#I was too busy on Monday and my roommate and I had to go grocery shopping which turned into like a 2 and a half hour excursion
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I can’t believe it’s wednesday and I haven’t been to the gym at all this week it’s so sad
#spicy speaks#I was too busy on Monday and my roommate and I had to go grocery shopping which turned into like a 2 and a half hour excursion#then yesterday I had a breakdown and cried intermittently for like 3 hours while trying to do my pre lab and catch up on notes#definitely have to go today#or I’ll cry again#going thru it rn#gym for sure#I’m also drinking tonight though💀#I’m just so so stressed#I gotta break out the raspberry smirnoff again
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It’s been a super busy long weekend for me but my goodness what a way to end my year of being 30.
Friday: Drove from Little Rock to Nashville; went to Centennial Park; went to the concert which of course had Speak Now TV announcement
Saturday: met up with Tumblr friends; drove from Nashville back to Arkansas but made a stop in my hometown for my cousin’s graduation dinner; my dad then forced me to go to Walmart with him for new windshield wipers which he immediately installed…maybe I had TikTok livestreams of night 2 going during this process…; we then watched Law & Order SVU together before I drove home to Little Rock
Sunday: I had church nursery. Then grocery shopping with my roommate. Stayed up way too late watching livestreams of Night 3.
Monday: Zoo Field Trip; sonic and Texas Roadhouse
Sigh…I need to go to bed early tonight.
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love thy neighbor | kun (m)
title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.
i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...
--
Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.
Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.
Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.
“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”
“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”
“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”
“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”
You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”
“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”
“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.
Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”
“Really? I don’t think—”
“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”
Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”
“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”
Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him.
He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”
“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”
“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.
“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”
“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”
“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”
“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.
You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.
It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest.
Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.
One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.
–
Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.
However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?
Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.
Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.
It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do.
But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.
This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.
Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”
His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”
“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”
“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”
You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”
“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”
“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”
Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”
As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.
By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.
Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.
Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.
“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”
I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.
“Uh, my hair.”
“Your hair?”
“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.
“So then, what would you do to stop that?”
“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”
“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.
He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.
“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”
“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.
You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.
“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.
“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.
It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.
--
The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.
Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.
You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.
Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.
“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”
“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”
He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”
It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.
“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”
You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.
“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”
To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”
“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”
Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”
“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.
--
It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.
When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.
“All? Really, all?” He laughs.
“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”
Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.
It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them.
--
Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.
You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.
You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”
“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”
“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”
“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”
Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”
He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.
“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.
“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.
You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”
“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”
“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.
“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”
“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”
Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.
“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.
Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.
Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.
You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.
Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.
“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.
You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.
“...Maybe.”
“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”
“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”
“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”
“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”
You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.
His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.
“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.
“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.
“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”
The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.
You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.
You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”
“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.
“...What are you waiting for, then?”
“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”
“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.
“You’re such a tease…”
Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.
Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.
“Please, hurry.”
Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.
He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.
“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.
After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.
There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.
“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.
“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.
Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.
Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.
“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”
So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.
“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.
The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.
You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.
His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.
For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.
“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.
You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”
#kun smut#kun fic#kun scenarios#kun imagines#nct fic#nct smut#nct imagines#nct scenarios#wayv fic#wayv scenarios#wayv smut#wayv imagines#ambw scenarios#kpop ambw#ambw fic#ambw smut#ambw imagines#qian kun
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mark lee sucks at technology.
tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!
pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.
In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.
Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged.
Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.
Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.
The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.
“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”
His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.
“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.
“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”
His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”
“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”
You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.
“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”
“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.
You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.
You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.
“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”
“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”
Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).
“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.
“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.
“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”
“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.
“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”
“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”
The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.
“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.
“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.
“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”
“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.
“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”
“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”
“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).
“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play.
You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.
“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”
“No cookie?”
“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”
Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.
Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.
After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode.
Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”
“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”
Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”
His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”
By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.
As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.
“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.
“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.
“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”
“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.
“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”
“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.
When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).
“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”
“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).
“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.
“... No.”
You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”
Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.
Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.
After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?
Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold.
Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.
However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.
You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.
“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”
“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”
“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”
“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”
Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”
“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”
“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.
“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.
“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”
Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”
He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.
And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.
You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.
“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you.
“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”
“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”
“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”
“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”
You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.
You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”
Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”
You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”
Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”
You take a deep breath. “This.”
You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.
A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”
You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”
“Definitely not.”
This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.
When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.
“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.
“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.
“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.
“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.
“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”
When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”
“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”
“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.
“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.
“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.
“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.
“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:
“Can we do number three again?”
“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”
He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.
At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?
Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.
One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!
moominjun commented:
so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?
donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧
nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖
goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴
morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck
tytrack commented:
mark is going through puberty. I apologize
dobunny replied: @.@
goofys.chuckle commented:
are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?
morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????
goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀
showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?
goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺
showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???
moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO
goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩❤️💋👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault ���🏻♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊
jenojam commented:
why am I not surprised……
itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉
suhprisemf commented:
mark your head looks flat af
jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂
10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry
letswonwon commented:
whoop whoop
junguwu commented:
OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍
takoyaki_prince commented:
MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘
jisungpwark commented:
rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻
bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔
peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺
yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️
donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔
morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????
officialgordonramsay commented:
didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?
apado_god commented:
nice 😎👍🏻
#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct fluff#mark scenarios#mark imagines#nct dream scenarios#nct 127 scenarios#mark x reader#mark fluff#nct dream fanfic#mark fanfic#nct angst#nct scenario#mark lee imagines#mark lee#lee minhyung#mark#nct dream#nct 127#nct
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Brightest Blue (series)
PART TEN
Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ ONLY! sexual content (finally), pot use, alcohol use Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.
