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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 9 months ago

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I Wish You The Best

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: You thought you had it all figured out, but when a certain green-eyed stranger keeps showing up in your life and turns it upside down you wonder if it’s best to push him away or if you should let him in. Reader is a grad student in medical school that doesn’t know anything about the supernatural world. This is the first fic in my Before You Go Universe, but can be read as stand alone.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early to mid-30's)

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), Mentions of sex (not explicit at all), Implied sex, Self-deprecating Thoughts (Dean), Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.

The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.

The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.

"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.

"Then why did you keep nodding?"

"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"

"You didn't have to make eye contact."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."

Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.

“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.

"It's free education."

"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."

"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.

At least the student brought a ladder with him.

“Culinary arts?”

“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”

“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”

“We’ve all been there buddy.”

"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.

You glance down at your watch again.

"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."

"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.

"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"

"No it’s just-"

Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.

"Dean." You say in surprise.

He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.

Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall.

His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.

In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again.

Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.

But now he was here, again.

"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.

You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.

"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.

Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.

"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."

"Sure. But-"

"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."

"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.

Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.

"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.

I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?

You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.

Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.

"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.” Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.

"You should have called"

"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most would take that as a hint"

"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."

By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.

"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.

"Come on you can blow off one lab.” Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.

He doesn't understand.

You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."

"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.

"Dean why are you here?"

"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"

"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."

"I remember you talking about it."

"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test.

"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.

"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not. All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."

"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”

"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."

The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.

But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.

You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.

"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."

As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.

"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.

"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.

Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.

Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.

You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.

How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?

“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.

Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.

After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.

“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.

“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.

Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?”

“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”

“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.

“Okay.” Tim watches you go.

The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.

Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better-

You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work.

Well, I was doing okay.

The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.

I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is…

That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.

Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.

But then you realize who it is.

Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”

“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.

Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.

“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.

“Dean what are you still doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

“I’ve said all I need to.”

“But I haven’t.”

“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”

“Y/n-“

“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time. I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.

His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”

“What?”

“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.

“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.

"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."

You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"

"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.

Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.

What is he talking about?

You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.

"Wanted what?"

"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.

"I'm confused."

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“

“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.

“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms committing credit card fraud and trying not to die. And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”

He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Dean, you are smart-“

“Not the same way you are”

“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“No.” Dean mutters.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“

“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”

“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”

Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.

“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.

“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”

Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.

“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand. You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.

He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“

You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours

“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”

Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.

You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.

He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.

“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.

“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.

When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.

Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.

"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.

"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.

"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.

“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.

“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“

“I know.” You breathe.

You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.

“It’s okay.” You gently rub his back. “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little. "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.

"I could never be sick of you."

“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.

“I miss you too.”

“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.

“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”

“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.

“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”

“Good.”

“Bye Sweetheart.”

“Bye Dean.”

Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for future fics in this universe please let me know! :)

#jensen ackles #supernatural fanfiction #spn #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x you #spnfandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fluff #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #soft dean

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year ago

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about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts angst #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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starsstuddedsky · 7 months ago

Text

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #renjun #renjun fluff #huang renjun #nct renjun

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ofstardustanddreaming · 2 months ago

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i swear i'm getting the nanami/hiromi x reader is coming soon, i'm in the process of editing the chapter right now! grad school is kicking my ass so hard rn :( but here's a light drabble to tide over :)

nanami x reader who's scared of storms

kento walks through the door, knowing you aren't fond of storms. he knows that you're actually downright terrified of them. it's why he left work early today, to make it back to you. his methodical steps broach the entrance of your house, turning to shake the remnants of rain off the umbrella outside, still covered by the slight awning over the porch.

he puts the umbrella back in the stand, taking off his shoes at the entrance. slightly damp, always a mood downer, peeling off the slightly damp socks as well. he moves through the house, aiming to look for you before he even thought about changing though, valuing your comfort above his. always.

he finds you in the bedroom, blankets curled over you, a cup of lukewarm tea in your hands, long forgotten as you stare outside at the impending storm. you flinch slightly when kento makes his presence in the room as he changes, not expecting him to be here so early, and it makes his heart collapse a little bit. making you nervous wasn't his intention obviously, but he figures he should've been more careful when you were so deep in thought.

"hey love, let me grab this." he gently grabs your tea, setting it on the bedside table. he pulls you out of the blanket as he wants to adjust your position to accommodate him, and you notice the book in his hand. that was your favorite part about his distractions, was his soothing voice over the booming thunder.

"you know, thunder always scared me as a kid. i truly want to find the comfort in storms, but they just always seem to be a bit to close for my taste. too many what if scenarios for my brain." you ramble on a bit as kento adjusts you to be seated between his legs, head tucked firmly into his chest (to better feel his heartbeat), blanket draped over your shoulders to make you snug.

"you ramble when you're nervous." kento says amused, kissing the top of your head. "there's nothing to be worried about, not while i'm here. and before you worry about me leaving work early to see you, i'll always value you before work. and that includes your worry over storms. i'll always want to be near you when i know you're scared, because i want to help."

he hears you humph into his chest and he can't help but chuckle, seemingly knowing the stems of your worries constantly. you wish he wouldn't be able to read you so easily all the time, but deep down it's nice to be understood by the one person who's meant to understand you, to be taken care of.

and in the end, that's what he does. to be understood is to be taken care of, as he reads the current book he's always wanted to read, the deep rumbling in his chest allowing you to focus on that, rather than the booming sounds of the outdoors.

#nanami kento #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento drabble #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami drabble #kento nanami imagine #jjk #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk drabble #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen drabble

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gallaghersgal · 11 months ago

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hi! i'd like to ask prompt 🍽 ─ prepare the christmas dinner together with single dad!carmy x younger reader (maybe in her mid 20s idk)

thank you <33 i love your writing

michellin star on the tree || carmen berzatto

pairing: single dad carmy x younger reader

warnings: literally none. not even a swear.

a/n: this is so so cute and i love carmy sm oh my god. implying that the reader is in grad school so like early/mid twenties.

heavy snowfall and harsh winds have shrouded the city of chicago in a gentle silence. you collect the extra plates that had been for sydney, natalie, richie and the rest and with one strong arm around bella, you lift the plates back into their place in the china cabinet.

the smells from the kitchen are delightful. ham, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes with gravy, all of it is so enticing. carmen's been in the kitchen all afternoon, cooking up a storm while you and bella had played in the snow until it got too thick and too cold for you both.

now you're safe and sound inside. after you'd changed bella into dry clothes and while you showered, the snow had continued to fall harder and harder. by the time you were done, skin dewy and hair pleated into neat braids, there was a severe weather advisory in place. just like that, your turn to host christmas dinner was effectively canceled.

bella had cried at first, of course, because what's christmas to a four-year-old without family and gifts? but you'd managed to calm her down with a cup of warm cocoa and a call to sydney, who promised to come by and play as soon as the weather allowed her.

bella says your name softly, tugging at your sleeve as you search the kitchen for flashlights and batteries. "whats up kiddo?" you ask.

"'m hungry," she whines, and you chuckle in response.

you're about to tell her the food's almost done, until carmy's taking his daughter right from your arms. "you're always hungry," he says, sitting her on the counter and tickling her tummy.

"daddy!" bella shreiks, kicking her little feet in self defense. "that tickles!"

"gotta tickle all the hungry outta ya, kid," carmy tells her.

you stand there looking on at the two of them. carmen, and his little angel. he's such a good dad to bella. it warms your heart to see him like this, all giggly and warm, loving in the most pure sense of the word.

when the giggles have subsided and bella's wiggled off the counter, carmy pulls you to his side. you rest your head against his, leaning on him and looking over the assortment of food he's prepared.

"i'm sorry you did all this for nothing," you tell him.

and of course he just shakes his head, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. "not f'nothing, baby, for you. you work so hard at school, thought the least i could do for my little phd candidate was cook this big ol' christmas dinner."

"for me?" you ask softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

"all f'you, sweetheart. you an' bella, my girls." he hugs you tighter, pulling you so that your chest is against his own. "you're so good to us both. this is my way of sayin' thank you."

end.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fluff #mags' winter sleepover #mags' winter sleepover: fics #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear #fx the bear #❀ written by maggie [fics]

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 months ago

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but it's golden like daylight (k.c.)

a/n: kylie wrote fluff who is she?! this was my short and sweet treat to myself for grad school curb-stomping me. you don't need to read the can't take the home out of oklahoma series for this but it does pick up almost immediately after the fourth part. as always, comments and reblog fuel me :)

summary: You and Kate start the rest of your lives together.

warnings: swearing, engagement, buying a house, alcohol mentions

word count: 3k

You hum as Kate hands you your cup of coffee over the console before she turns the key in her truck. The sun is barely rising, your tour of the house scheduled for early morning.

Kate hadn’t let you see the listing, suddenly apprehensive that you wouldn’t like the place and kept insisting that she wanted you to see her vision once you toured the physical space.

The house is a short twelve minute drive from Cathy’s farm, eight in the opposite direction from Tyler’s small place. The country music is turned low as you sip the coffee, Kate’s hand on your thigh. “I’m excited.” You say softly and Kate chances a glance at you as she flicks her blinker on.

She’s really pretty like this, in the early morning dawn, hair still slightly sleep-mussed, but eyes eager and bright. “I hope you like it.” She says softly as she turns down a gravel road.

“I’m sure I will.”

The real estate agent for the sellers meets you at the front porch, an older lady with a warm demeanor, touring you through the space.

From first glance, you could see how one could write this house off. The house, six bedrooms and three baths, sits on a 3,600 square foot lot that is mostly run down. The exterior of the house seems to be newer but instantly from stepping inside you can tell that the house is outdated. The carpet is dingy, the appliances old, bathrooms dark and dreary. Every bedroom wall is a different color with the same dreadful carpet, but every step takes you farther into what you can already sense Kate’s vision is.

It’s the perfect off-season fixer-upper.

The living room is vast, wide-open. The kitchen is spacey and you can already see your friends gathered around the kitchen island. The master bath desperately needs retiling and new wallpaper, but it’s huge and the master bedroom has two large doors that lead straight out into the backyard. The house all-around has massive windows, perfect to let in all the light. The lot behind the house is overgrown with weeds but nothing Cathy couldn’t help you with and you can already see a chicken coop and a stable Tyler could help you build and a place to keep cows and horses, your inner country gal really coming to life.

At the end of the tour, the real estate agent lets you know that the owners, a daughter who inherited this place and her husband who currently live in Indiana, are willing to negotiate and she’ll sit out front for you guys to have time to talk it over, though she assures you both that you don’t have to make a decision today.

“So?” Kate asks, a hopeful look in her eyes as you turn around in the master bedroom downstairs, eyeing the space.

“It’s definitely a fixer-upper.” Kate looks a little nervous as you grin at her. “But it could be our fixer-upper.”

“Yeah?” She breathes out, a grin growing on her face. You nod.

“Oh yeah, I think Boone will have a blast ripping the tiling up in the bathroom and I am dying to go pick out paint samples. It’s like our perfect little off-season project. Your Mom could help us build a chicken coop and I already know where Peaches will curl up to take her naps in the sun.”

She steps closer, taking your hands. “We’re so redoing the backsplash in the kitchen.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” You mutter, before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Talk sexy to me baby, I love it when you tell me about house renovations.”

She lets out a loud laugh, hands finding your waist as she loops her fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. “I’m already thinking of the washer and dryer set we can go buy.”

You snort. “We’re so adult. Like, the best adults. Like I can’t believe I’m excited to go shop for a stove.”

