile. “To kick things off, I’d like everyone to turn over the packet in front of you. This is a copy of your class syllabus, I took the liberty of binding them for you, as you’ll be referencing it throughout the entire semester. It contains all of the information you’ll need to be successful in this class, including classroom policies, expectations, assignments, required reading, my office hours, and more!”

Gon held the syllabus in his hand and was staring at it like it was made of gold. Everything he needed to do well in this class? It was like he’d been handed a treasure.

“Now, I’ll call out the lab pairings, and you can find your partner and arrange your seating accordingly, then we can begin our first activity!”

When Gon’s name was finally called along with his partner’s, he was giddy with anticipation and just as he stood to scan the crowd for his partner, a blue satchel dropped down on the table and a tall boy sunk down into the seat next to his. His blonde hair framed his face and hung just above his shoulders, his smile was tight but genuine as he held a hand out to Gon.

“I’m Kurapika, nice to meet you, partner.”

Gon shook it and chirped back “I’m Gon! Nice to meet you too!”

They sat in silence while Cheadle finished calling out the rest of the pairs. When everyone was settled, she addressed the class.

“Alright, now that everybody is paired off, we can begin today’s activity! In order to get to know your syllabus and your lab partner, I’ve created a scavenger hunt! Simply peruse your syllabus and use what you read to answer the questions on this handout!” She waved a stack of papers in the air and with a proud smile on her face, began handing them out. “You can begin as soon as you get your worksheet and you are dismissed whenever you finish!”

When their worksheets were placed in front of them, Kurapika turned in his chair to face Gon.

“Well, I suppose we better get started, eh? We can both read through the syllabus and then answer the questions together, does that sound good to you?”

“Sure!” Gon nodded in response and they got started. Gon was a little overwhelmed with the amount of information on the syllabus. It was pretty stressful seeing an entire semester of work listed out like that. He was excited for the lab though, all of those assignments seemed pretty hands on and a few of them were even supposed to be done outside. Maybe this class wouldn’t be so bad afterall. After a few minutes, they began answering the questions together. It wasn’t too tough to find the answers, and with two people it went by pretty quickly. Gon didn’t want the whole class to pass without getting to know his lab partner though, so he tried to strike up a conversation between questions.

“So, Kurapika, what’s your major? Are you a freshman here too?”

Kurapika didn’t look up from the worksheet when he answered. “I’m not a freshman, but I am new. I’m a sophomore and I transferred here this year.I’m double majoring in Psychology and Criminal Justice.” He glanced up and over at Gon. “What about you? Have you decided on a major yet?”

“I have! Well, kinda. I’m considering Anthropology or maybe Environmental Biology. Still trying to figure out which would be best, but I don’t think I could handle double majoring like you. Your majors sound really great! What do you want to do with your degree?”

“I want to become a detective, I’m still deciding between public and private.” He scribbled something on his paper. “The answer to number 12 is ‘Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3-5pm’ by the way. Three more and we’re finished.”

Gon was hastily writing in the answer when Kurapika asked,

“What do you want to do when you get your degree?”

“I want to become an archaeologist, like my dad! Or possibly a similar job within the field.” He perked up when he noticed that Kurapika had put down his worksheet and turned his focus to their conversation instead.

“So you're a transfer student, how do you like it here so far? Where did you transfer from, and what made you leave?”

“Woah Gon, you’ve almost got more questions than the assignment.” Kurapika chuckled but still pressed on. “So far it’s fine, but I’ve only been here for 3 days so we’ll see how it goes. I transferred here from Meteor City Community College, but I never really wanted to go there in the first place. This was my first choice school, but I wasn’t able to move here last year because of some family stuff. This year I was able to, so I did. And how are you liking it here? What made you choose YNU?”

“It’s my dad’s alma mater, so it was an easy choice. So far I’m really liking it! I was a little nervous before I got here, but everything has been pretty awesome. I’ve gotten to know and love the campus already, and I’ve got a great roommate too! Plus, my first class is going well! And that’s what I was the most nervous about.”

“It’s good that you like your roommate. That can cause a lot of trouble for some. It definitely did at my last school, so that’s actually what I was most worried about here.”