Notes: Okay, guys. If you missed it, this chapter is NSFW. This was the best to write, seriously. Love you all, don't be afraid to tell me what you think of it!
taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack
MASTERPOST
Two weeks before the Saturday of the play, the forecast had called for a blizzard. “Polar vortex” they had called it on the tv at school, flashing graphics of a polar bear wearing a scarf.
After classes on Friday, you had asked Kate if she wanted to go for coffee. You had been working like a dog on the play - sewing and painting to the point where your fingers perpetually hurt and the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes was the shade of green that every foliage prop was painted.
You ordered a caramel macchiato and genuinely tried to enjoy it, propping your legs up on the chair next to her.
“So,” she started, eyeing you like she had a bone to pick. She still looked so pretty when she was coming for your life. “We’ve been so busy with Josh, we haven’t had any alone time to talk about Trevor.”
You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed your stiff neck muscles, achy from behind hunched over while sewing. “Yeah. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest.”
“I have not, however. So dish,” she requested, reaching into her purse and pulling out a tube of lipstick. She applied it carefully in her phone camera as you spoke.
“Josh did it,” you admitted, making her eyes flick over to you momentarily. “I mean, I still slapped him, but Josh was the one that gave him a black eye.”
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked carefully.
You shrugged, wrapping your fingers tightly around your cup, half to leech the heat, and half because you were anxious. “I don’t know. I was kind of upset, but only because he could have gotten kicked out of school for that.”
She just nodded for you to continue as she cleaned up the lines around her lips with a paper napkin.
“I mean, and for what? He could have been arrested. Just for revenge. I feel like the best revenge would be just be keeping your head high.” You rolled your eyes at the beginning of your statement, just for emphasis.
She stared at you blankly as she picked up her mug. “Aren’t you flattered? I wish a guy would punch one of my hookups.”
“I mean, it’s cute, but I feel like he did it more for himself - for his own pride, you know?”
Her expression changed then to something a little heavier, her features sharpening in accusation. “Are you for real? Like, for real, for real?”
You frowned at her, feeling like you were being scolded. “What are you talking about?”
She let out a long breath, looking dumbstruck. “I haven’t really pressed it because I guess I just thought it was something that everyone knew but wasn’t talking about but-” She paused, putting her hand over yours on the table just to really drive the point home.
“That boy has it bad for you.”
You knew your expression was ridiculous by the way she looked at you with pity. “What the hell are you talking about? Josh? Are we talking about Josh?”
She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and nodded.
“Kiszka?” you tried again, still refusing to let her statement sink in.
“Yes,” she said through a laugh. “Yes, your roommate Josh. Curly hair, hippy bullshit - that guy. I swear to God I thought you knew. I mean, there were times when I was like ‘does she actually know?’ but then I thought ‘there’s no way she lives with him and doesn’t know that’. You’re telling me I was wrong?”
You were struck silent for a few long moments. “Are you sure?”
Thankfully, she was looking at you like you were a puppy with its head stuck in a peanut butter jar. “Look at me. He punched a guy in the face for you.”
You closed your eyes and tried to suppress a smile. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. There’s supposed to be a huge snowstorm this weekend. Now that you’ve heard me say it, return to me on Monday - after spending all weekend in the same place as him - and tell me you don’t see it then,” she said simply.
“Okay, I will,” you challenged.
“Okay, you do that,” she quipped with a smirk, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest confidently.
+++
In preparation, you had gone grocery shopping together, picking out everything you’d need to be stuck in the apartment together. He had even made you take him to a thrift store, just so he could see if there was anything fun. In the end, he had come out with a card game in a box, still wrapped.
Saturday morning the snow started falling, this time in huge, fluffy flakes, and it wasn’t supposed to stop until Monday evening.
While Josh was in the shower, you decided to get everything ready for the evening’s festivities that you had planned together. You had gone to find a good cheese board at the market until you found out they were too pricey for your (nearly nonexistent) budget, so you ended up laying out different crackers and cheeses onto a circular pizza pan.
By the time he got out of the shower, you had grapes, pickles, olives, and chocolates laid out on the coffee table, and he caught you just as you were pouring each of you a glass of wine.
The charcuterie was his idea - actually, the first thing he suggested when you said you wanted to have a fun night in on Saturday. The three different kinds of alcohol had been your idea.
“Okay, it’s all yours,” he informed as he trotted out from his bedroom, dressed in a fresh set of clothes.
The shower was still warmed up, the mirror still steamy. You got a towel out and stepped in under the spray.
You took the time to enjoy washing and conditioning your hair - your mom had been sweet enough to send you some of the expensive kind you love. Once you had hinted over the phone that you were homesick and the smell of it reminded you of home, she was already googling it.
Once you felt sufficiently clean, you stepped out and dried off. The clothes you had taken into the bathroom weren’t anything special - you had chosen comfort over aesthetic - but they were warm, which is what you really needed as the snow fell outside.
When you joined him back in the living room, Josh was waiting patiently on the couch.
“Ready?” he asked, handing you your glass of wine.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You gestured down at the untouched food.
He smiled at you. “I know.”
You sipped at your drink as he gestured to the tv.
“Movie for background noise?”
You hummed in thought. “Maybe music?”
He nodded in agreement. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Whatever you pick will be perfect.”
By the time he had made a selection, you had nearly finished your glass of wine. “So, the costumes are coming along well. I got the cutest lace for the trimmings of Alice’s dress. I’m not sure you’ll even be able to see it from the audience, but she’ll look adorable in pre and post-performance pictures.”