“You wanna put our offer in today?” She asks softly after a minute.

“Let’s buy a house baby.”

You and Kate come home with a box of pastries and two smiles even a tornado couldn’t take from you.

“Where’d you guys go?” Javi asks around a bite of eggs and Kate shakes the box of pastries at him.

“You are a saint.” Boone praises as he lifts the lid of the box open, already reaching for the bear claw. You snicker as he bites into it, not missing Cathy’s look from over her coffee mug. Truthfully, the pastries had been as much of a treat for you and Kate for putting in an offer as it had been a distraction from your absence for your friends. You and Kate had agreed to not say anything about the house until you had your keys in hand, afraid to jinx it or disappoint them.

That hadn’t stopped Cathy though, who finds the two of you on the second floor of the barn, tucked away as the two of you chat, making an extensive list of what you’ll need to get and what’s highest priority in remodeling the place.

So much for not getting your hopes up.

“It’s too damn hot for the two of you to be hiding out up here.” Cathy calls as she pulls herself up the last step. “So I’m going to take it that it either went really well or really bad.” Neither you nor Kate can hide your smiles, which only makes Cathy smile as she tugs a stool over. “Really well then?”

“I mean-” Kate cuts herself off, glancing at you. “It’s a total fixer-upper. The place doesn’t even have a stove. Or a microwave.”

“But you like it?” Cathy asks, directing her look to you now.

You nod. “I already have paint ideas. Do you want to come to Lowe’s with us?”

Kate snorts, shaking her head.

For as much as Cathy was Kate’s Mom, Cathy had also become your maternal figure, treating you as such long before you and Kate had started dating and she had been treating you as her daughter-in-law long before you and Kate ever got as serious as you were now.

It wasn’t something you took for granted and not something you wouldn’t ever treasure, loving just how much of a role Cathy played in your lives like this. Which meant she was the perfect one to help you pick out flooring and paint and appliances for a new place, already knowing what you and Kate would both love and could afford.

You pull your phone out, quietly explaining the vision for the home as you show her the pictures, Cathy listening thoughtfully.

“What do you think Mom?” Kate asks quietly, eager for her Mom’s approval.

She sighs. “I think the two of you better get real comfortable spending a lot of money.”

“But?”

“But I can’t wait to see how this all turns out. You said there was space for a chicken coop?”

In the end, you and Kate close on the house, keys in hand, two days after the Wranglers, Javi included, leave to spend two weeks in Arkansas.

The owners had been willing to negotiate to an even five hundred thousand and between you and Kate’s savings and a loan, you and Kate had begun signing papers just three days after putting in the first offer.

While you and Kate are both disappointed the Wranglers aren’t there to celebrate, you and Kate take Cathy by the house with a cheap bottle of champagne and solo cups you’d picked up from the store on the way over. You sipped warm bubbly as you took her through the house, Cathy watching with fond amusement as you and Kate talked over one another in excitement of what you’d do to the place.

And then you guys get to work.

Kate changes the locks on the door the next morning, the two of you spending far too long at the key copier at the hardware store, picking out special designs for each of your friends.

The three of you drive out to what Cathy deems the good Lowe’s out in Tulsa and probably become the salesman, Rob’s, favorite customer of the year as you list out the new appliances you need.

The husband of one of Cathy’s long-term co-workers at the hospital where she works as a nurse offers to install all of them for free in exchange for a night of Cathy’s barbecue, an exchange she makes happily with the assurance the two of you would help her. You set out with setting up the electricity and gas (and the wi-fi, Kate reminds you late one night after shooting up in bed in a panic, four days after you begin), calling all the appropriate places and scheduling installation visits. You and Kate make more trips to pick out paint than either of you care to admit, testing out different shades of greens and purples and blues.

As exciting and fast-moving it is, it’s not easy either. Kate comments, a bit sadly, one night as the two of you sit on your kitchen floor with Chinese takeout that she wishes Addy had been here, because she loved to paint and would’ve done the most gorgeous artwork on the walls of the house. She says another night, atop your staircase, that she wishes Jeb could see how far she’s come. She mentions in the Lowe’s that Praveen would’ve probably been the best to take appliance shopping, since he would’ve just known what worked well in the space.

It’s a sad bit of melancholy, a wound you can’t fix. You can’t bring her friends back and it’s all you can do to love Kate through it. Her grief is real, never-ending, no matter how much she grows with it.

Before you know it, the two weeks (not even, Kate reminds you as she stocks the fridge) have flown by and the Wranglers are rolling down the dirt road, you and Kate awaiting them out in your front yard.

They’re only in town for three days this time, before Tyler flys back to Arkansas for a month and a half. Dexter is flying down to see his niece, one of his last pieces of family, for a few weeks in New Orleans and Javi and Boone would be in Miami for three and a half weeks to see Javi’s family.

Dani and Lilly are all yours for the next month though before the four of you regroup with the rest of the crew in Arkansas for two weeks and it’s taken everything in you and Kate to not spill the news to them early, already eagerly awaiting their help and hands.

“Okay, you two. What is this place?” Javi asks as he shuts the door to the van. Kate grins at him as he sticks his hands in his pockets, the rest of the Wranglers climbing out after him.

Kate jerks her head back towards the house, letting them inside as they take the space in. The downstairs isn’t in too horrible of a state or chaos, save for the many boxes scattered throughout the place, and the two of you even have a vase of flowers sitting on the kitchen island. The upstairs… that’s a different story.

“Kate…” Tyler trails off, eyebrows raised.

“We bought a house.” You say finally and the group lights up. There’s various exclamations, all excited as they congratulate you and Kate. “Six bedrooms, three baths, and in need of serious work. I have specifically picked out keys for everyone and uh, Booney baby, you up for helping us pull the tile and carpet up?”

“Oh fuck yeah!”

“A house, huh? All you need is a ring on that finger and you’re all set.” Dani teases you that night as the two of you drive back to Cathy’s with pizza for the whole crew.

You take a deep breath as you climb out of the car after it rolls to a stop, crowding Dani by the drivers door. “Can you keep a secret?” Dani nods a bit, frowning as you thumb through your phone, knowing specifically what it is you’re looking for. You flip the phone around, showing her the snapshot and her eyes go wide. “Cathy helped me pick it out.”

“No fucking way.” She whispers. “You have a fucking ring?!”

“Are y’all coming in with that pizza or what, man? I’m starved!” Boone shouts from the front porch.

“Come get it yourself Boone!” You shout back and you can hear the man move towards the car even if you don’t see him. Dani giggles a bit, shaking you.

“I am so happy for you guys. Oh my God, now you’re really stuck with us California. No running away from this one.”

You end up proposing to Kate a week later.

You’re driven a ways out from Sapulpa, an open field before you as the wind whips Kate’s hair around. An end of summer lightning storm thunders off in the distance, electric purples lighting up the sky as you and Kate watch on, laying on top of the hood of your car.

Well, you were watching at one point but now you can’t help but watch Kate, the way her face lights up in awe, the way she squeezes your hand and asks did you see that one?

Kate Carter loves storms, would follow them anywhere. Kate Carter was her own type of storm, blindly beautiful and ever-changing, magnetic and wild. And you loved that storm, would follow that storm anywhere.

“You keep looking at me like that.” Kate says, turning her face to meet your eyes. A bashful smile tugs at her lips, a bit lopsided, like it always does whenever she catches you staring. Usually you tell her you can’t help it, that you’re just in awe that you get to be with someone as pretty or as kind or as wonderful as her, but today, the words tumble past your lips.

“Kate, I want to get married.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you- are you asking?”

In lieu of answer, you slide off the hood, opening the passenger door to the back, digging around in the pocket on the back of the seat as Kate sits abruptly, curious eyes following you. You pull out a small box before climbing back onto the hood and Kate’s breath hitches as she catches sight of the velvet box.

“I’m asking. Kate, I want to marry you more than anything else in this world. You gotta know, my love, there’s nowhere in this world I wouldn’t follow you.”

“Yes, oh my- yes!” Kate exclaims, hands finding your face to pull you into a kiss. You narrowly dodge it, a laugh bubbling over.

“But I didn’t ask yet!” You giggle, feeling a few raindrops splatter down on the top of your head.

“Close enough.” She waves off, turning her attention to the box still clutched in your hand. You open the small box, slipping the ring on her left hand and she holds it out to examine as the rain picks up, her sweatshirt dampening.

It’s gold, small and dainty, a small pearl set in the middle of a small cluster of diamonds but it slides on perfectly (thank you Cathy, you think silently). Kate wipes away tears (or rain, you aren’t sure) from her face as she looks down at it before glancing back up, hand resting on your knee.

“I have a ring for you. It’s back at Mom’s. I hid it behind a bunch of fabric in that closet in the guest room.” She admits quietly. “I’ve- maybe I wasn’t always as sure about us, me, as you were but I love you just the same.”

Kate gets three minutes back in the house, darting up the stairs to dig out her own ring, sliding it on your finger with a chaste kiss, before she darts back down the stairs to show her Mom.

Cathy cries, Lilly screams, Dani does a little dance, and the joyous feeling that burns bright in your chest threatens to never leave, not that you’d want it to.

You spend a lot of time the next morning looking at it, the small diamond set in a row into the small golden band, twisting it this way and that way, admiring the way it looks on your hand, intertwined with Kate’s own hand.

You and Kate elect to wait until you get to Arkansas in a few weeks to tell the boys, knowing this is something Tyler and Javi should learn in person. And then Dani suggests through laughter that you don’t mention it, seeing how long it takes for them to notice. You and Kate both laugh, the four of you setting a bet.

Nine days. It takes nine days of the fifteen day trip for any of the boys to notice.

You had gone from amused, to concerned, to amused again the longer it took and Kate was starting to threaten to just drive away, shouting the news out at them as she did.

“What is that?” Boone asks abruptly, grabbing your hand as you pass Dani the pepper. Your ring glints in the orange glow of the setting sun, filtering in through Tyler’s kitchen. “What is that?”

“Oh man.” Kate says through a snort, her own left hand reaching up to cover her mouth.

“What is that?” Boone demands, attention now sliding over to Kate. Javi and Tyler have both paused, Javi licking his lips as they stare Kate down. Dani lets out a loud laugh, turning to hide her face in Lilly’s shoulder as you give them a soft smile.

“Kate- is that-” Javi starts.

“Are you-” Tyler asks, before looking to you. “Are you really?”

“Who asked first?” Boone demands, already tugging your hand closer to examine the ring.

“I did.” You admit as Javi’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Kate, you’ve only been sitting on that thing for seven months! She still beat you to it?”

“Seven months?” You ask, eyes wide as you turn to Kate.

“Hey man, when you know you know.” Boone says and your eyes flash over to Lilly and Dani, who are still giggling to themselves. You hear Tyler and Javi’s quiet congratulations, Tyler and Javi both standing up to give you hugs but all you can do is lock eyes with Lilly as she laughs, tears streaming down her face.

“I can’t believe it took you idiots so long to notice!”