“I’m sorry you had trouble last year, but is your new roommate nice I hope?”

“Well, I actually lucked out and got a suite to myself. I requested one when I filled out the transfer paperwork, and told them about my last experience. I wasn't counting on it to work out in my favor too much, but it did.”

“I’m glad it did!”

“And I’m glad you’re feeling better about your classes now that you’ve got one under your belt.” He slid his worksheet over with a pale slender hand, the last three answers were written out neatly.

Gon quickly jotted them down and slid the paper back to Kurapika. “Thank you!”

“No problem, it was a team effort after all.” He smiled as he slung his satchel over his shoulder and stood up to turn in his paper, Gon grabbed his backpack and followed behind him.

After they handed her the worksheets, Dr. Yorkshire complimented their effort and teamwork, and dismissed them for the day. They were in the hallway and Kurapika was waving goodbye when Gon spoke again.

“Kurapika, do you wanna grab lunch sometime? I know we’re just lab partners, but you seem really cool and I’d like to be friends!”

Kurapika looked puzzled for a moment but his voice was soft and sincere when he spoke. “I’d like that, Gon.”

With that, they exchanged numbers and went their separate ways.

The rest of the day breezed by, and Gon was pretty much on cloud 9. He was excited about his classes, and even more excited about the people he met in each one. He had lunch scheduled with Kurapika for later on that week, and he decided to check out some of the clubs a few of his new friends suggested to him throughout the week as well. It was going to be a great year! He texted Killua and they decided to meet up for dinner in the cafeteria, so he headed that way after his last class.

When he arrived, he scanned the room until a crop of silver hair caught his eye at a small table by the dessert station in the far corner. He made his way over and plopped into the seat across from Killua, who was surrounded by plates of different desserts.

“Gon, the dessert bar is amazing. You’ve gotta try the chocolate cake, and there’s cookies too!”

“It looks great! I’m gonna go grab some, and maybe some regular food too!” He stuck his tongue out teasingly, Killua just rolled his eyes in response.

“Have you been here long?”

“Nah, I got here a few minutes before you. I just headed straight for the dessert.”

Gon laughed out loud. Dessert for dinner, Mito would’ve killed him. College really was a different world. “Do you want me to grab something else for you while I’m up?”

“Eh. I’m fine for now, might grab some pizza or something in a bit.”

Gon nodded and left to make his plate. When he returned, Killua was scrolling on his phone, fork in hand hanging lazily at his mouth.

His stomach growled and he quickly twirled a bite of spaghetti around his fork. The day was so eventful he hadn’t even realized he was hungry.

“So, how were your classes? Did you like your professors?” he asked, shoving the huge bite of pasta into his mouth.

Killua put his phone down and draped his arm over the back of his chair. “They all seem pretty boring, but I’m mostly getting gen ed classes out of the way for now, until I decide what I wanna major in, so that’s probably why. I don’t even remember any of the professors’ names, so that answers that question I guess,” He shoveled another bite of cake into his mouth, “What about you?”

“They all seemed nice enough, but I think I liked Professor Satotz in Anthropology the best. He seems interesting, so I’m excited to see how that class goes. Did you make any new friends?”

Killua quirked an eyebrow at him. “Uh, no. Did you?”

“I did! A few people, and I actually have plans to hang out with one of them! I’m gonna check out some clubs here too, I can definitely make some new friends there! And you’ve gotta come with me Killua! We can check them out together!” As he spoke he was practically buzzing with excitement.

“What clubs are you going to?” Killua asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, There’s a bunch of them to choose from, but the Great Outdoors Club, the GSA, and the Ultimate Frisbee Club were all recommended to me, so I’m gonna start with them I think.”

“GSA?”

“It stands for Gay Straight Alliance.”

Killua almost choked on his last bite of cake. “O-oh. Right. Why are you going to that one? Are you... gay?”

Gon’s face scrunched up a bit, his gaze suddenly intense.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you are!” Killua backpedaled. “Just asking!”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking about it. I guess I don't know? I was gonna check it out ‘cause I liked the idea of an alliance, and I wanted to go to show support I guess, but hey, maybe the club will help me figure it out!”