He shot you a beaming smile. “That’s some master craft. Your attention to detail is unrivaled.”
You knew that he was just playing, but it still made your stomach flip.
“Should we play our card game?” he suggested, padding over to the kitchen and snatching the bottle of wine off the counter.
You watched his movements as he poured your glass full again. “Thank you. Yeah, we can. Or did you want to be drunker first?”
He hummed. “One shot each?”
“Of vodka?” you inquired as you picked yourself off of the couch. “Where are the shot glasses?”
“I don’t think I own any,” he admitted as he watched you rifle through the cupboards.
You shot him a shocked look. “You’re a college kid; why would you not own a shot glass?”
“Well, we haven’t needed it thus far. I don’t throw a lot of parties if you haven’t noticed.” He gestured around the empty room. “We’ll each just take a pull from the bottle?”
“Okay, you first,” you agreed, thrusting the bottle at his chest. He took it from your grasp with a smirk and then pressed his lips to the rim. He drank until the count of three before swallowing hard and passing it along.
You followed suit, except with more difficulty. He had made it look so easy, you had almost forgotten how vodka tasted. You swiped your thumb across your lips, wiping them dry in the process.
You took your seats back on the couch next to each other as the music played through the room.
“Charcuterie?” you offered, gesturing to the coffee table full of food.
“Yes, of course.”
As you watched him make a cracker sandwich, you spoke. “So, should we crack this game open?”
After he nodded excitedly, you ripped into the plastic wrap.
“Okay, it looks like it’s essentially just a questions game. We just draw one at a time and the other person answers them,” you explained after skimming the inside of the box. “And you have to finish your drink if you can’t answer it.”
He laughed. “Okay, ladies first. I’m ready.”
You pushed the stack of cards over at him. “No way, you ask me first,” you stated with a cheeky smile.
He raised his eyebrows at you but relented. As he plucked a card from the deck, he took a sip of wine.
“What is your favorite color?” he asked, leaning in and squinting like the information you were about to provide was essential to his existence.
You snorted. “Really?” He nodded, prompting you to continue. You hummed as you thought about it. “It’s blue.”
“What kind of blue? Like navy or sky?”
You shook your head. “No, more like that blue that’s so blue it hurts your eyes. The one that was a new pigment discovered not that long ago - so bright it hurts.”
He gave you a sincere smile. “That’s a good pick.”
“What’s yours?”
“That’s not how this game works,” he said through a breathy laugh.
You frowned at him. “Yeah, well. Then I’m asking you as a friend. Josh, what is your favorite color?”
He pursed his lips as he considered his answer. “It’s hard for me to pick, but maybe either red or orange.”
You nodded in agreement as you reached for the deck. “I could see that. Okay, your turn.”
You stared at the card in your hand that read, WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU SLEPT WITH?
“Are you alright?”
You snapped your eyes up to him, quickly nodding as you realized that he had been waiting patiently for you to read it.
“Okay,” he agreed cautiously. “That’s good. What’s the question?”
You couldn’t suppress an awkward smile as a heat rose to your face.
“It says, ‘who is the last person you slept with?’,” you informed in a humored tone. You even held it up for him to see.
He stared at the card like it just accused him of a heinous act. “You really got to answer the color question and I have to answer this?”
His intensity made you snort a laugh, though you were trying to hold yourself together so you didn’t spill your wine. “Okay, okay. I’ll answer it too. Maybe we can play the game where we both just answer it.”
“Do you just want to hear me talk about sex?” he prompted with a shit-eating grin.
You gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you- You’re the one that picked this game out!”
Your overreaction was clearly exactly what he had been looking for. You were anticipating his ribbing to continue, but it didn’t.
“The last person I had sex with,” he started, pressing his lips against the rim of his glass as he took a swig. “Was from my music theory class.”
“When?” you quickly asked, shocking even yourself.
“Is that part of the question?” he teased smugly, picking a kalamata olive off of the tray and piercing it with his finger before popping it in his mouth.
You licked your lips nervously. “No, it isn’t,” you admitted. “You don’t have to answer that, I was just curious.”
“You wanna get high?”
He was staring directly into your eyes when you looked up at him again.
“I feel like it’ll make it easier to answer these.”
You nodded at him, biting your bottom lip. “Yes. Yes, I do want to.”
“My room?” he asked, picking up both of your glasses as he stood.
“Your room,” you confirmed, following suit.
Through the slats in his blinds, you could see that the ground was completely covered in a white blanket of snow. You spent some time watching it fall from his bed as he packed a bowl.
“Here,” he said gently to get your attention. “You take the first hit. I’m going to light it and you’re going to suck in and hold it in.”
You nodded in understanding.
“Not too much though,” he warned.
The glass was cool in your hands as you took it from him. When he held the flame to it, you did as you were told before exhaling with care. He was looking at you with a proud expression when you met his eyes.
You handed it back over to him, waiting until he was in the process of taking a hit before you spoke.
“Tell me when you slept with her,” you demanded calmly, biting back a smirk at the way his breathing faltered.
It had turned into a game of chicken as you held each other’s gazes silently.
“You haven’t even answered the required question yet and you want me to do the extra credit?” he quipped.
“The last person I fucked was a guy from tinder back home, and it happened a couple of months before I left,” you informed him confidently. “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and he was a prick, so when we broke up, I went on a tinder bender just to feel something.”
A small smile spread across his pink lips as he listened.
“Now you.”
“She was my girlfriend last year. We broke up in April and I had a hard time saying no to late-night texts until the end of June.” His tone was sincere as far as you could tell, as were his eyes.