#kate carter #kate carter x reader #kate carter fic #twisters #twisters fic

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dickbaggins · 2 months ago

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Oh lookie here, it's the end of Blowmance! Chapter five! Will they? Won't they? (psst they will, here's a teaser, it's a bloodweave grad school au where Gale's the bj queen of blackstaff, in case you're just joining us)

“Do you want to show me your room now?” Astarion tries, utterly presumptuous. But with the smirk, calculated, he knows it’ll hit just right. And it does. There’s a little blush creeping into Gale’s cheeks, and Astarion grins wider, presses closer. Laughs low and fond and presses his nose right up against Gale’s warm cheek. “Oh, you don’t have to, if it’s going to make you nervous. I’m being too quick again, aren’t I? Let’s just - “ Gale cuts him off with the turn of his head. The shine in his eyes stays, but his brows draw into something serious. Thoughtful. He turns his body, too, so they’re completely facing. Turns it and takes both of Astarion’s hands and some vast tonal shift buttons up Astarion’s mouth quicker than anything ever has. “I’ve been thinking. About things. About you.” Nothing good comes after a sentence like that. Astarion fights not to let it deflate him. “And, let me guess, you like me.” “Of course I do.” “So much.” “So, so much,” Gale repeats as emphatic as the first time he said it. It makes Astarion feel as giddy as the first time, too. Every time. It hasn’t lost any of its punch yet, somehow.

“Is that all you’ve been thinking of?” “No,” Gale said, and there’s finally a lift to his dire seriousness, a quirk at the corner of his mouth that Astarion knows precipitates a smile. “But I have this problem.” “If this is about your deliciously touchy dick again, Gale, I swear - “ “No! No, not…not that. Although, if this conversation goes right, that will need addressing.” “Oh. Oh. Well, keep talking then, don’t keep me in such suspense.” His bones feel like they’re going to jump right out of his skin if he doesn’t hear right fucking now what Gale wants to say to him. What he’s been thinking. It sounds good, it actually sounds like good news and his heart races away already. Still, always, too presumptuous for his own good. “My problem,” Gale starts again, making a sigh out of the words, squeezing Astarion’s hands at the same time. “Is that I do want things to go further, with you. I don’t know how far, exactly. We’ve already surmounted my most casual rules, and we’re onto the more serious ones.” “Such as don’t let anyone into your dorm.” “No, it’s not quite like that. I let people in, Astarion. I’ve got friends, classmates. Just last week, would you believe it, I crammed ten people in here to watch a movie? It was a whole thing, I baked a cheesecake and it was lovely, but there was no sex involved, is what I’m getting at here. No one I’ve even so much as kissed.” “Ah, that’s why I wasn’t invited.” “Things get complicated in ways I never seem to understand. People…expect things. So I’m going to be clear with you. Painfully forthright.” “Please.” “I do want to…” his head ducks. Hair fans out over his blushing face and Astarion doesn’t hesitate to brush it back, to tuck it behind Gale’s ear and let his hand rest against the side of his neck. “I do want to fuck you, Astarion. Since you said it, it’s been difficult to stop thinking about.” “Oh,” Astarion sighs and the held nerves dissolve right out of him. That’s really all he wanted, was Gale thinking about it. Because in the thinking about it, well, there’s no way that wouldn’t turn into something good. “But…” Gale draws it out and that’s mean. It isn’t on purpose. Astarion knows that, sees the indecision in the man’s face. In the barely-there lines of his frown, with his gaze still so down-turned. Astarion tips his head up, then. Hand under his chin and Gale goes easy with the motion and after a few seconds, he even looks Astarion right in the eyes again. And continues.

Blowmance, now a complete 5 chapter bloodweave grad school au!

#bloodweave #that's right #read this preview!!!!#and then read the whole thing #and tell me all the filthy details :3

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tlouxx · 1 year ago

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Electromagnetism - p. 2

~ ellie williams x reader

——————————————————————————

part one | part three <3

synopsis: you and ellie williams have been long time rivals. you're a physics majors at wellesley college, and you’re competing for the same spot in the prestigious dr. ramsey’s lab as ellie. suddenly neither of you can escape the other as you’re both trying to navigate your final year of college.

content: college!ellie, mean!ellie, modern au, academic rivals to lovers, forced proximity, swearing, banter, eventual smut i swear, tensions rising between ellie and reader

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Day 22

PHYS 302: Quantum Mechanics

It’s only a few weeks into the semester, and this class is already demanding way too much of my time. Ellie and I are still sitting next to one another. I think both of us are too proud to move. Our first exam is coming up in less than a week, and to say I'm nervous is an understatement. I can tell Ellie is stressed out about it too. She’s been studying every free second, biting her nails down to a nub, and she wore that same shirt yesterday. Not that I’m keeping track! We are spending a significant amount of time together between our class schedule and work. I guess you begin to notice little details about someone when you’re with them almost everyday. Even if it isn’t by choice.

…

I can’t think straight. So many variables are swirling around in my thoughts. Ellie. My increasing anxiety. This exam. Being the best at what I do. The professor lecturing is only background noise to the ardent contemplation of the current state of my life. Quite frankly I’m struggling to understand what a quantum state is or why I should care about it. I’m only brought back to reality when I realize that Dr. L is talking to me.

“Are you listening?”

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question?”

“Can anyone else tell me what the variables are that define the quantum state of a system?”

Ellie quickly speaks up, “Compatible and Incompatible.”

“Correct, Miss Williams.” Dr. L glares at me as she turns back around to the dusty chalkboard.

…

I want to throw my head down against the desk. I knew that, and now I’ve made myself look like a fool in front of the class. I’m just so distracted by Ellie lately. Ever since she got in my face and said she intended to get the same lab position I’ve been dying to have, I feel frozen in time. I knew she wanted it, but it’s real now that she’s said it out loud. Getting into Dr. Ramsey’s lab could mean I have a fighting chance at grad school or even a future in research. It’s fucking important to me. It occurs to me that maybe Ellie and I could have an alliance. After all the saying goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

…

In the corner of my eye, I see Ellie chewing on her pencil. She’s studying again while I’m stuck explaining basic calculus to a freshman. It’s 8:07 p.m. Only 23 minutes till the end of my shift, but I tell her anyway that we’re closed for the night. I needed to escape the monotony of derivatives and integrals.

Ellie’s head lifts up as she hears me escort the girl out the door. It seems I piqued her curiosity, “Why did you tell her we’re closed?”

“She’s going to fail calculus with or without my help." I slump back in my chair knowing I'm barely conscious from my lack of sleep. "I’m just exhausted today. I don’t want to explain integrals again.”

A smile appears on Ellie’s face. She looks down at her hands before looking up at me again. I think I almost made her laugh.

“Trust me. I heard you explain it to her multiple times. I get it.”

Before I know it, a smile is materializing on my face too. I laugh knowing we have a mutual understanding. To be honest, Ellie kinda intimidates me. Maybe that's why when I’m around her it makes my body feel like it’s on fire. I can hear my heart pumping as she starts to move in closer to me ever so slightly. I know she’s waiting for me to say something else. Maybe I should say something else. I hope she doesn't notice how I choke on my words as I try to speak.

…

“Um, while we’re uh talking… I was just wondering how you felt about the exam on Friday.”

Ellie settles into her seat. Confidence seeps out of every pore of her body. I watch as she sets down the pencil she was once chewing on. “It’ll be easy. Maybe not for you, but it will be for me.”

“Sure… Ellie." I mirror her position. Trying to emulate the confidence she exudes. "I was just going to offer you some study tips in case you needed them.” I remark back at her.

She leans forward in her chair. Without warning, the air between us seems to thicken. “You could barely keep up today in class. I certainly don’t need any of your help.”

I lean forward too. “Really? Because I think that you’re studying every second you get because you know I’m better than you."

I stand up, and walk toward Ellie. As I begin to close the space between us, Ellie lifts herself out of her seat. She almost looks like she can't believe I'm saying this "..and you can’t stand the thought of it.”

Ellie looks like she's about to say something. Her mouth opens but closes. She turns around and opens up her bookbag. I watch as she rips a piece of paper out of a notebook. She writes something down.

She turns back around with a paper crumbled in her hand. Ellie inches toward me just like she did on our first night working together. My breath catches in my throat as my mouth goes dry. She pushes the piece of paper into my chest as I stumble backward.

She swivels on her foot and begins to pack up her things. I grab the paper and look at it. She remarks “It's my number for when you realize you’re the one who needs my help.”

…

As I walk out of work, the cold of the night makes goosebumps appear all over my arms. I am still in shock of what just happened. Ellie pushes past me and into the emerging nightfall. Her perfume lingers behind. She smells of mint and eucalyptus. Not wanting to disturb her, I continue walking a few paces behind her.

My head feels clouded. I feel overwhelmed by all of the thoughts spinning around in my head. Did she seriously just do that?

The moon brightens up the night sky as Ellie exits my view. My apartment building is only a few blocks away. I need to tell someone else about what happened tonight. I pull my phone out of my back pocket to text Dina.

8:33 P.M

you will never guess what just happened to me tonight

D: What??! Spill please!

Well... I asked Ellie about the exam in 302 and she basically said it’d be easy for her, but not me. So i said well maybe i could give you tips so you wouldn’t have to study every second of the day. then she gave me her number?!!! and said to text her when i realize that i am the one that needs help??

D: oh my fucking god.

isn’t she crazy?

D: I mean.. I think you both are.

D: but i’m curious if that’s her real number?

D: send it to me and i’ll let you know.

you have her number?

D: we might’ve exchanged numbers at some point..

???

D" well…. we kissed once or twice.

D: but we're not talking anymore

omg. DINA! why didn’t you tell me!!!

D: I thought you'd be mad and it was casual!!

D: send me the number!!!

I threw my phone onto my bed after I sent the number over to Dina. I doubt Ellie would give me her real number. She probably just wanted to fuck with me. Not that it matters if its real or not.. I wouldn’t text her anyway.

I’m disappointed that Dina didn’t feel like she could tell me about her and Ellie. I’m supposed to be there for her like she has been for me. I let this stupid rivalry get in the way of our friendship. Although when I look back on it, I don’t think they tried to hide it either. Maybe I’ve been too caught up in the fact that she was my nemesis to realize that Ellie and Dina were practically sitting on top of each other at parties or both missing at the same time. How could I have been so naïve to miss this?? My phone vibrates on my comforter. I feel my stomach drop. I’m not sure I even want to know. I open my messages with one eye open.

8:47 P.M.

yep. that's ellie’s number.

…

Day 26

PHYS 302 : Quantum Mechanics

The sun is shining in through the cracks of my blinds. My eyes are barely open. I feel the fatigue wash over me. The warmth of my bed is all-encompassing, but I know I have to pull the covers aside. My legs feel like lead as I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The darkness under my eyes looks deeper than usual. I pulled an all-nighter studying for the exam today. I’m debating if I have enough time to run to the coffee shop down the street. I’m in desperate need of caffeine.

I end up walking to get coffee.I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my eyes open without it. The wind is starting to have a chill to it as summer slowly bleeds away. The bell rings as I walk in the door. This is the coffee shop I originally met Dina in. Her hair was shorter then. Our friendship continued to develop the more and more I came here. Then we found out we were working together at the tutoring center, and well the rest is history.

…

Walking into class with my iced latte in hand, I see Ellie. Her hair looks more disheveled than usual and her clothes wrinkled. Maybe I’m not the only one who pulled an all-nighter.

I’m not sure if the caffeine is helping me or just making my anxiety worse. Despite my fear that I may not have studied enough, I feel confident. I tell myself today is going to be the day I’ll be setting the curve. Not Ellie. Staying up all night is going to be goddamn worth it when I see that smirk Ellie wears off her face.

I look over at her as I sit down. She’s still biting her nails, but she doesn’t look at me.

I shift my body to look at her. She finally looks up from her notes. I whisper to her “Goodluck Ellie.”

Ellie looks at me and winks. She is wearing her exhaustion on her face, but her self-assurance is ever-present, “Goodluck to you too, sweetheart.”

I turn back around seething. The heat is rising to my cheeks, but I don’t have time to think further because Dr. L starts handing out our exams. I’m ready for it.