Killua’s cheeks were tinged pink. “You don’t know? Haven’t you ever gone on a date or to a school dance or something before?”

“Well, I’ve gone on dates with girls before, never with any boys though.” He rested his chin on his hand. “To be honest, I’m just not sure. I guess now I’m pretty excited to see what I learn from this club!” His eyes squinted up in a bright smile.

“You should come with me when I go! It’s for everyone to come together, so I don’t think it even matters if you’re gay or not anyways.”

“Yeah, maybe, we’ll see.” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “ I’m gonna go grab some food, be right back.” He stacked his dirty plates and quickly shuffled off.

Gon leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full belly. He looked around the cafeteria, already starting to recognize people from his classes amongst the crowds at tables and in line at food stations. His first day was really amazing and if this was what the year was going to be like, he was so ready for it.

~~~~~~~~

After wandering between the different food stations for a few minutes, Killua finally returned to the table with a plate of spaghetti and some soda. The food on campus was actually pretty good, so that was a plus. It was almost good enough to distract him from the nagging questions that the mention of the GSA brought up. Almost.

He really hadn’t thought too much about his own sexuality, or sexuality in general. He’d never even gone out with anyone before. Well, there was the one time he agreed to go to the winter formal with a girl he knew, but that night was a disaster and he only went because his brother had been giving him shit about his social life.

It’s not like he never found anyone attractive before. But now that he thought about it, most of the time when someone in a crowd caught his eye, they happened to be a boy. Like at orientation just a few days ago... But what did that say about his sexuality? How did anyone actually know if they were gay or straight or whatever? And what would you even do with that information once you managed to figure it out?

“Killua?”

“Eh?” The sound of Gon’s voice snapped him back to reality and when he looked up he was met with a pair of honey eyes burning into him.

“What?” He gulped. Had Gon been sitting this close to him the whole time?

“I asked if you were ready to go.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

They grabbed their bags and began the trek back to their dorm. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the blush that spread across his face and up his neck.

#killugon #gonkillu #killua #gon #killua zoldyck #gon freeccs #hunter x hunter #hxh #hunterxhunter #killugon fanfic

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fictionalplagueproductions · 5 years ago

Text

If The World Was Ending

Part 3 - You’d Come Over, Right?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Story Summary: Gavin is on the hunt for his missing android when the U.S. Government announces the end of the world. The end of his world. A world without his precious Nines.

Chapter Summary: Gavin’s search comes to a heartbreaking discovery and he must now decide what he is willing to lose in order to keep what he has gained.

Pairing: Reed900 (RK900 x Gavin Reed)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I know I should be appreciative because I have two jobs that are considered essential during this pandemic which offer great hours and CAT pay, but I feel like a lifeless workaholic rn with school finals in a literal week. Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well during these difficult times. If anyone is interested, I do take requests for one-shots (especially Reed900) for many fandoms. Just PM and I’ll see what I can do. Also, if you have never heard of Detroit Evolution and you ship Reed900, check it out! It’s a 75-minute fan film dedicated to the ship and I HIGHLY recommend it (gif is an actual scene from the film). Cuteness overload. Lastly, I am considering making an actual Reed900 one-shot based on another song. You can check out my work on AO3 or Fanfiction.net! Enjoy!

“Do you have any fucking idea what I’ve been through today?”

The swollen, tear-streaked cheeks on his lover’s face gave Nines a clue.

“I searched for you for hours! You couldn’t have sent me a goddamn text?”

Nines wished communication had been possible. Cyberlife would have tapped his servers within a heartbeat and tracked him down, leaving Gavin’s apartment a mess in the aftermath.

“I even found Connor still blubbering around. He told me about your stupid, little plan.” The pitiful man tugged at his hair mangled in distraught. “What happened to all those times you wouldn’t shut up about androids being superior? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Guilt struck Nines.

He thought it unlikely that Gavin would even bother searching Anderson’s home after the front the lieutenant had elected to put up for their safety. He thought it even more unlikely that Connor, a machine developed for the comfort of his human counterparts, would reveal Nines’ heartbreaking arrangement.