You were starting to feel the hit you’d taken by then, and you took a pause from the conversation to lean over the side of his bed and grab the bag of suckers you knew was waiting there for this very occasion.
The high washed over you in a gentle, pleasant manner, leaving you feeling a little dreamy.
“Sucker?” you asked, holding the bag open for him. He breathed a laugh - probably at you offering him his own candy - and then plucked one from the bag.
After he had it unwrapped, he held the bowl out to you again. “Want another? Or am I going to have to smoke the rest of this myself?”
“Yes, I’m sure that would be very rough on you, poor baby,” you teased.
He huffed a laugh, sitting up a bit straighter in his position. “You want another one or not?”
You stared at him wordlessly for longer than was socially acceptable, but when you finally spoke, it was with conviction. “I’ll have another baby hit.” You pulled the cards from the pocket of your pajama pants. “But then we’re playing another card, right?.”
He glanced down at the bowl and then back up to you. “When you say ‘baby hit’-”
“I mean I want you to blow it into my mouth with your mouth,” you explained cheekily, making him huff a laugh.
“You liked that, huh?” he asked, risking a dark glance up at you through his long lashes as his fingers played along the glass piece.
You knew exactly what you wanted to say - could hear it in your head, but your body felt tight with nerves at the thought of actually saying it. “Not as much as you did, I’m guessing.”
Oh, damn, you said it.
A smirk played across his mouth, his eyes half hooded. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have thought he was completely unaffected by your teasing, but you had been listening to his breathing, so you were perfectly aware when it changed slightly. It was just the smallest difference in sound like he was pulling in air through tighter lungs.
“Be careful with what you’re accusing people of.” A warning, definitely, but almost more of a challenge. In the months that you’d spent with him, you’d never seen him like that, but you suppose you wouldn’t have unless- Unless you were about to make him do something truly reckless.
You bit your bottom lip out of an anxious, excited energy. “Oh, my mistake then.”
The ball was in his court, and you could tell that he was expecting him to continue pressing him. A look of slight disappointment flashed behind his eyes, but you weren’t done yet.
You nodded toward the bowl, prompting him to glance down at it like he had forgotten what he was doing in the game he was playing with you. He kept eye contact with you as he brought it to his mouth and lit it. You watched the white smoke circle the inside of the globe before he sucked it into his lungs.
You tilted your chin up in invitation and tried to relax your muscles as he leaned in, his throat looking tight.
You felt his nose brush yours first before you realized you had closed your eyes in anticipation. The smoky smell hit you first when you realized you were supposed to be taking it from him. You opened your eyes and tried to breathe it all in, but most of it was lost to the room.
He had a tiny smirk playing on his features until you reached out and wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pressing his forehead against yours in an abrupt motion. You could tell he had his teeth clenched by how tight his jaw looked.
You couldn’t stop yourself from playing your fingers along the sharp line of it.
“Do you want me?” you whispered, voice barely there at all.
Through a labored breath, he responded with a smoky sounding, “What would give you that impression?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but unsurprisingly, it came out sounding raw. Your fingers brushed across the short hair on the nape of his neck, the pleasant feeling causing his eyelids to flutter.
You leaned forward until you pressed your cheekbone against his, lips right by his ear, and pointedly asked, “Do. You. Want. Me?”
“Fucking of course, I do,” he spat through clenched teeth, sounding distressed as his hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs pressed into your hipbones on either side.
“Should we?” you asked, pulling back so you could see his face.
“Probably not.” His words were humored, a melodic laugh accompanying them, but still somehow managed to not sound any less strained.
You considered what he was saying for a moment, relishing in the idea that this was the last moment before the point of no return. “Just one hookup,” you reasoned.
He smirked at you, looking all too smug and disbelieving. “Okay,” he agreed.
Patiently, you waited for him to make the first move, your heartbeat bouncing around like a basketball in your chest. When you felt his hands move from your hips, your body tensed, trying to predict where they’d end up next.
As he cupped your jaw with both hands, you melted a little, muscles noticeably relaxing.
The kiss was tentative at first - just a brushing of his lips on yours like he was testing the waters. He held your face like he was afraid that you were going to vanish into thin air - like your presence was the key to his existence.
You could hear his shallow breaths as he opened his mouth, pressing it against yours. His tongue tasted like the orange sucker he’d abandoned on its wrapper on top of the dresser next to his bed. You lapped at it, body rising as you shifted to crawl into his lap. With the way he was sitting, cross-legged on his bed straddling him was a bit of a strain on your inner thighs, but the feeling was oddly pleasing - like a warm-up for the workout you were about to endure.
He let go of your face to place his hands back on your hips, pulling your body as close to his as it physically could be. Before he could situate you too firmly, you started to unbutton your pajama shirt, and bless his heart, he couldn’t help but watch your fingers work.
“Is this really happening, or this just a super high fever dream?” he asked, shaking his head as he frowned like he wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes.
You wanted to laugh at him, but you could hardly blame his disbelief. If someone had told you even earlier that week that you’d be in this position, you would have rolled your eyes at them. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted this until it was about to happen.
The last button undone, you let the garment fall, the pink and white striped fabric slipping off the bed and to the hardwood.
The cool air was shocking on your bare skin at first, causing it to tighten - well, that and you could practically feel his eyes raking over your chest.
“It’s happening,” you assured, leaning in until you were speaking against his parted lips.