…

I’ve been anxiously pacing my room. Biting my nails even. I think Ellie is rubbing off on me. I dismiss the thought of becoming more like Ellie. The grades are going to be out tonight in 20 minutes. I continue walking back and forth on the hardwood floors of my room. I need to distract myself for just a little while longer. Instead, I keep brooding over my conversations with Ellie and the moment this exam score will come out.

Only a few minutes are left until the email will pop up in my inbox. I spend this time running over the exam in my head again. I’m pretty confident I answered everything correctly. Well maybe except for question 25, but I think I’m overthinking it.

My laptop pings, and I know it’s the results. My hands are damp as I lift open the screen. The subject line reads Exam Results. I click on the link

9:30 P.M.

Subject : Exam Results

Congratulations,

You’ve received the top grade on exam one with a score of 100%. Take pride in this!

Sincerely,

Dr. L

…

I am buzzing with excitement. I shoot up out of my seat and sigh with relief knowing my hard work was worth it. I subconsciously start thinking of Ellie. How she feels in this moment knowing that I did better than her. I take pleasure in thinking that she’s jealous of me. Thinking of me right now too. I catch sight of Ellie’s note crumpled up on my desk. Before I know it, her number is in my phone, and I’m typing out a text to her.

9:32 P.M.

Need my tips now Ellie?

#the last of us #ellie williams #ellie x you #dina tlou #rivals to lovers #slow burn #forced proximity #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #mean!ellie #college!ellie williams #college!au #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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iam93percentstardust · 11 months ago

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On Plagiarism and Academia

Welp, I watched hbomberguy's new video (just like everyone else). And... I loved it! (Go figure) It's a great video, he's genuinely funny and presents the information in an engaging way (I barely even noticed it had been four hours), and we need the information he presented very badly to remind us to independently verify the things we're listening to. But something that he said really struck me because it's something that I'm dealing with in my offline life right now. Disclaimer: this is a hypothesis generated from my own personal observations and experiences and isn't meant to be a sweeping statement of every single academic institution across the entire world.

He seemed really surprised that no one (or very few people) noticed that the Youtubers he was calling out were plagiarizing other people. Like. Really surprised. And at one point, he made the argument that maybe that was because plagiarism was viewed only as a problem in academia, so people assumed it wasn't a problem online and weren't looking for it.

And that hit a chord because the thing is, at least in my small corner of the world, I don't think that plagiarism is a problem in academia. Or, rather, I don't think academia views plagiarism as a problem anymore.

So, if you've been following me for a while, you know I have a whole tag about my struggles in grad school. I've been a grad student for the last six years at [insert major university here], and because my lab doesn't have any funding to pay me, I've been employed as a TA all six years to pay my salary. At this school, in my department, TAs are expected to proctor exams--every single exam for the course and frequently one additional exam from another class.

If we see cheating, we're not supposed to call it out in the middle of the exam. Instead, at the end of the exam, we're supposed to take the student's scantron and hand it over to the professor and give them an estimate on how certain we are the student was cheating so they can pass it on to the university, which, in every syllabus of every class, states they take a hardline stance on cheating and plagiarism. (Yes, I know I'm talking about cheating on exams, which isn't the same thing as plagiarism, but I swear I'll loop back around to it in a minute.)

During the first exam I ever proctored during my first semester of my first year in 2018 (this was three weeks into the semester), I caught a student cheating. Like. Blatantly cheating. Cheating so badly that over a dozen separate people came up to me at the end of the exam to tell me that she was cheating, just in case I hadn't seen it myself. I did exactly what I was supposed to.

I took the student's scantron.

I turned it into the professor and told her that I was 100% certain and had witnesses to back me up.

She gave it to the university.

...And the university came back and said that they weren't going to do an investigation and were just going to let the student take the exam again, this time with a different proctor because they felt I was biased against this student because of the "very serious accusations [she] had leveled against [me] of singling her out for her race." (Newsflash: the student cheated again with that different proctor and got away with it again)

During that first year that I spent as a TA, I reported eight different instances of cheating across six separate exams. Every single one, I was 100% positive that the student had been cheating, and on five of the occasions, I had student witnesses to support my accusation. The university tossed every single accusation out without even a cursory investigation or even filing a report. Oh yeah, really hardline stance there, university.

For the most part (and partially because of distance learning), I stopped reporting cheating, but I tried one more time this past spring to report two cheaters and got back the same result that I did my first year: not even an investigation to see if there was any merit into my claim because they're "busy."

I don't report cheating to the university anymore. They've more than shown me that they don't actually take cheating seriously even when I have more than a dozen people supporting me. Even when I have students half out of their chairs to see what the person in front of them is writing. Even when I have students with their phones out on the desks, looking things up. The university doesn't care, so why should the students?

So how do I loop this back into the discussion on plagiarism? Well, yesterday, while grading my students' final papers, I ran one of them through a plagiarism checker, and it pinged the radar. Two sentences were a direct quote and hadn't been listed in quotations or been cited in the body of the text. If I scrolled through the (long) list of citations at the bottom of the paper, I could find the source, but if it hadn't pinged the checker, I would never have known that those two sentences weren't their own.

The lack of the quotations and the source after the quote is what kicks this over the line into plagiarism, regardless of the source in the later bibliography (the same thing that got Illuminaughtii in trouble on hbomberguy's video). But I was willing to assume it was an honest mistake, and so I emailed the student to ask them to please add the proper citation and resubmit the paper.

This should have taken the student maybe--at most--five minutes to fix. Literally, all it needed was a set of quotation marks and a parenthetical aside with the author's name and year.

Instead, I got a response from the student telling me that they were very busy, it was finals week, and they weren't sure when they could get to it. Oh, and by the way, what grade would they get on the assignment if they didn't fix the source?

It was a stunning lack of regard for the error they'd made on their original submission, and now, because I'd brought it to their attention, if it wasn't fixed, it was willful plagiarism--and we both knew that! They can't claim ignorance or an accidental mistake anymore. We both know that they're passing off someone else's words as their own!

I emailed them back and told them if it wasn't fixed, it would be a 0, and then I messaged the instructor and asked her what happens now? Her response was as disheartening as my previous experience with the university's response to cheating: they'll dismiss it, regardless of their supposed hardline stance, and nothing will happen. Don't even bother reporting it; the most we can do is give the student the 0 I'd already threatened.

So there you have it. This particular university doesn't care if you cheat or plagiarize. Academic dishonesty doesn't mean anything to them--and the students know it. Every year the topic of cheating comes up with my students during my office hours, and every time, the students complain about how their sorority sisters and football team members and fellow classmates get away with cheating over and over and over again because they know the university won't do anything about it, so why should they bother maintaining any kind of integrity? I even asked them if they reported it to their proctors and instructors, and while I got back a few yeses, I got even more why bothers. What's the point of reporting it if nothing is going to happen?

To loop this back into hbomberguy's video, I don't think as few people noticed the plagiarism as he thinks. I think quite a few people noticed (and looking through the comments on the various videos of the James Somerton scandal, not just hbomberguy's, I do see more than a couple comments along those lines). The thing is, I think they kept that to themselves. And though I do think that part of that has to do with the mob mentality of fandoms on the internet and the fear of getting attacked for pointing out something shitty that someone else is doing, I think a lot of it also comes down to this: plagiarism is thought to be an academia problem, therefore the way the academics respond to plagiarism should be what we look to to deal with the same problem elsewhere. But if the way the academics respond to plagiarism is to ignore it and sweep the reports under the rug, then why would we ever think that Youtube, of all places, would deal with it any better?

#long post #hbomberguy #academia #once again my hypothesis is based on my personal experiences not on any amount of fact gathering i've done #other than the comment sections. i did go through those

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jisungsdaydreamer · 2 years ago

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Love Playlist #1: HOME (Han)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

"For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes."

Pairing: Han x Fem!reader Genre: college au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining Warnings: mild swearing Word Count: 7k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

You have three strict rules that you must follow. One, no going out after eleven. Two, never leave the house without your cell phone. And three, never, ever, fall in love with Han Jisung.

Unfortunately, you’ve broken that third rule already. In fact, you’re still breaking it, charring it to a crisp, and throwing it out like the trash you both begrudgingly take turns with. But how can you not? Because when it comes to your doe-eyed best friend who is serenely sitting in front of you, the whole rulebook is torn up.

Jisung quietly flips through his growing stack of manga, blissfully unaware of the way your heart accelerates whenever he reads a particularly entertaining segment and his eyes light up in amusement.You should remind him to stay on track, but you can’t bear to stop him because of how cute he looks, his legs unconsciously swinging under the table and his fifth banana lollipop of the day shoved into his mouth.

You’re both sitting together in the library at your special table beside the big window, the place that is always secluded no matter what, as if some higher power knows to keep it aside for you and Jisung for whenever you desire. Both of you are supposed to be studying for your finals, the objectively worst part of the entire year. You’re both seniors, so the slew of exams coming up should be a piece of cake for you, except both of you have grad school next year— you’ll be starting on your PhD, while Jisung, a computer engineering major, will be working towards a master’s degree— so you still have to worry about all of your final grades.

“I hate this.” Jisung looks up from the book in his hands, closing it shut. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s almost over. Then we’ll finally graduate and get to enjoy our summer,” you reply. “And then our lives begin.”

And the elation building in your chest is real, because although you have a tough couple of days ahead of you, the end of this year will be a testament to everything you have accomplished. You have your summer mapped out already; you’re going to be completing groundbreaking cancer research at an esteemed biologist’s lab, days filled with productivity along with exciting nights exploring adulthood and freedom with your friends. Even though you’ll still have school, you’ll only have to be doing what you’re passionate about, leaving behind the mandatory literature and calculus courses that brought you so many tears over the duration of college.

“Not for me.” Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “It’ll never end.”

Lately, Jisung has become increasingly stressed about graduation. He doesn’t come from a wealthy background, with his mother being a grocery store cashier and his father out of the picture. You’re aware he’s under immense pressure to do well in school and then get a good job that will take care of both him and his mother, when she’s unable to provide for herself. Worst of all, Jisung had to ditch his dream of becoming a musician and instead focus on something more practical, which ended up being a profession in computers. Of course, like anything else he puts his effort into, Jisung excels in computer engineering, and he’s come to terms with giving up his passion, but you know it doesn’t hurt any less.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand. He accepts it, but he turns his head to gaze at the street beyond the window.

“It’s okay.”

You don’t press any further, because you know that it will just break him down, and neither of you can afford that right now at such a crucial time. Instead, you resolve to brighten his mood, like he does with you anytime you’re down. “Let’s just hope we don’t get food poisoning tomorrow.”

Your attempt works, because Jisung meets your eyes, a smile permeating his solemn expression and before widening into a full grin, at the memory of the time you both first met. Remembrance comes like the summer breeze you look so forward to, washing over you both like a tidal wave. And just like that, it’s freshman year and you’re standing at the bus stop near your old dormitory building.

You anxiously devoured the notebook pages in your hands, alternating between cramming the tiny text and scanning the road for the bus that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Your stomach ached from the food poisoning you contracted earlier that morning, an unwelcome byproduct of the dubious cauliflower and tuna tacos served at the dining hall the night before.

This was horrible timing too, especially because you had your first test of the academic year that day. When you should have been bent over your statistics notes, you were cooped up in the bathroom for the previous few hours, clutching the toilet bowl as you watched the clock above you tick menacingly.