“I…I thought you were dead.”

He almost had been.

Nines’ original intention was to spare his android brother from the inevitable fatality of his species. Two RKs could not exist with the same familiar face. The humans would eventually notice, regardless if they had both relocated halfway across the world and scalped themselves of their LEDs. Even if their charades were believed, Nines was android through and through. Why should he be forced to pretend he was something he was not? No, Connor was more human than himself. He was the one who deserved to make it in this carbon-ruled world.

Gavin’s definitive words came out a dying whisper: “I thought you had left me.”

A churning sensation swirled Nines’ insides as he watched the broken man stumble before him. Sincerity was not an emotion he needed to readily practice, as he did not lie often, but he found even himself feeling rejected by his own words. “I’m here now.”

The response was simple, vague enough to dodge and nullify all of Gavin’s worries.

It wasn’t enough.

He stepped forward towards his human who now leaned heavily into the back of the couch, grimacing in fear of an image invisible to Nines. It cracked the straight face he had framed over his growing trepidation. “I’m here,” he repeated breathlessly.

Gavin seemed to fumble out of his terror, tearing a sharp inhale through his shuddering body and eventually allowing Nines to view his beaten soul through grieving lenses. Words would not suffice this time. It was one of the few moments that it clicked for Nines that words were just not enough.

Humans were such delicate creatures at times – his even moreso. The psychological issues he wielded piled into a mountain of stress-induced rage and caffeine-fueled insecurities. Just a little search through his social media lit up the diagnostic centers of Nines’ CPU in an array of colors far more paramount than the human eye could even begin to elucidate.

But as much as he could prove the dishevelment of his partner and all of humanity, neither could he deny his own deviant chaos rampaging indecision and hesitance in his day-to-day actions. He was slower now, more volatile to his environment, and almost no more could he distinguish subjective constructs now than over his previous machine-like state. He was truly living, as the humans often said, “the worst of both worlds”.

Nines was just as broken as Gavin in his own fashion. Except, despite it all, Gavin mended him in such indescribable complementing ways that none of it mattered.

The android clicked one foot forward, asking silently for permission to embrace him. It still surprised him to this day that there were ways of communicating with just a lift of the finger, but only with others one knew well. And Gavin, he could read like a book.

When Gavin released his clenched eyebrows from their angered posture, Nines presumed the reciprocal. Their “chemistry” had been undisturbed by his absence. He made haste in closing the distance, grappling needily onto the life-form already unfolding beneath him. Hands clenched into balls of fabric against his back and Nines melted under the sticky mess that clung to his neck.

Rarely did Gavin cry, but this time around, a waterfall had already begun to soak the top seam of his t-shirt.

The ability to cry was lost upon Nines. Sadness overwhelmed him, understanding the hurt his human had endured, but unsure if he even equipped tear ducts to perform such an action. Feeling pain was one thing; expressing it was entirely new. The quaking beneath him, nonetheless, wrenched at his thirium pump, and he so desperately wished to quake with his lover.

Eventually, Gavin ceased and unceremoniously dug his fingers through Nines’ hair and pressed their noses side-by-side. His eyes were glued shut as he pressed his wet cheeks against his android. The soggy touch was like velcro against Nines and he chased that feeling of a sobbing solace.

The android copied his partner’s actions and clutched his palms to either side of his head, smearing Gavin’s tear-stained face against his own and absorbing the physical exudations of emotion. The wet heat was so raw on his synthetic skin that Nines didn’t think when it retracted on contact, leaving his pearly plastic to glimmer under the tainted blue water that began to leak from the corners of his eyes. At first, it wasn’t much, trailing faint streaks of cyan behind the aqueous movements. But when Gavin realized the heart-wrenching moan that escaped Nines, he looked to him with such a mixture of pain and clemency that provoked a heavier round of blue artillery.

The android’s face became a painting illustrated by nothing more than his fear and affections to which Gavin happily contributed his own sultry paintbrush.

The resolve came quick for Gavin, and he tentatively watched Nines recollect his own bearings. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snapped Gavin, though no cruelty met his tone. “You’re okay. You’re okay?”