The feeling of him brushing the pads of his fingers over your nipple made your breathing shudder. When you tipped your head back, he ducked in and pressed his mouth to your throat, dragging a stripe across your skin with the flat of his tongue. Every part of your whole body felt hot, but none more than between your legs. You tried to grind yourself down on him, but couldn’t seem to get a good angle - luckily, he seemed to notice, and halted your movements with his hands on your hips, stretching his legs out straight.
He pulled back just far enough to see your face when he ground you down onto him, the outline of his cock slipping against your core. Even with all the layers between you, the feeling still made you crumble against him, a whine escaping your lips of its own volition. It was clear that he felt it too as he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering.
You seized the opportunity to get your fingers under his shirt, lifting it over his head as he held his arms up for you. Before he could prepare for it, you pressed closer, pressing a kiss to his temple and then nipping at his earlobe. The cool metal of his earring was pleasing against your tongue, and you reveled in the moment as he sucked in a sharp, shocked breath.
His hands snaked around your sides, palms wide as he cupped your ass and used the leverage to pull you against him again. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, he let a shaky breath escape him.
You could feel his thumbs hook under the elastic band of your pajama bottoms as he started to slip them down the cleft of your ass. Once it was bare, he ran his fingers over it, movement stalling as he looked at you with an eyebrow raised.
“Are you not wearing panties?”
You scoffed. “Not to bed, obviously. Are you implying that you wear something under those loose pants?”
The corners of his lips tilted up in a wicked smirk. “I encourage you to find out.”
You giggled at his confidence, sweetly nudging your forehead against his, so he didn’t expect the swift movement of your hand as you tugged the tie of his sweats down. The answer to your previous question was “no” - he hissed as you grabbed his erection, swiping your thumb across the head, glossy from the dim light through the blinds. It was just a tease though, because a split second later, you let go of it in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your mouth against his again.
As you pressed him back, he tried to hold you, but once he realized you weren’t just leaning on him for support, he relented. You laid him back on his bed, pulling back as you slipped your bottoms off the rest of the way.
“Jesus,” he breathed as his eyes took in the whole of your naked body above him. “Hang on.”
He reached to the bedside table and grabbed the bowl and lighter. After he sucked in another hit and set the piece back down, he tugged you in roughly, depositing the smoke directly into your mouth. You tried to hold it in like he had taught you, but you were much more interested in getting your tongue into his mouth.
Still, you were plenty high, so much so that looking down on his bare form had tears threatening your eyes. He looked so soft and sweet despite the position he was in, his eyes half-lidded and one hand behind his head, one on your bare hip.
You shifted until you could grind your core against the length of him, the wetness letting it slip through easily.
“Fuck.” You had thought it was an exclamation of pleasure until you opened your eyes and saw a scowl painted across his face. “I definitely don’t have a condom.”
You hummed through a smile. “I don’t blame you, I definitely didn’t expect this.”
He frowned up at you. “We can just try something else if you want,” he offered.
“Well, I’m on birth control, and given the length of time between our last sexual encounters, I’m guessing we’re both clean - I know I am.”
He stared at you for a long moment before really realizing what you were implying, but once he did, he licked his lips in consideration.
“Come here.” You weren’t sure what he was requesting until he grabbed onto your thighs and guided you up until you were straddling his face.
The thought of it made you blush, and surely your cheeks were hot to the touch.
He started with broad strokes of his tongue, just dragging it through. You briefly wished he had a headboard for you to brace yourself on, but your thoughts quickly became completely incoherent. You decided you were going to lean back instead, placing your palms flat on his bent knees. When you were completely comfortable and situated, he started pointedly flicking his tongue against your clit directly, first very soft and teasing, but building to something rougher and more deliberate.
You thought you were actually going to shake apart when he sucked your clit right into his mouth, rolling the bead of it around on the flat surface. When you could feel yourself getting close to the edge, you threaded your fingers through his curls, keeping him close.
The moment you lost it, everything in the room melted away from you - just a black expanse with flicks of color littered throughout it.
You took a moment to catch your breath, trying to bring yourself, at least partly, back to reality. When you pulled away from him, you were met with the sight of him - the entire bottom half of his face slick with your come.
He only let you watch in fascination as it dripped from his chin for a second before he was pushing you back, your head laid at the foot of the bed. He slipped his sweats off the rest of the way before crawling over you.
There was no way you could have blamed him as he pushed in, seemingly not having any time for a slow entrance - you did make him sit there, untouched, for god knows how long. You certainly couldn’t name even a rough estimate for the amount of time passed.
The spark of pleasure that shot through you made you throw your head back, your spine arching as you let out a whine.
“I’m sorry, are you okay?” he breathed, through tight teeth.
“Yes,” you hissed as you ground yourself down onto him. “Keep going.”
Your eyes were closed, but you were sure he was wearing an awed expression. You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in until your foreheads were pressed together. When he started to move his hips, you let out a long, pleased hum, pressing your nails into the skin on his shoulders.
Your whole lower half was still incredibly sensitive, so every time he brushed you, it made you writhe a bit beneath him. “Mm, fuck,” you growled as he intentionally reached down and pressed his thumb into your clit, the feeling resting somewhere between “just perfect” and “way too much”.
He was biting his lip as he watched your reaction intently. You felt his hand snake down your outer thigh, gripping it from the bottom. He lifted it up, near-forcing you to wrap it around his hip.
The new angle was a different kind of feeling - something hot deeper in your gut like someone placed a smoldering ember in your belly. You weren’t paying attention to anything but your own impending orgasm, so you didn’t expect it when he sucked your nipple into his mouth. He raked his teeth over the bud, causing your hips to jerk against him.
When you opened your eyes and met his, you took a moment to absorb his expression - like he was seeing another dimension through your face.