You bounced on your toes anxiously, before a strange, squeaking sound met your ears. You whirled around to see a boy approaching you while struggling to pull a large, bulging suitcase along with him. He finally succeeded, collapsing onto the bus stop bench while coughing and wheezing up a storm that rivaled the ominous clouds in the sky. You reached into the side pocket of your backpack, pulling out your unopened plastic water bottle and handing it over to him.

He looked at your offering hand in surprise, before gratefully accepting. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he gulped down the cool water. You watched him finish the entire bottle with a dizzying speed and then recycle it in the bin next to the bus stop. The boy was lanky, sporting an oversized Pokémon t-shirt and battered sneakers, and overdue for a haircut, the locks flopping over his sweaty forehead.

“Thank you so much.” He said.

“Of course. What’s in the suitcase?”

The boy fondly ran a hand over the worn-out seams of the object of your curiosity. “I promised my roommate that I would give him all of my old books for his class project. I have no idea why he wants them, but then again, art students are weird.”

He looked up at you not even a second later, alarm in his eyes. “Unless you’re an art student! In that case, I didn’t mean what I said.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m a biology major. And yes, I agree.”

He beamed. “I’m Han Jisung. First year, computer engineering. Anime and cheesecake lover. Spicy food hater.”

“Y/N. I’m a freshman, too, and I also love anime and cheesecake. Chocolate cheesecake, to be specific. And I can’t stand spicy food.”

“Chocolate supremacy!” Jisung gasped, clamping a palm over his mouth. “This is meant to be.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his theatrics. “Exactly.”

At that moment, the bus finally arrived, rolling to a stop next to you both. You helped Jisung push his suitcase full of storybooks up the steps of the bus and into the aisle. You sat on one of the seats in the back, and Jisung followed suit, plopping down right next to you. As he did, you noticed him wince, clutching his stomach. Concern bloomed in you for this precious stranger that you just met.

“Are you okay?”

He clutches his stomach once more, smiling embarrassedly. “I got food poisoning. I should have known better than to trust the dining hall food.”

You pause, as the ironic delight of the situation sets in, allowing the pain to fade away and leaving you to wonder about the odds of meeting Jisung. “No way! Me too!”

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s destiny. Mutual food poisoning. Now we definitely have to be friends.”

Later, after you had exchanged numbers and plenty of laughs, parting ways at your respective bus stops, you would meet again at the university hospital. Both of you had contracted a salmonella infection.

Unbeknownst to you and Jisung, that delayed bus and salmonella would determine the trajectory of the rest of your lives. Over time, you both emerged from the shackles of a hesitant acquaintance to the kind of bond that never breaks, even with time, distance, or the grievances of being young. You witnessed each other grow up, fall in love and out of love, and get drunk on piña coladas at the bar next to the college gym you both pretended to go to regularly.

Somewhere along the way, after Loser Boyfriend Number Three, as Jisung tried to cheer you up with his horrible jokes and the burned brownies that he nuked in the residence hall kitchen microwave, you realized that you were wasting your time on people who weren’t worth it. Because the only person who was worth it was the one who had been by your side all the time. Jisung.

Betrayed by your treacherous heart, you began to see Jisung— your person, your study buddy, your fake fiancé when you both were trying to score free dessert with a restaurant proposal— as more than just a friend. In fear of your feelings potentially ruining your friendship, something more dear to you than any form of romance, as you so believed they would, you swore to never speak to Jisung of it. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore about the worst. You fell in love with your best friend.

“What did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”

“I have no idea, Jisung.”

“‘Hey, where’s my tractor?’ Get it?” Jisung bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh. He doubles over, his whole body shaking with laughter at the unimpressed look on your face, which makes everything funnier for him.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” You exclaim, trying to push him. Jisung just keeps giggling, dodging you masterfully.

You both have given up on your library study session, resolving to take a break at your favorite coffee shop and meet up with the rest of your friends in your circle. The setting sun has streaked the blue sky with its golden rays and puffy pink clouds, enveloping the entire campus in a hazy glow. It’s a pleasant May evening, with the scent of your college’s famed peonies along with the excitement of Spring lingering in the air. The street lights that line the sidewalk are already turned on, but not many people are outside enjoying the weather, except for a few students playing a game of Frisbee on the athletic field. Everyone else is locked away in their rooms or the library, grinding for their upcoming exams.

“Well, I have a better one anyway.” Jisung states, clearing his throat dramatically.

You roll your eyes as you near your destination, an unassuming red-brick building tucked away in a larger complex of stores. Purple morningstar blossoms border the door of the small shop in clumps of dainty vines, no doubt the namesake of Morningstar Coffee House. Fairy lights are strung around the glass block windows, which offer a glimpse of the inviting warmth inside.

“Let’s hear it.”

Jisung jogs ahead of you and opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to go first. “What did Y/N say to Jisung when they went to the coffee shop together?”

The comforting smell of pastries and dark roast coffee engulfs you as you step into Morningstar. The strung lanterns and groovy jazz music playing in the background welcome you like a hug from a long-distance friend. You can’t believe it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere other than the library, the lecture halls, or the tiny apartment you and Jisung share.

“I don’t know.” You humor Jisung, still playing along and waiting for his ridiculous punchline.

He smirks at you. “I love you a latte!”

You feign disgust, but secretly, you are elated because of how genuinely touching his words are to you. Jisung hugs you like a baby panda, trying to get you to applaud him for his clever joke, as Jisung is naturally a very physically affectionate person, always wanting to snuggle up to the people around him. But your heart can’t help but jump a little every time you feel his arms snug around you.

“Well, I love you a latte more, Hannie,” you respond nonchalantly, but you mean it. You do love Jisung for everything that he is, even the cringeworthy SoundCloud rapper phase that dominated his sophomore year.

“You guys are weird,” your friend Seungmin says from behind the counter, where he’s busy working as the barista, while his co-worker, Soobin, a timid Psychology student, clumsily handles orders at the cash register. Seungmin’s parents own Morningstar, and he plans to take over it next year.

Jisung sticks his tongue out at Seungmin in defiance, before linking arms with you and dragging you to the back, where the rest of your friends are seated. There is Chan, or more famously known as Chris among his many admirers across his campus, clad in his signature black jacket. Besides him, the turquoise-haired baby of your group, Jeongin, and then Hyunjin, who as usual, is lost in his sketchbook.

“Hey guys. What are you up to?” You slide in next to Hyunjin, trying to peek at what he’s drawing. You catch a glimpse of a very pretty girl you vaguely recognize from around campus, before he protectively snaps his journal closed, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Eyes on your coffee, Y/N,” Hyunjin says, handing you the mug that they ordered for you ahead of time. Magically, it’s still hot.

You accept the coffee and drink it, letting the rich liquid warm your insides as you swallow it gratefully. “Alright, alright.”

Jisung tries to steal a bite of Jeongin’s apple danish, earning him a swat on his wandering palms. Chan looks over at you with a grin. “We’re just listening to Jeongin rant about his crush.”

Jeongin groans before continuing. “And I keep asking her out, but every time, she rejects me, bro! What am I supposed to do? Give up?"

“Yes,” Hyunjin says in his signature straightforward manner, prompting everyone but Jeongin to snicker.

“Whatever. I'll figure out a way.” Jeongin sits back in his seat, resorting to aggressively typing on his keyboard to deal with his frustration.

You look around your little corner in the shop, which is filled with textbooks and miscellaneous notebook sheets. “Where are the others?”

“Minho is studying with his girlfriend, and Changbin and Felix are apparently also working, but they’re probably gaming instead.”

Hyunjin bites down on the edge of his straw, glancing between you and Jisung thoughtfully. “Speaking of girlfriend, when are you both going to get together?”

You freeze up in your seat, tensing like you always do whenever someone jokes about your relationship with Jisung, but he’s unfazed, shooting Hyunjin a mischievous smile. “When you tell us about that girl you’re obsessed with.”

Hyunjin immediately forgets about teasing you, glaring at Jisung contempfully. “Shut up, Han. You don’t know anything.”

“Guys, let’s calm down,” you say while patting Hyunjin’s back, happy for the distraction but still cautious about him and Jisung. While those two love each other very much now, they used to fight like crazy when they roomed together in freshman year, and no one needs a repeat of bad history right now.

Jisung catches your eye, and although he doesn’t smile at you, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. You nod slightly at him, before getting out your own computer. Words do not have to be exchanged between you two for you to understand each other.

You all settle into a comfortable silence as you finish your coffee and resume studying, only looking up occasionally to ask each other questions about the material or an assignment. Soon, the evening begins to fade away, and you start packing up your belongings before closing time.

“Hey, Y/N! Can you come over here for a second?” Seungmin calls out, capturing your attention.

You put down your backpack and walk over to the counter, where he’s washing his blender. “Yes?”

“So what’s going on with you and Jisung?” Before you can interrupt him and deny anything, Seungmin wipes his hands and gives you a meaningful look. “I know you have feelings for him.”

You feel your face heat up, and you avoid his piercing eyes. “How would you know?”

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From the way you look at him, it’s a marvel how he hasn’t figured it out yet. For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes.”

You exhale, seeing no point in lying anymore. Besides, it feels good to get it off of your chest. “Well, why are you bringing this up anyway?”

Seungmin sets down his utensil caddy and rests his elbows on the edge of the sink. “Soobin likes you and asked me if you’re single. But, you know, I wasn’t sure if you are available. Emotionally, I mean.”

You glance over at Soobin, observing him counting all of the day’s revenue. The blonde cashier catches your eye, flashing you a shy smile before quickly looking away, turning a shade of tomato red. He’s handsome, good-hearted, and not to mention, very tall. Just your type. But he’s no Jisung.

“It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.” And this is true— over a year, to be precise. “I guess, I’m still hung up over Jisung.”

“Do you plan on making a move?”

“No way. I’m just going to wait for the feelings to dissipate. I would never risk our friendship like that,” you mumble.

“You could get to know Soobin, maybe he’ll help you move on,” Seungmin suggests, crossing his arms.

You consider your options before piping up. Jisung had gotten pretty serious with his last girlfriend by the end of your junior year, but he broke up with her a month later, telling you that she just wasn’t the one for him. He hasn’t dated anyone since, claiming that it’s not the right time. But for you, it is, and you realize that you can’t keep waiting for him.

“Maybe I will,” you say, toying with your jacket zipper.

Seungmin tips his head towards Soobin, but before you move, he leans in closer to you. “But personally, I think you should just tell Jisung. If he’s really your best friend, your friendship will stay the same no matter what.”

You nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You know Seungmin is right, but the truth is, it’s not just about losing your friendship with Jisung. Regardless of whether he reciprocates your feelings or not, you know that he would never walk away from you. It’s truly you who you are concerned about. You’re uncertain if you could bear to go back being your normal self around Jisung if you confess and get rejected. You don’t know if your heart could handle it.

You touch Seungmin’s hand in a quiet gratitude and approach Soobin, who immediately notices your presence and accidentally slams the cash register drawer closed, nearly shutting it on his finger. “H-hi Y/N.”

Watching Soobin get endearingly flustered, you can’t help but smile. “Hey Soobin. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Soobin bites down on his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so cute in his brown bib apron and converse shoes. “You look really pretty in that dress.”

Your cheeks warm, but you look him directly in his eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say. Actually, I was hoping you'd want to go out on a date sometime? Maybe after finals?”

Although you’re very reserved about your feelings for Jisung, in every other case, you can be quite forward with romance. Soobin’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, getting out your phone. “Yes, really. What do you say?”

“Yes! I would love to. Could I please get your number?” Soobin stretches out his phone, which is covered in teddy bear stickers.