His android nodded, relishing in the bath that carried away his burgeoning emotions. Gavin held their faces still together, touching his lips stiffly against Nines. He had intended for nothing more than to be replenished by the idea of his lover existing within his grasp once again, but Nines seemed to bite in excess. The android’s tongue slipped between Gavin’s teeth, releasing a burst of iron from his ingested robot tears, and let it run rampant within his mouth.

The kiss wasn’t enough for Nines to convince his partner how much he missed him. He yielded his tongue from Gavin’s taste buds and lapped up the tears along his cheeks, sampling the crystallizing sodium and nibbling down his jawline.

Gavin moaned beneath him, his shockwave of dread dissipating into unhinged eroticism. If he had learned anything from years of failed relationships, it was that emotional turmoil made sex all the better.

The excitement incited within Gavin’s pounding chest turned arrhythmic when his android lifted him into his arms, shoving him against the wall behind him, and pushing into him with the testosterone of a bull. After enduring months of awkwardly finding their way around each other, it was an understatement to say that Gavin was surprised by Nines’ newfound wanton initiative.

Surprised, certainly, but not in the slightest disappointed.

He returned the actions tenfold, forcing their mouths to dance and recklessly tearing at the jacket that restricted his eyes from the beauty of his boyfriend’s bare chest. Nines let go of Gavin, using the wall to balance him against his groin, and tossed his jacket and turtleneck in one swift motion across the couch. The android’s own impatience erupted under a low grumble as he dropped Gavin onto the couch and clambered over top of him, shoving his human’s arms in the air to slip his tee off.

Nines worshipped the skin-to-skin contact. Since activation, he had come to cherish the vivid sensations of heat. Against his endothermic mammalian body, Nines soaked in the warmth that radiated from Gavin; against the words from his boyfriend that endeared him so heavily, he intoxicated his insides in benevolent wildfire. At times, he feared he would melt.

Melting was a fair price to experience the touch of fire.

And fire was what blazed within him as he felt his new component roar to life. It was even more pleasing to watch Gavin’s eyes stretch in wonder as he realized that his hardening member would no longer be grinding alone. Nines, though he tried maintaining his dominant pose, fell victim to the gasps that his lover relinquished underneath the length that overpowered his inferior, human phenotype.

Nines’ nibbling grew into starved bites, sinking lower and lower below his human’s neck. Despite the red blood that pulsed beneath his skin, shades of purple surfaced in splotches beneath the android’s teeth. They eventually created a trail to his waistband, his tongue dipping deep beneath the surface to test the waters. Gavin hummed in permissiveness. Nines palmed between his lover’s legs, unbuttoning his jeans and sheltering the member that popcorned into plaid boxers over his salivating tongue He kept his palate suctioned tightly around the tip of his cock, dampening the fabric and earning a playful tug at his bowed locks.

The soft moans his lover made set fire to Nines’ steadily growing impatience and he pulled the fabric barriers down to Gavin’s knees and inhaled the hardened flesh down to his throat. An unanticipated upward thrust pushed his cock even further and Nines indulged hungrily. Pre-cum was already dribbling onto his taste receptors and he craved to know what damages an entire mouthful would cause to his system.

His curiosities would have to be satiated at a later date, because Gavin – at his most human – demanded his own impatience be tended to. He clung to the android’s synthetic hair and pulled him up to his abandoned orifice. With as much brash force as he could manage, the human kicked off the rest of his clothing, slipping restless fingers under Nines’ own jeans, and winced as the android bucked under the feeling, pinching his dick under the metal zipper. Immediately upon impact, Nines lifted up from Gavin to prevent any more harm, but it only offered Gavin the leverage to shove what little clothing remained between their unappeased debauchery, and eyeing the massive cock that his lover had chosen for himself.

For a moment, he was breathless, apprehensive of the image set before him. Though Nines had not been his first gay sexual encounter, he had certainly never dated a man that could compete against Detroit’s Largest Bratwurst contest.

Nines could feel his stare. “Is it…satisfactory?”

Gavin could only grin his answer. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

Without waiting for a response, Gavin slid down the couch underneath his virgin boyfriend and placed a moist tongue against the skin beneath his tightly-clung balls. He flicked his tongue teasingly against the hairless strip before engulfing a single sac into his mouth and lightly sucking. Nines gave out, falling to all fours and gasping at the strange sensation.