You could tell he was close when his lips fell open, but that was perfect because he was taking you with him. You hitched your legs around his hips and squeezed, letting your head tip back.
When you came a second time, it was with his open mouth pressed to your throat, his hot breath hitting your damp skin. You let out a low whine, fingers tangled in his hair, probably a little too tight.
You suspected it was probably your muscles clenching in orgasm around him that set him off, a string of expletives falling from his kiss-swollen lips. His hips shuddered as he fucked you through it.
The other side of your collective climax was warm and fuzzy, like watching home videos from the ‘60s. When he was able to hold himself all the way up, you ran your fingers through his damp curls affectionately.
He was clearly trying to get his bearings, his breath flowing in and out of him like a tide.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, sounding like he might not be able to speak any louder than he currently was if he wanted to.
You hummed through a smile. “So good, Maybe never better.”
He rubbed his nose against yours, the smallest hint of an upward tilt to his lips. “I’m high as hell, so I’m not sure what’s acceptable for our situation right now, but can I kiss you?”
“We probably shouldn’t,” you admitted, making his expression fall slightly.
He nodded at you in reluctant agreement. “You’re right.”
You bit your bottom lip. “Ah, fuck it, we’ll start going back to normal tomorrow.”
#josh kiszka smut#josh kiszka#Greta Van Fleet#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet fic#brightest blue fic#gvf#gvf fic
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Entry #39 Dec 20th '21
#YurasLife #DailyYura #ChristmasCountdown
𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐚 - Christmas Preparations 🎅
Hello hello my lovely reindeers (˘▽˘) I was going to say snowflakes but I didn't want you guys to think I was being mean LOL (ㅜㅡㅜ) How are you all doing! How's monday treating you, hm? Have you been taking good care? Staying warm? Eating well? Are you enjoying the snow! I'm loving it so much, first snow of the season I had some friends over so I took Choi out with us and we played for a little~ He's so cute, always looks so confused by it! Did you guys do anything special for the first snow? Back home we used to go for a ride when it happened. Just a little trip around the neighborhood, see the snow fall and all the pretty lights, especially if it was at night it was such a beautiful sight! Then we'd go back home and have hot chocolate my mom would make! ♡ Did you guys have any special little tradition you did for the first snow of the season when kids? Or maybe a tradition you've started now?
Is everyone ready for the holidays? I've started preparing for Christmas already, all the decorations and food and gifts are getting sorted out! We'll have a small party with friends on Friday~. Do you celebrate at all? Or maybe not celebrate, but still gather with family or something alike? I wish I could spend Christmas with my family, but I also have a lot of fun with my friends!
We've been decorating Seung's place this weekend, putting up the tree finally and hanging some lights outside too, getting all ready for the big day! It's always better and way more enjoyable to do decorations with friends, don't you think? The memories are better. Whenever I have to do it alone I just put up a small tree at home and call it a day (//•/ω/•//)
We know we're suuuper late to the decorations though, do you decorate earlier in the month or closer to the celebrations? Ena was going back to the States today so we were just spending time with her and we got kinda behind (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ She did help decorate though! Leaving her little grain of love behind before going home for the season ♡ It was super nice having her around! Is there anyone you wish you could see for the holidays?
Hm, even if I can't see my family yet, I do hope I get to visit for the new year at least! It's been a busy year, hasn't it? Crazy the way the time just goes by!
Ok, I'll stop rambling now, I need to go get groceries! I'm in charge of dessert this year! Look out for Wednesday's post~ °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
I'll be going now, I hope everyone's week is good, take good care and look after yourselves! Make sure to go over your holiday lists to not forget anything! All the love, my angels! I'll see you again soon! -Yura ♡
💜: @madmanwoodam @archangel-oc @shin-haneul @lunaaofthemoon @moongoddesselene @jinju-oc @ochouse-cb @esmeralda-oc
@cb-museclub @achillesunwoo @mafia-chae @skzcbspam @betrayerjongup @ppg-3ye @moonlightchn @temptationcb @vampiremomo @suburbanbots @antiromantic-jun @roommates-bot @modelsiblings @floristyujeong @eunwoo-bot @hopelessromantic-juyeon @silvernightcb @botuniverse @modelsora @adorbsana @richsocietybot @velvetparadise @berryjinnie @azieville-institution @7deadlysins-chan @journeythroughtime @ahswitchescb @mediumchae @urjenniekim @ghoul-yeri @sweetheartbakery @soullessxbot @seolala @goodagainstevilcb @project-takeover @yourloveaddict @killerchaeyoung
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The Arrangement Chapter 9
Series Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.
Chapter Summary: Getting your bearings at BigHit
Previous chapter here ---------------------------
It’s fine it’s fine, Yoongi kept repeating to himself this morning after you had left to go to the security office. I’m not even home that often, it’s not her fault. He slipped on a t-shirt and jeans and went downstairs. He put his dishes away and looked in the foyer. Two suitcases and a backpack were sitting there. He couldn’t believe this was all you had. That’s it. He sighed and picked up the bags, wheeling them over to the guest bedroom. He looked around the room and frowned. He would need to order a few more blankets. He took out his phone and ordered some quickly. He walked into the guest bathroom. No towels. He placed an order for those as well. Even if you ended up living somewhere else, it was good to have extra towels and blankets, he reasoned with himself.
He checked his calendar and yours. You should still be in the security office with Namjoon. He had already texted Hobi earlier.
Y:WTF dude, I thought you were my friend
JHOOOOOOPE: I brought a nice looking girl to your house, how is that not nice **angel**
Y: You can’t just drop someone off into someone else’s house without asking!