You think of Jisung’s phone, which has a clear case and a polaroid of you two at the beach inside. You shake the thought of him away. You type your number into Soobin’s phone, before wishing him good luck on his finals and then rejoining your friend group in the darkening outdoors, which has moved outside the shop while you were talking to Seungmin. As soon as he spies you walking out of the door, Hyunjin forgets his conversation with Jeongin and immediately launches into interrogating you.

“What were you talking to Soobin about?”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but can’t help the rosy blush that creeps up your neck. “Nothing, really.”

Now the others look interested as well, and Jeongin smirks knowingly at you. “You asked him out, didn’t you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Jisung’s smile falter, but you chalk it up to your own imagination and affirm Jeongin’s prediction. “Yes, but it’s pretty casual. So not a big deal.”

Chan and Jeongin both high-five you like seventh grade boys, while Hyunjin just cackles at your sudden agitation. Jisung, however, looks annoyed, a very new color on him.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Soobin,” he says, shutting Hyunjin up. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me when you like someone.”

You know the answer to his question. But you can’t tell Jisung that the only reason why you asked Soobin on a date out of the blue is because you are in love with him and trying to move on. “Seungmin just told me that he had a crush on me. So I went for it.”

“Yeah, everyone knows Soobin likes you. But you could have told me first before making a move.” Jisung’s tone is slightly harsh, suspicious. You recoil in surprise, because he has never spoken to you like this, unlike the boy you know and love.

“Why are you getting so mad?” You ask him, hurt.

“It’s just that we tell each other everything, and this is pretty big.” Jisung crosses his arms stubbornly. “Unless you didn’t want me to know.”

Your skin prickles with a strange feeling, because while you two have bickered over stupid things in the past, it wasn’t anything serious like the look on Jisung’s face now. “What’s your problem, Jisung? What did I do to you?”

Your voice is raised, and boys instantly sense the tension in the air, stepping in to mediate. Chan, the eldest in the group, places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, mutely imploring him to stay calm. Hyunjin, however, gets defensive on your behalf.

“Why should she have to tell you? Calm down,” Hyunjin says, frowning at Jisung.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. We should get going.” Without waiting for an answer from the others, you grasp Jisung’s hand and pull him with you, while he comes along without saying anything at all.

The walk back to your apartment, which is seven minutes long from campus, is filled with an uneasy silence, a dreadful change from the playfulness earlier in the day. The air is charged, full of everything you both want to say to each other, but nevertheless, you keep your mouth closed. More than anything, you’re confused.

It’s been a long time since either of you were with anyone romantically, so maybe it is surprising to Jisung that you randomly asked Soobin out. However, you don’t understand his anger, especially because Jisung has always supported you in your dating life, even setting you up sometimes with people he knew. But you don’t think the problem is the fact that it is Soobin either, because Soobin is one of the most beloved people on campus due to his sweet personality. You don’t know what’s wrong, and that’s what bothers you the most.

Neither of you speak even when you reach your neighborhood, a suburban oasis in a big city. When there’s good weather, you and Jisung love to come outside and either take long walks around the block or pack picnics to share on the perpetually green lawn in front of your apartment building. Today, you head straight up to your flat, an indifferent pair of strangers standing in the elevator.

After unlocking the door to your apartment, you finally decide to break the silence, turning to look at Jisung, who trails a few feet behind you. “I’ll be in my room, studying.”

You want him to say something, anything, but he just nods, keeping his eyes trained on the grey hardwood flooring. Sighing, you pad across the apartment and enter your room, shutting the door you always keep open.

You and Jisung had signed a lease on your place last year, partially because you couldn’t afford off-campus housing on your own, but also because you couldn’t imagine a better roommate than him. People made plenty of comments about how you both— two people of the opposite gender— renting an apartment together would be a recipe for disaster.

While Jisung had assured you that everything would be alright, the weeks leading up to move-in day were filled with apprehension for you. But unlike what he believed, it wasn’t because of what others said. The thought of you and Jisung living together made you worry if proximity could potentially make it easier for him to realize your feelings for him.

However, when the big day rolled in, you couldn’t remember any of your fears as you and Jisung sat in your new apartment, leaned against a pile of half-opened luggage. Exhausted from dealing with delayed furniture shipments and sorting through the endless boxes of belongings, both of you had given up. Resolving to lay on the barren floor and play Go-Fish, you both laughed for hours about the annoyed look on the grumpy mover’s face when Jisung kept asking him questions. Before Jisung subsequently fell asleep on your lap, he promised you that you both would make a lot of good memories here. And you did.

Last Christmas, you both spent it together, huddled on the couch while gossiping and drinking hot chocolate, because both of your flights got canceled due to snow. Then there was the time Jisung forced you to stay awake with him all night because he was scared after watching some bad slasher film, but you told him Disney bedtime stories that eventually made his fear go away.

You can’t help but feel a small pang thinking of whenever he brings you strawberry shortcake from the bakery you like, or all of the times he spam calls you when you’re out late and haven’t informed him. You’ve never fought with Jisung like this, not without him immediately coming after you and begging you to forgive him, even if he wasn’t in the wrong. Being distant with Jisung is a new feeling, and you don’t get how you could ever accomplish that with your best friend in the whole world.

Shaking off your incessant thoughts about Jisung, you turn on your computer, hunching over on your desk in the artificial glow of the screen. You still have a few chapters of reading to get through, and then you have to solve ten long practice problem sets for Chemistry. For now, you’ll have to put off the deliberations that pull at you.

“Y/N.”

You feel someone shaking you awake, gentle hands coaxing you out of an uneasy nap. You lift your head from where it rests on your arms, blearily looking up from where you are slumped over your desk. Your laptop has fallen asleep, the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the room instead. And the blaring, unwelcome red of your digital clock signals an unfortunate time well past twelve. Rubbing your eyes, you finally notice Jisung hovering beside you hesitantly.

“I thought you’d want me to wake you up,” Jisung says, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. “I’m sorry.”

He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up snugly over his head, a few soft pieces of hair messily sticking out from underneath. He looks so cute you want to hug him, but then you remember the events that transpired before you accidentally fell asleep.

“It’s okay. I need to finish working, thanks,” you say dully, both tired from studying and being stuck in this bad day with Jisung.

He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for earlier. At the coffee shop.”

You bite your lip, melting at the regret and sadness in his eyes. Your best friend misses you too. “Can we talk?”

Jisung stays quiet before speaking, and you swear he can probably hear your anticipating heartbeat filling the room. “Are you hungry? We didn’t have dinner.”

He doesn’t answer your question, but you still fold at the thought of how he didn’t eat without you. “Yeah, I am hungry.”

“I’ll make us something.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, and after a second thought, you hurry after him.

Jisung takes off his hood and brings out a metal pot out of one of the cupboards. You watch as he rummages hastily through the fridge, before he shuts it with empty hands. He turns to you with a sheepish look on his face. “So we don’t actually have any food.”

Realization passes between the both of you: in the past few weeks, you both were so immersed in your preparation for your exams that you had completely neglected buying groceries, opting instead for easy pre-cooked meals or food deliveries. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you rub it, embarrassed, but at least it breaks the tension, as Jisung snorts, an amused look on his face.

“We could go to the store and get something,” he suggests, from where he stands behind the kitchen island.

He fidgets nervously, a reminder of how any other time, you would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch your books and buy cheap junk food with Jisung. But now? You don’t want to go out. You want to stay here, you want to talk to your best friend, you want things to go back to how they were before your fight with Jisung. And yet, you nod your head in agreement, grabbing your apartment keys and wallet from the counter before following Jisung out of the apartment.

The hallways of the building are tainted a vivid yellow from the incandescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the gloomy night outside. The moon is high up in the sky, shrouding the sleepy apartment complex in a silvery glow. There’s no one outside except for a homeless man dozing on one of the benches lining the walkways. But the distant city lights tell you that not everyone slumbers, that outside of your bubble, people have their own lives and stories. The only story that matters to you, however, is the one with the beautiful boy who walks beside you, his step heavy and eyes downcast.

In a matter of wordless minutes, you and Jisung have arrived at your go-to place for midnight runs, a sketchy little convenience store peeking out from behind a cluster of drab office buildings. The neon lighting of the store glows in the dark and reflects in the pools of water left by a mild rain that had graced the land while you were sleeping.

Jisung quickly walks ahead of you and opens the door for you, a blast of air conditioning granting you solace from the humidity. The familiar sight of the plentiful arrays of colorful aisles and the broken fan hopelessly creaking by the entrance pulls you in. You scour the shelves of mouthwatering foodstuffs, before settling in front of one of the sections.

“I don’t know if it’s a noodles or sandwich kind of night,” you wonder out loud, picking up a pack of ramen. You don’t notice Jisung standing behind you, as you assume he’s already zeroed in on the ice cream freezer like he always does.

“Definitely ramen.”

You jump, hugging the packet to your chest as if it would protect you from the perpetrator. Jisung innocently watches you, a small smile playing upon his lips. He holds two wrapped popsicles in his hands, one melon-flavored and one mango-flavored, and stretches the latter out to you. You accept it, returning his smile, and it feels like things are normal again. You know you should bring up what lies unspoken between you two, but you want to preserve this moment for now.

Jisung selects ramen for himself as well, and you both go to the front counter to check-out, failing to exchange any more words as you both just continue to enjoy the calm. After, you both quickly exit the shop and start jogging in synchronization, remembering that a pile of work still awaits you. When you board the bridge that connects the rest of the city to the way back to your apartment, Jisung doubles over, panting.

You decide to take a break, walking over to the edge and drinking in the view. The blurred lights of the magnificent skyscrapers illuminate the midnight sky like lightning, and the river in front of you is littered with cargo ships peacefully gliding along on their separate journeys. You lean against the railing, closing your eyes and letting the wind ruffle your hair. Jisung comes up behind you once more, but when he speaks this time, it’s less of a surprise and more of a comfort.

“Everything is changing,” he says, resting his hands on the railing as well. “I’m scared.”

You open your eyes, turning to face Jisung. His eyes are filled with tears, and your heart reaches out for him. You tightly grasp his hand, trying to convey everything you can’t say to him.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m not ready for all of this. Graduation’s getting closer, and I know you’re excited but… I don’t know, I still feel kind of stuck.” Jisung’s gaze fixates on one of the boats below. “Every time I type out a line of code, I want to smash my keyboard into bits. Every goddamn time.”

His words are strong, but his voice is rough with emotion.

“Jisung, don’t do this if it’s not what you want.”

“We’re literally graduating in a month, Y/N.” Jisung lets out a disbelieving sound. “But that’s not even a concern, because my grad school actually offers a joint program on computers and audio design for engineering students who want to go into music production. But I couldn’t do that, because you barely get paid unless you make it big.”

You frown, setting down the plastic cover of your food. “Well, why not? If anyone could break out, it’s you.”

Jisung shrugs, shaking his head. “I can’t take that risk. Just plain old computer science is the way to go.”

You stay quiet for a second, keenly observing his despairing expression. “Your mom would want you to be happy, Hannie.”

“I could be happy, maybe, one day. But not right now.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your eyes. “You’re moving away next year for your PhD, and I’ll still be stuck here, in a place where you aren’t there.”

“I’m only two hours away. You can get away from campus and visit all the time. We’ll be like the Kardashians taking on a new city!” You crack a watery smile.

Jisung sniffles sadly, and your heart sinks, because you failed to make him happy. Again. But then he looks up at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to be Kourtney.”

You laugh, shoving him in the arm. “Fine.”