The man wished he could see Nines’ face. He might be a machine built with bells and whistles that only ever sported the most aggressive resting bitch face, but the noises his lover made now were enough to make his own groin boil with pure bliss. Faint robotic mimics of pleasure raced across Gavin’s imagination and he rewarded the plausible responses by licking up the underside of his dick and kissing the soft flesh that fit like a gagball in his mouth. There was something so satisfying about bringing a hard-ass like Nines down to his knees; about having a hard-ass like Nines allowing Gavin to show him the true pleasures of humanity.

Nines hadn’t minded in the slightest. Deviancy had graced him with minimal traces of pride and did as he pleased regardless of what others thought of it. And although Gavin did not share these same traits, Nines was contented, nonetheless, to understand firsthand what tonsils felt like in their natural habitat. The android hadn’t been interrupted by his visual software windows often, but the way his lover hummed along his new member made the pop-ups block everything in sight, turning the world red in a flurry of error messages.

He had lost a good portion of his reserve amounts of thirium from the tears that he had been surprised to relinquish earlier. Now his CPU was requesting permission to tap into his main supply of bodily thirium already coursing through his plastic arteries. He struggled with the proper demand, desiring to feel immense waves of pleasure built contingently upon Gavin’s persistent tonguing, but ultimately he had to decline. He wasn’t sure how much thirium would be released; if there was too much that prevented his function, they were no longer living in times that Gavin could just meander into the nearest convenience store to pick up a bottle of “Blueberry Go-Go”.

Another error message interrupted the magnificent view of his lover choking below him. He was overheating.

Nines ripped away from Gavin, heaving under the frustration of his pulsating, wet cock. A familiar look of hurt flickered in his boyfriend’s eyes, but Nines was quick to place two reassuring hands on his shoulders. “I can’t absolve myself. I would be wasting my thirium…”

Gavin piped in with a pleading tone, “I have plenty.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I stocked up on some last week after…” Gavin blushed, moving to touch his lover’s face. “…you know.”

The android’s first instinct was to feel relief, wanting to continue their relations and experience the sweet pleasure of a human orgasm. Then, a lighthearted afterthought pushed against his vivacious libido. “You were looking forward to doing this again?”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Gavin, realizing the sweet-bitten look his boyfriend infected him with., “I bought you your blue juice. I guess it worked out pretty well considering the circumstances. Do you want to stop? It might be harder to-”

Nines answered his boyfriend by shoving him back into his subordinate position and breaking the skin of his luscious lips between his teeth. He dug claws into Gavin’s hips and gripped them like reins, grinding his monstrous dick against one that dwarfed in comparison.

Gavin, for once, didn’t mind being as small as he was, internally begging to feel Nines’ throbbing cock against his tight hole. Nines read his mind, dropping Gavin completely and demanding him to “suck me” with a cutting stare that made him indubitably obey.

When the android was dripping in saliva once again, he bent over to suck off the warm member below him, dipping to Gavin’s leveled waist and twirling his cock underneath the loose sack that melted over top of him. The android tested the feeling, appreciating the damp nook that his lover exposed to him, waiting for an objection. When none came, he pushed slowly into the puckered hole, staring blankly into the squirming man below him, though desperately trying not to break the dominant persona that had overtaken him.

It took milliseconds for the error messages to pop up once more, but Nines ignored them for the time being. He wanted to watch the pleasure melt into his lover’s eyes as he sunk deeper into the ever-tightening walls. When he thought the moans couldn’t draw out any longer, he extracted himself up to his tip, desiring to hear Gavin’s pleas. The man did not satisfy this desire, automatically slamming his naked ass over the android’s cock and ripping a glass-shattering moan that involuntarily sprung red alerts across his ocular view. If he did not accept to its terms, it would override his own demands, but he was not ready.

No, he wasn’t ready to –

Gavin curled his legs around his waist and clung fervently, grinding wantonly against his biocomponent. Suddenly, the alerts began to flicker statically, and Nines erupted without caution. He growled against his lover’s gasps, indiscriminately nipping at his cheek and shaking under the pulses that charged heavy projectiles into the dark cave of his pleasure.