JHOOOOOOPE: It’s not my fault no one told you. I was told to deliver your new assistant to your apartment because you needed her to be available to whims at all times. I do what I’m told like every other person who works here. **shrug** it could be worse. I could use an assistant. Send her my way if it doesn’t work **Grin**
Y: >=(
Yoongi walked off the Elevator and saw Namjoon’s smug face there "What the hell is wrong with you?" Yoongi growled, walking up to him. He was surprised he didn’t see you anywhere.
"Not now Yoongi, I have a meeting in 15 minutes." Namjoon sighed. That fucking prick.
"You just dropped a girl into my house without telling me and think I'm not going to have something to say about it?"
"You knew she was starting today. You agreed that the two of you were going through with all of this. What did you think that meant? Huh?" Namjoon said, almost bored.
"Why don't I get a say in any of this?" Yoongi raised his voice, exasperated.
"You did. You picked her." Namjoon said calmly as he pushed the up button on the elevator.
"This is such bullshit!" he yelled. You walked around the corner, surprising him.
The elevator for Namjoon arrived and he got on it, not bothering to look back.
You walked closer to Yoongi. "Hey. I'm sorry this was a surprise for you. It was to me too. I thought I would be in a dorm with a bunch of other girls." You gave him a sympathetic look.
He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry it's not you. It's just...ughhh…" He put the hat back on.
"Really. It's fine. It seems like Namjoon isn't interested in our opinions though, huh? I'm a good roommate. I'm quiet and I clean up after myself. And I can cook."
Yoongi wasn’t angry at you, so his feelings had morphed into pouting at this point. "It's fine I put your bags in the guest bedroom." He pushed a button on the elevator. He sighed
"Thanks Yoongi." you said, standing next to him.
“And I can cook too. So don’t think that’s part of your job or anything.”
“Now what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t cook for you,” You teased as the doors opened up. You were surprised to see him blushing. He hit the button for the 12th floor, feeling like a total idiot.
You looked so cute and professional. He tried to not think about the fact you had seen him in his underwear that morning. He looked down, mumbling something, hoping you wouldn’t notice how embarrassed he was. He was eager to just get to his studio. He understood abstractly that the two of you would be spending time together but now that it was actually happening, he felt awkward and shy. And vaguely annoyed by everyone else. He got off the elevator with you following. “What are you doing exactly?” He turned and asked.
“I’m your assistant. I’m supposed to help you. Do I have a desk or anything? There wasn’t really an orientation. There isn’t anything on the calendar for the rest of the day.”
“Oh. Ok. Umm take the rest of the day off…? Go unpack?” He shrugged.
You scowled. “That doesn’t seem particularly helpful especially since you want me to move out.”
Yoongi sighed and continued to move down the hallway, “You don’t need to do that. There,” he pointed. “That’s Jiwoo. She’s the office manager for this floor. Ask her if she knows anything. I need to get to my studio.”
You had so many more questions but you didn’t want to bother Yoongi.“Ok. See you later.” You turned and walked over to the woman he had indicated to.
Yoongi continued on to his studio. He had no idea if you had a desk or not. He hadn’t really put thought into it. He cursed himself for not thinking to ask Namjoon about any of this. He detested appearing as though he didn’t know something, which unfortunately meant he hadn’t asked questions when he should have. Oh well. He hoped Jiwoo could straighten it out. Otherwise he would later today. He typed in his pass code and walked into his studio. Fortunately he felt inspired this morning and went straight for his notebook.
“Hello. Excuse me?” You said as you walked up to the desk of the woman who had been identified to you as the office manager. She appeared to be older than you; her hair cut into a bob, she also had super cute glasses. She looked up.
“Yes, can I help you with something?”
“I’m Mr. Min’s new assistant, [Y/N]. Today is my first day and nobody really seems sure what to do with me.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. They all do a great job with the big picture around here. But the details? That’s my specialty.” She stood up. “Follow me. Your desk is over here, near the lounge area. It’s a little noisy, but it’s across from the coffee maker. Which is important because Min Yoongi loves coffee.”
“Yes, thank you. That is like one of the only things I do know.” You smiled, grateful for any help.
“You don’t have a company laptop yet. I would expect it by Monday. You can do most things via the App though. If something does come up, let me know and we can work something out. Now, if you walk around the corner here,” she led the way. “We have some empty studios. If you ever need to rent space for any reason, they are available under the App. Mr. Min has his own studio so you shouldn’t need to book any spots unless you are helping with a collaborator. Speaking of, here is his studio. Good luck with that.” She pointed down to the doormat which had a cat flipping you both off. You laughed. You looked at the plate by the door. “Min Suga. Genius Lab.”
“Humble. Nice.” You pointed at the placard.
“He is really good though.” She said thoughtfully. She began to move down the rest of the hallway, pointing out the restrooms and arriving back at her desk. “Also, don’t wait up on him. He’s in there most of the time. Follow your calendar. If you try to follow his, you’ll never sleep or you’ll end up with a sleeping disorder. Seriously. He sleeps in there sometimes.” She sat back down at her desk.
Your eyes bugged out a little bit at this. Damn that was some dedication. You hoped he at least had a futon in there then. Jeeze. “Alright. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.”
You almost wished you would have kept your desk plant now, looking at the empty space. You had a few office items in the bags in Yoongi’s house but nothing really worth going back for. A message popped up on your phone. **ORDER READY MIN YOONGI #2983627** You clicked on it. Apparently there was an order at the store ready for Yoongi. Because there was a store in the company building. Huh. Ok. I guess this is part of my job now. You looked up where the store was and headed down to the 2nd floor. It appeared to be a multipurpose grocery and home-goods store with also a few clothing items. Looking around you found the *Pick up online order* section and walked over. You queued up and recognized the perfectly coiffed blonde hair of Namjoon’s assistant.