And then you both say nothing again, just gazing out at the world beyond this bridge and instant.

“What happened today?” You break the silence— questioning, not accusing.

Jisung groans. “It’s… look, I know we’ve both dated before, but none of them were it. And maybe you never felt that way, but I know for a fact that none of the guys you dated were right for you.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he interrupts you.

“And we’re graduating soon. So I thought you’d realize it by now.” Jisung taps his foot like he always does when he’s nervous, and your pulse quickens at his halting words.

“Realize what?” You ask him softly, trying not to come to any conclusions but betrayed by the treacherous beat of your heart.

The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red. “I- I need you to not say anything. Because I need to say something. And if you don’t like what I say, then I’ll walk away and we can forget everything that transpired here. Okay?”

You maintain your serious expression, although you want to swoon at his adorably flustered state. “Okay.”

Jisung is about to finally reveal what has gotten him so worked up, but then he sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this with you looking at me. Can you please turn around? Please?”

Hiding a smile, you oblige him and face the other way. “Okay. I can’t see you now.”

You hear Jisung take a deep breath.

“I’m never going to get this right. Y/N, I like you. And I mean like-like you. Like, romantically. Everything about you, I like. Even your disgusting food combinations, I like. Your smile? Oh god. Don’t go on a date with Soobin. Go with me. I like you.”

Even though the past few minutes manifested Jisung’s declaration, you still whirl around, shocked. “Say what?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I pour myself out to you and you need me to repeat it? You’re really something, Y/N.”

You smirk, stepping closer and looping your arms around Jisung’s neck. You take in how Jisung’s eyes have widened and how his lips are parted at such an intimate gesture from you, wondering if this is how it feels in the movies, when the heroine finally gets the boy she’s been loving from a distance for so long.

You look up at Jisung, and your heart has never felt so happy. “I guess this is my time to be vulnerable too. I don’t just like-like you, Jisung. I love you.”

It’s Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. For a very long time.”

He smiles bashfully, his elation at your own confession evident. “I love you too.”

Jisung tilts his head to his right, as you do the same, almost about to close the miniscule space between you both. And then he pulls away.

You watch Jisung, confused, as he covers his face with his palms, shyly giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I dreamed of this for so long. Can you give me a second?”

Never able to get enough of his antics, you watch as he pulls a stick of chapstick out of his pocket and swipes it on. He dabs his lips carefully before turning back to you.

“Now where were we?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s closed that gap. His lips are soft and sweet, the taste of cherry and vanilla chapstick lingering. You close your eyes and melt into the kiss as Jisung brings up his hands to cradle your face. The sweet scent of him clouds your senses and washes away your inhibitions, and there’s nothing besides you both in this moment. He kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, no exams, no school or anyone else. He kisses you not like a friend, but a lover that he’s yearned for, which certainly wouldn’t be a lie.

You can’t believe that you’ve been pining after Jisung for the mere duration of your college years. It feels like you’ve waited your whole life for this. The murky puddles of water around you and the pungent stench of a nearby dumpster are nowhere near romantic, but with the way you’re kissing Jisung, you might as well be in heaven.

If you dare to predict the future, you’ll have the rest of your life to look forward to moments like this, miss him even when he’s laying in your arms, love him when you both slow dance in the refrigerator light at midnight. And because you’re two broke peas in a pod, you both will definitely conduct more fake proposals with each other when you go out to eat. Hopefully before the real deal. You’ll just have to see who pops the question first.

“Wow,” Jisung breathes against your lips. “My dreams have not done this moment any justice.”

You chuckle, leaning in for another kiss. “Mine too.”

But Jisung dodges your lips, making you scoff as he raises his eyebrows at you. “And what are you going to be doing about Soobin?”

“You should be nicer. Poor Soobin. I wouldn’t have to let him down now if you’d just told me all of this earlier,” you scold Jisung lightly, cupping his chin.

He pouts, swatting at your arms with the oversize sleeves of his hoodie. “Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”

You roll your eyes playfully and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You’re sure that the lovesick look on Jisung’s face mirrors your own. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Your best friend in the whole world. And whatever the future holds, that will never change.

“I love you, Hannie. Love you so much,” you whisper, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. You’ll never, ever get tired of kissing him.

Jisung smiles down at you lovingly, slipping off his hoodie to put it on you, noticing the way you shiver. But you’re not really that cold; it's the way he’s looking at you right now. Not that you’d tell him that. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” You ask, still in a dreamy daze. This day has turned out to be better than any other you’ve ever had. Everything was worth it.

“Home.”

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sungbeam · 1 year ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐖 — 01

part one: heaven only knows where you've been

nonidol!lee sangyeon x fem!reader

2.1k words, est. relationship au, fluff, romance, swear words, low-key just ooey-gooey, proposal au; sangyeon knows that you're the one, and he's ready to run headfirst into forever with you.

a/n: this was supposed to be a full oneshot LMAO but i'm trying to see if people like it enough for me to continue (_ _;) the motivation has been very low lately y'all

IT was the summer after his senior year of university that Lee Sangyeon knew he was going to marry you.

He was among the few out of your big group of mutual friends to graduate this year, and instead of a high school-esque grad party, all of you decided to book rooms at one of the fancy ass hotels downtown and live like royalty for a weekend.

It had been in the maknaes' room that everyone gathered round to play a game of One Night Werewolf, armchairs and desk chairs and pillows dragged over toward the couch in the living room of their suite. Jacob's phone sat in the center of the glass coffee table, silenced now that the round had ended in an explosion of disbelief.

"NOOOOO!"

"I knew it! I fucking knew it—"

"I cannot believe she pulled a Chanhee."

All of the commotion was directed toward you, who sat innocently on the couch, squeezed between Jacob's and Younghoon's partners. Your cheeks were flushed and your skin glowed with a beautiful, warm flush, your grin lighting up the room. Victory sang loudly in your eyes, and goddamn, if Sangyeon didn't find you so alluringly attractive even if you just fooled the entire group to win the game.

You could only shrug, fiddling with your Tanner card. Even your inherent modesty couldn't suppress the smile on your face. You tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Look, you guys know I can't lie to save my life," you said, "so this one's on you for just assuming I was a werewolf."

Sunwoo and Eric grumbled their reluctant agreement, followed by everyone else.

Sangyeon didn't know what it was about you tonight—or rather, you every night, every minute of every day—but if he could spend the rest of his life chasing that beautiful smile, then he could die a happy man. There was something so attractive about the simple, yet genius way you knew how to manipulate your own weaknesses into a strength, to wield it like a blade. It was effortless.

Changmin was groaning again, bickering back and forth with Chanhee about "influencing your tactic", mainly because Chanhee had committed a similar act to you in the very first round (except, Chanhee was actually a very skilled liar, unlike you). Somebody was going around collecting everyone's cards to shuffle up and start up a new game, and in the midst of all the madness, you felt a pair of eyes on you.

You turned your head, mid-laugh, and met Sangyeon's pair of shining crescent moons. Your posture and gaze softened, but your smile widened. It had been three years (and counting) since he first asked you out, since he asked you to be his. He'd been relatively quiet this round, and so you mouthed to him with your head tilted to the side, 'Everything okay?'

A smile pressed into his cheeks. 'Everything's perfect.'

It wasn't until two years later that Sangyeon announced to Jacob and Kevin that he was going to propose. The three of them had been hanging out at Kevin's place watching a baseball game on TV, their bodies lounging on recliners with drinks in their hands.

Kevin fell completely out of his chair at the news, while Jacob's eyes went comically wide. "FINALLY!" Kevin squawked from the floor, grunting as he hauled himself back up into his chair while massaging his sore backside with a grimace.

Sangyeon raised his eyebrows, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. "What's that supposed to mean?" He laughed nervously. Had you said something to Kevin before?

Kevin deadpanned at him. "Dude, respectfully, if you weren't going to wife her up anytime soon, I was gonna do it for you!"

Sangyeon's mouth opened to retort, quite furiously, he might add—but Jacob wisely put both his hands up to physically step in for damage control.

"What he meant to say," Jacob said with a pointed look at a sheepish Kevin, "was that we are very happy for you, hyung. When's it happening?"

Ah. Well… Sangyeon winced to himself, knocking back a bit of alcohol. "Okay, I don't have all the details worked out—"

Kevin slapped his hand to his forehead. "You don't even have the ring, do you?"

"No—"

Even Jacob covered his mouth. "He doesn't even have the ring."

With a melodramatic whimper, Kevin shook with a feigned sob. "If you liked it, then you should've put a ring on it."

Sangyeon sighed, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. To be honest, he thought telling Jacob and Kevin first was the smart choice, but then again, if he went to any of his friends and told them that he didn't have the ring yet, then he'd receive reactions similar to this one. Even if he went to their partners, he might get smacked around. It was simply the fate of being the eldest.

Moreover, he had only just decided he was going to propose to you. You graduated a year after him, and now you both had stable jobs. The two of you had moved in together awhile ago, but it was only at this very moment that Sangyeon let his mind wander to the "next step". Coming home to you every evening and waking up to you every morning had become his status quo, one that he was infinitely blessed with. He couldn't imagine starting and ending his days with anyone else, and perhaps both you and him had been so busy lately that neither of you could really sit down and talk about beyond.

Sure, the topic of marriage and kids had come up at some point. Sangyeon had even seen a glimpse of your wedding Pinterest board once, and you even knew the exact way he wanted to renovate your future home together. And two kids—you both wanted two kids and a dog.

Okay, so maybe the topic hadn't just come up. But it was about time that the ball kept rolling, no matter how much Sangyeon wanted to take his time with you. A part of him couldn't wait to get to 'forever' with you. No, all of him couldn't wait, not anymore.

The next day, Sangyeon went ring shopping with Kevin and Jacob in tow. Both of the latter's partners were also told to be close to their phones to give their opinions on each design choice.

Sangyeon had never thought about the ring. There were vague options that cycled through each imagined proposal concocted in his head, but none of them had stuck. It had to be perfect, though, that was all he knew and the very thing stuck at the front of his brain as he and his friends hopped from jeweler to jeweler.

Three hours, six shops, and two iced Americanos (each) later, Sangyeon hunched over a case of diamond-topped white gold bands. He wasn't very optimistic at this point, and even Jacob and Kevin had wandered over to a different section of the store to try on bracelets.

Sangyeon's eyes swept over the vast sea of sparkling jewels, each more radiant than the last. They were all either too expensive, too cheesy, or just not the one. There was also the option of going with a rock that wasn't diamond, but Sangyeon always drew himself toward the diamond section, unwilling to look anywhere else.

From his pants pocket, his phone buzzed the familiar ringtone he had set for your specific call. He dragged a hand down his face, but he couldn't help the soft, happy sigh from his mouth as he picked up. "Hey, baby. What's up?"

He nestled his phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued to judge the rows of rings in the case below.

"Love, I'm picking up dinner!" Your voice came out in sharp, strained huffs as if you were running and trying to catch your breath. "Almost missed… almost missed the train! Whoo—holy shit, I'm out of shape," you hissed.

Sangyeon chuckled when he heard you curse again and yell at someone to hold the door for you. Only when you were safely on and vocally announced that you had your butt in a seat, did he reply. "Glad you made it."

"Me too," you panted. "This is why I don't go to the gym; this is so embarrassing."

"I thought you don't go to the gym because you'd just stare at me the whole time," he teased, the corner of his lips lifting into a smirk.

You stammered on the other end of the line. "You're—you can't just say that to me in public."