This only seemed to provoke Gavin’s excitement further, intriguingly enough to Nine’s observations. He slapped harder against the android, thrusting his cock upwards into the heated skin above him and relishing in the liquid that squirted from his ass under each solid movement. When Nines regained some of his strength, he forced himself onto his elbows and enjoyed the unveiled show of his boyfriend climaxing around him.

A flash of anger appeared on Gavin’s face before he made a corporeal demand by guiding the android’s hand over his loaded member. Nines understood almost immediately, sitting up straight and stroking promptly the small dick in his firm grasp.

The man’s waist followed Nines’ towering movements, suddenly coming to touch his sweet spot and focusing his movements on that single area. The android glared down at him expectantly. Did he know how hot he looked when he acted so serious? Gavin assumed he did when he began to buck against him, digging straight into the spot that made his vocal cords weak. The fire in his ass consumed his entire being, releasing audible spasms throughout his body that coated his chest in a familiar sticky substance.

Nines continued to stroke him even after, unbelieving of the pleasurable writhing of which his lover was capable. Gavin had to clench onto the android’s wrist to stop the movements, needing to relax against the frigid state he had experienced for probably too long. He slid off of his boyfriend’s cock, relieving a sigh, and then a sad moan when a loneliness settled within his emptied hole.

“I don’t think I could ever go back.” The look on the android’s face was incredulous as he sat back on his heels.

“Go back to what?”

“Being a machine,” said Nines. “I love you. I love… being with you. I’m not human, but I can’t be… I can’t be a machine.”

Gavin hushed him, only rising to pull his lover into the cushions beside of himself. He pressed his lips gently against Nines, wrapping his body wet from any and all bodily fluids around his and nestling his face into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about what you are. You’re you. That’s all that matters.”

Though Gavin was unable to see the realization that crossed Nines’ expression, the android smiled and hugged his human tighter. All this time, he had been obsessed with labeling himself into either box. He hadn’t stopped to consider that he was just him. Nines was a sentient being that loved working as a detective, that loved beating people at chess, and that loved this man. Nines was Nines.

Why should he deserve less than others to live this life he was granted? Even if he was granted this life in non-traditional ways.

Yes, Nines smiled. He was not human, but he was himself. As he was Gavin’s.

He looked to the unknowingly wise man beneath him and kissed the sweat-stuck bangs along his forehead.

“I love you,” breathed Gavin. His tone was rigidly quiet, signaling the beginning stages of a drifting sleep.

Nines’ smile grew broader. “I love you,” he whispered back, slipping the blanket that hung over the back of the couch over their sleeping forms. “You won’t ever lose me.”

The End? You Decide.

The next morning, Gavin awoke to daylight seeping through the window shades, a pillow crushed between his arms. The body that had entered the darkness with him did not greet him on the other side.

Stumbling to his feet, the gruff man eyed the open floor plan, pacing down the hallway when Nines had not appeared in his view. Hints of panic began to travel through his veins upon the inspection of an empty bedroom. Then, with one last desperate pounce at the bathroom door, immense terror struck Gavin when the site was void. Immediately, Gavin fisted a washcloth over his dick uncleaned from the night before and threw on a pair of boxers crumpled on the tiled floor.

As his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, a red reflection caught his eye in the mirror, and he stopped. The source was circular, pulsing in a dying light of slow movements amongst the mess of toiletries. At the same moment, his front door clicked open and he engaged the guilty suspect in the living room with his respective organ laid in-hand.

“What the fuck were you doing? And what the fuck is this?”

Nines was dressed in one of Gavin’s maroon sweatshirts but wore the same black jeans (assuming he probably could not squeeze into a pair of his).

“I can’t be android anymore. I needed to rid myself of it if I were to ever have a chance of not being spotted. I’m sorry, I know I must have worried you.” The android shifted uncomfortably beneath Gavin’s scowl. “I needed to see Connor and the Lieutenant one last time.”

“What do you mean ‘one last time’?”

Nines visibly dropped. “I can’t stay in Detroit, Gavin. Neither can Connor. I thought you knew that?”

Gavin hadn’t thought of it. He had been too busy trying to find his boyfriend and later trying to convince himself that his boyfriend was still in existence and not some illusion. After that… he had no clue what the plan was. Perhaps, to just continue enjoying a love he had thought he lost.

“I love you,” continued Nines when Gavin had not. “If moving is too much, then I cannot force you to go. But, if I may add, my life is empty without my purpose as a detective; and it is also selfish to keep when it could imperil Connor’s safety. You are why I could not yet exterminate myself, Gavin. You were my first and last thought before stepping into one of those camps. If you say goodbye today, then I will understand, but please, I beg you to reconsider.”

Speechlessness was a rare condition for Gavin. His hand went slack, and he gaped with consternation, letting the LED clunk to the floor. From the first moment he had opened his eyes to this disgusting world, he had been a sour man. Although there were a few hidden gems, none of them compared to the way Nines had made him feel: so important, so loved. Could he really give that up to return to his life of android discrimination? For years, he despised their very being, hoping for the government to come to the consensus that they had finally arrived to. But now was different, now he was hopelessly in love with an android. An android built incapable of love who was now inconceivably begging for Gavin to stay. Was there even a level of shitty that existed within him to say no?

Despite the severity of the situation, Nines did not express a distinguishable emotion. His intense stare locked onto Gavin, nearly piercing straight through him into the void that was preparing for denial. The irony was not lost upon him, realizing that it was the android just last night promising he would never leave the despondent man; the tables were turned now. Gavin could provide it for him, it was not impossible to uproot his life and start fresh elsewhere.

Did he even have that much to lose? His still vocal cords told him he did.

For as much as Gavin hated many things, he would miss the familiarity of the DPD. He would miss the break room’s horrible coffee and fucking with Anderson on a daily. He would miss going on lunches to random places that Tina suggested and spitting out whatever dish she forced down his throat. He would even miss his damned broken chair that never stayed at the right height long enough for him to type up a single report. Yeah, as much as he hated a lot of it, he would miss this life.

But the pain that ripped through his chest when he realized Nines could have been gone forever… it was an unmistakably violent feeling he wouldn’t elect for anyone else to experience. The sheer rawness of his insides tortured his mind to the extent of self-harm. He would never admit to it, not even to himself, but the state of his existence was a questionable case had Nines not confronted him in his own apartment last night. A future without Nines was…indisputable.

That didn’t make the prospect of the change less difficult.

The befuddled man turned away and traveled to the far window, capturing a glance at the skyscrapers framed by the sill in his living room. Then, he turned, crossing his arms and meeting Nines’ line of sight. “Can we just enjoy one day without it all? No politics, no moving, no dumbass decisions like scalping your LED and putting yourself in danger. Just – one – day?”

The floor became a source of answers for Nines when it was made obvious that he did not care for his boyfriend’s. Without another word, the android joined Gavin by the window and folded him into his arms. Neither were unsure how long they could last there without discussing this emphatic problem, but neither wanted to know. And so they stood quietly in each other’s presence; Nines listening to the light breaths of his lover, and Gavin melting into the thrums of his android’s thirium pump.

Nines pressed his palm into Gavin’s tangled hair, inhaling his oily effervescence, and pressing his lips to the side of his temple. The man relaxed into his chest and smiled.

If the world ended right now, all their fears of their future would be completely irrelevant. There would be no reason Nines would have to decide whether life was worth living if Gavin denied him, nor would there be reason for Gavin to worry about leaving his old life behind.

If the world ended, there would be no reason for them to even say goodbye. They would be as they were, encompassing one another and riding out their affections until their beating organs failed.

Nines watched the outside world while he felt his lover inversely lose himself from it. They held each for what felt like hours. They held each other as the clouds passed from one corner of the window to the next.

They held each other and Nines watched coolly as the blue skies were shielded with roaring oranges that blocked out the sun.

They held each other until Nines could feel the ground tremble and he shushed his slumbering human back into his chest.

They held each other until Gavin inhaled a finalized breath, never to be proceeded by a relinquishing exhale.

Nines held on until his own systems depleted and he could no longer hold.

“I love you.”

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