He laughed a little more at that, eyes flickering around him to make sure no one was giving him a glare in the quiet shop. His attention swiftly went back to the jewel case with his eyebrows creased together. This time, however, his eyes caught the glint of one ring in particular. It was one of the many diamonds seated upon white gold bands, but this one was cut in a marquise style: a slim oval at the center with smaller diamonds branching out to create a sort of floral shape around it. There was something so simple, yet elegant about its look.

Sangyeon felt his heart leap in his chest. This one. This was the one.

"—Sangyeon? Honey, you there?"

He cleared his throat, his eyes searching the store for a sales clerk and curling his fingers toward him to signal him to come over. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Jacob and Kevin catch on and begin to make their way over, too. "Yea—yeah," he grappled, "sorry, babe, thought I saw something. What were you saying?"

He licked his lips, straightening, and grabbing the phone with his non-dominant hand so he could point out the ring to the three others surrounding him.

Jacob and Kevin could hardly contain their squeals as they grinned at each other, their hands slamming together so they could grab each other and shake the other's body.

"Oh, uh, nothing. You were just quiet for a bit… where are you, by the way? Should I wait to get dinner?"

Sangyeon mouthed, 'This one' to the sales clerk, furiously jabbing his pointer finger down at the glass case. "Uh," he winced, palm coming to his forehead as he racked his brain for a sensible answer, "I'm out with Kev and Cobie right now, but I'll be home in time for dinner. I'm okay with anything you're craving."

The sales clerk quietly retrieved the ring from the glass case, the diamonds glinting like rainbows in the shop's lighting. Sangyeon's eyes went wide as he gently took the ring in his fingers and inspected the piece.

It was gorgeous. Holy shit.

"Kev and Cobie?" You parroted. "Oh, say hi to them for me! And I'll just grab something from the Thai place down the street."

"Sounds great, baby." Sangyeon bit down hard on his lower lip as he broke into a wide, almost hysterical grin. He mouthed to the jeweler your ring size, a number he had memorized for an embarrassingly long time now. After handing the ring back over, he turned slightly away from everyone so he could finally focus on you. "Sorry, I've been a little distracted, but did you have a good day?"

He could hear the sounds of the train's robotic lady voice announcing the stop for home. Shuffling from your end, then, "That's okay," you chirped, your voice growing soft as you walked further away from hustle and bustle, and closer to the quieter street your apartment complex was on. "I know you were probably busy when I called. My day was okay, but I just—" you sighed as a door thumped closed, "—I'm just happy to be home now. Can't wait to see you."

Sangyeon could feel the tug in his chest, as if the connection between you two was pulling him, urging him home to you. "Can't wait to see you, too, Yn," he replied softly. He knocked his knuckles against one of the glass cases. "Tell you what? If you place the order, I'll just pick the food up on my way home, how's that sound? You should just rest, love."

There was another door slam on your end. "I love you," you breathed in relief.

His heart sputtered in his chest, a small laugh falling from his lips. "You know I love you more."

He could hear the smile in your voice. "This isn't a competition, Mr. Lee."

"Who said I'd ever want to compete with you?" He mused. "But just so you know, I do love you the most."

tbz m.list | possible part two?

permanent taglist: @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @vatterie @yogurteume @hyunjaespresent-deobi @justalildumpling @hongyangi @pxppxrmint @nerdypastacalzonespy @jcmdoll @zhaixiaowen @wtfhyuck @winterchimez @sodafy @fluorescentloves @tinkerbell460 @kflixnet

#kflixnet #deoboyznet #the boyz x reader #lee sangyeon x reader #sangyeon x reader #the boyz drabble #the boyz oneshots #the boyz imagines #the boyz fluff #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fanfic #lee sangyeon oneshots #lee sangyeon imagines #lee sangyeon drabbles #lee sangyeon fluff

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mothdruid · 11 months ago

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The Physics of Love - Part Four

series masterlist | part two | part three| part five

pairing.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x afab!reader (nickname Nova)

word count.

1.6k

warnings.

this content is meant for those who are 18 and older, 18+ content, mdni, smut, fingering, dry humping, swearing, almost getting caught.

authors note.

i wrote this because i need them to do something. i know that college students are horny (i am one, trust me) so i figured that they would both be a touch too busy but would try to have small moments together that were hot and heavy. tbh, this chapter doesn't have a lot to do with plot, so you could skip it if you didn't want to read smut

The texts between the two of you became more frequent. A lot more frequent. Good morning and goodnight texts were now the start and end to both of your days. You two were spending a lot more time together, time that wasn’t just your tutoring sessions. The two of you made it a habit to get coffee before your morning class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You had made it a habit of bringing him a snack during his research periods, even though he told you you didn’t have to.

“You didn’t need to do this, Nova,” Bob said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You smiled at the nickname, something about the nickname he had started to call you. He only started calling you it out loud after you saw a text from Mickey on his phone pop up. That’s when Bob finally explained that was the code name Mickey gave you. Something about how you were new and exciting, just like a Nova in the night sky.

“Well, I had time in between classes, so I figured I’d stop by and bring you a snack.” It was starting to become apparent that you always had ‘time between classes’ to bring him a snack.

“It’s almost like you like me or something,” Bob joked.

“Nope, not at all,” you joked back.

Bob wrapped an arm around you, giving you a side hug. You wrapped your arms around his midsection lightly, looking at the table all of his research was on. It looked like a foreign language you had taken only one semester of, some of it making sense and some of it not.

“Gross,” you whispered, looking at the papers with a grimace.

“Hey, don’t be mean,” Bob whispered back. He placed the small bag of snacks you brought on the table, covering some of the papers up.

“How much longer do you have?” You asked.

As a grad student Bob didn’t really have specific hours for ‘class’. He didn’t really have an actual ‘class’. Yeah, Professor Coleman would come in and supervise him most of the time, assist him with research and projects. But for the most part Bob was on his own, running theoretical equations and talking with other grad students about their research. It seemed isolating and boring to you. Made you glad you wouldn’t have to do grad school for your degree.

“Maybe an hour or two, I’m waiting for Coleman to stop by and cross check something for me.”

“Ah,” you responded with.

There was a moment of silence before you two looked at each other.

“Do you know when he is going to be here?” You weren’t heavily implying anything, but you were implying something.

“He told me he’d be here at about 3:45.”

The both of you looked up at the clock. 3:15.

With that the two of you were all over each other. Bob had you backed up to the table all of his stuff was on, lips moving feverishly against yours. His hands were on your waist, keeping you pressed tightly against him. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, one hand on the back of his neck while the other rested on his shoulder. The frames of his glasses were pressing against the side of your nose, going slightly askew on his face.

This had been a common theme for the past few weeks. Well, two weeks to be exact. It had been two weeks since your date, and two weeks of never being able to go the whole way. It wasn’t because neither of you wanted to, because you definitely did. It was just proving to be harder than you initially thought. Between your two roommates, and Bob living with Mickey, it felt near impossible. Bob didn’t want your first time to be with someone else present, and neither did you. But the making out and dry humping was starting to get old.

You could feel Bob getting hard through his jeans, making you moan into his mouth. He groaned when he heard your sound, rocking against you a little harder. There was a slew of sounds coming from you, soft and needy. The groans coming from Bob were going straight to your cunt. Lips were moving to your jaw, trailing down to your neck while slotting a leg between yours.

Soft locks threaded through your fingers, which earned you a soft whine when you tugged them. You started grinding onto his thigh, moaning at the pressure you were receiving. One of Bob’s hand moved to your ass for a squeeze. With one hand on your waist and the other on your ass he started guiding you along his thigh. His kisses on your neck stopped, only for him to rest his head against your temple. His hot breath started fanning over your face.

“Ah fuck,” Bob groaned.

His glasses were digging into the peak of your cheekbone. You tugged his hair again and fisted the back of his shirt. You felt the pleasure mounting in your abdomen, urging you to rock against his thigh with more vigor. The way his cock was digging into your hip was helping encourage you. You whimpered his name, which pulled a groan from him.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” Bob said, “feel you around me.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

The two of you knew damn well that this was dangerous, something that should not be tested. Fucking on campus was a one way ticket to trouble. But that was barely on your minds at this point. All Bob could think about was getting you wrapped around him. Feeling your heat consuming him, welcoming him in. Bob craved it so badly, but he knew that now wasn’t the time or place to fuck you for the first time.

Without warning the pressure of Bob’s thigh was gone. His hands moved to your waist and gripped you tight, turning you around to face the table. His hands moved to the front of your jeans, undoing the button. A moan escaped you when his hand slipped down the front of your jeans and panties. He was resting his head on the area behind your ear, every breath and groan being loud and clear to you now.

“This okay?” Bob asked while he slipped two fingers onto your clit.

The circling of your clit was making it hard to speak, your brain focusing only on his motions. You nodded and moaned is response, rolling your hips back against his crotch. Your hands were gripping the table tightly, not wanting to fall if your legs gave out from pleasure. Bob was nestling his face into the side of your head and neck, taking in your scent while covering your in his hot breath.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Bob whimpered as he rolled hips hips into your ass.

“All yours,” you whined.

Bob was practically hunched over you now. The weight of his chest pressed into your back, finger working your clit. His lips had latched onto the small spot under your ear lobe, sucking and licking the spot tenderly. Bob kept rutting his hips into your ass, the rhythm more feverish. It was all becoming too much for the both of you.

White hot pleasure washed over you, whines and moans falling from your mouth. Bob’s free hand snapped up to your mouth, muffling the noises that were coming from you. His fingers on your clit didn’t stop, only slowed but continued to work you through your orgasm. You felt Bob’s hips start to stutter against your ass and groan into your skin, signaling one thing.

The two of you slowly stopped your motions, Bob’s fingers and hips stopping. Your palms were flat on the table, trying to keep you standing straight up. These stolen moments between the two of you were some of the best you’d ever had. Honestly, they had slowly crept there way to the top of your college career thus far.

Bob was resting his head against your shoulder, trying to collect himself. He wished dearly the the two of you weren’t in the research lab. The idea of cuddling you in a bed, his or yours, was on the forefront of his mind. Being able to provide all the aftercare you deserved, not just a quick orgasm then rushed collecting of yourselves. He was still reeling slightly from his own orgasm, shocked he had come just from rutting against you.

“Hey,” you whispered. Your rested your head onto his, creating some form of cuddling.

“Hey,” Bob looked up at you with so much love in his heart.

He had never met someone who had captivated him as much as you did. You were truly a nova in his life. New, exciting, and bright. He was more than ready to be the white dwarf to your red super giant. Creating a runaway fusion of love, something that scientists would try to study for years. Wondering the exact make up of it all.

Bob pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, which earned a smile from you. Only a handful of seconds had passed by before you heard the door open. The both of you started to scramble. You quickly faced away from the door, buttoning your jeans quickly. Bob was finger combing his hair and adjusting his glasses, now wondering when he would be able to get to the bathroom to clean himself up.

“I’m going to act like nothing happened, okay?” Professor Coleman stated.

The both of you nodded your head, agreeing with him. With that you excused yourself, wanting to escape the awkward situation quickly. Professor Coleman gave you a smile and wave, telling you he would see you tomorrow in class, which you didn’t really wanted to be reminded about right now. Bob pressed a quickly kiss to your temple, promising that he would text you when he was done.

starboy: I can’t believe that Hondo almost came in.

Nova: you’re telling me! but he probably feels responsible, since he set us up

starboy: Maybe.

starboy: Do you have any plans for Saturday night?

tags:

@wkndwlff

@thedroneranger

@callsign-sprout

@redbarn1995

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd smut #tutor!bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x afab!reader #bob and nova #the physics of love

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