You gave him a light tap on the shoulder. “Hey!”
Jimin turned around, surprised to see the girl from the interview last week standing behind him. “Hey you.” He smiled, “so you got the job?”
You nodded. “Yep. Sorry again about last week. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He laughed, his eyes turning into adorable crescent-moons “I’m sorry I literally yelled “shit” at you. So I think we’re even.” He stuck out a hand, “Park Jimin. Nice to officially meet you.” You shook it. “I see you have figured out some stuff. You’ll be on the 14th floor with Yoongi right?”
“Yep. I just got my desk. That’s it. The rest of the day doesn’t have anything and he hasn't given me anything to do yet.”
Jimin turned to move forward in line, with you following suit. He turned back, “Well Yoongi hasn’t had an assistant before but if he’s anything like Namjoon he’ll figure out a million things for you to do soon. Once they get used to it they forget how to even use food delivery apps or how to do their own laundry.” He shook his head. “To clarify: I don’t do his laundry. I coordinate the dry cleaning.”
“And here I was imagining you washing Namjoon’s undies.” You teased, causing him to laugh some more.
“Noooo stop. I don’t want that mental image.” Jimin licked his lips. “If you’re not doing anything later you should join me and Tae for drinks. Not at Club Tokki.” You raised your eyebrows. “Sorry, I peeked at your resume. Think about it and let me know.” He cut the conversation short as it was his turn in line. He concluded his business at the counter quickly. He turned around, carrying a few paper bags. “I’ll see you around.”
You waved, “Alright, I’ll text you about later.” It felt so nice to be included on your first day. He seemed fun. You stepped up and held the QR code up for them to scan. You were handed two paper bags and a larger plastic one. You took them and stepped aside, reading the stapled receipt paper. **PINK TOWELS X 4** on one of the bags. **QUEEN SIZE BLANKET WHITE X 2** on the larger one. He bought me blankets and towels!?!?! You took the bags back to the apartment. Yoongi had taken your bags and put them nicely in the corner of your room. You were pretty sure this stuff was for the guest bedroom and bathroom but you didn’t want to seem presumptuous.
YN: Hey! I picked up your order from the store. Where should I put the towels and blankets?
You waited a few minutes, unpacking one of your bags.
Y: Those are for you. The washing machine is upstairs in the hallway.
YN: Thank you so much. Pink is my favorite color!
Y: :]
You went and started a load of towels and continued to unpack. Holy shit. This was weird. You went back upstairs with the blankets. The upstairs loft area had a more lived in feel to it, with blankets strewn over a black couch, a large tv, and a video game system. There was also a keyboard in the corner. There was a short hallway containing a closet and the washer and dryer. You assumed the door at the end of the hallway led to his room. You were a very private person yourself, so you weren’t about to intrude on that. You honestly felt weird being in the loft area, it felt as though the lower level was for show and this was where Yoongi actually lived.
You moved some more laundry around and decided to head back to the office. You still weren’t sure about joining Jimin for drinks tonight. You decided you would wait and see what the laundry status was. You set a timer on your phone and went back to the office. You stopped by the lounge area and made a coffee for yourself while preparing a coffee for Yoongi. Another ping on your phone.
***EVENT ADDED SATURDAY 6 PM***
Retirement Party for Lee Soobin Akioko Flame Restaurant
The espresso stopped dripping. You added the water and then poured it over ice. You walked over to the studio and gave the door a knock. No answer.
You huffed in slight irritation while trying to get your phone out one-handed.
YN: It’s me. I have coffee.
Y: Leave it by the door.
YN: :( But someone could kick it over
Yoongi took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
Y: Give me a minute.
He got to what he deemed was a good stopping point and walked over to the door, opening it the slightest bit.
“Here you go.” You handed him the iced coffee.
He took it, eyeing you suspiciously. “What?” You said, exasperated. You had lovingly hand-crafted this brew.
“You like shitty coffee so I’m worried.” He took a sip. His eyebrows went up. “This is not shitty. This is good. Where did you get it from?” He noticeably relaxed, the doorway opening slightly more.
“I made it using the espresso maker in the break room.” You said. “I worked in a coffee shop before I was old enough to work in bars. Shitty coffee has to do more with sleep deprivation than actual preferences.”
“True true.” He said, his lips pouting as he took another sip. The sound of a phone ringing in the studio cut through the air. He scowled, making no attempt to answer it.
“Is that your work phone?” You asked.
“Yes. I imagine it’s Jimin or one of BPD’s assistants.”
“So...shouldn’t you answer it?” You asked.
Yoongi shrugged and walked into his office, not bothering to shut the door. You took this as a slight invitation and followed him in. You took a brief look around before the phone rang again and you identified it’s location. You walked over and picked it up. “Genius Lab. This is [Y/N] speaking.”
Yoongi turned around to ask what the fuck you were doing but then you had sounded so professional, he just plopped down in his work chair instead, a dumbfounded look on his face.
“I’m not sure. I’ll find out and get back with you. What’s the number?” You took out your phone and typed the information in. “Ok yes. Thank you.” You hung up the phone.
“What are you doing exactly?” He asked. You weren’t sure if he was angry, amused, or confused. He was difficult to read sometimes.
You smirked. “Being your assistant. Would you like me to have this phone forward to mine so it doesn’t ring in here?”
Yoongi’s eyes grew slightly wider, “You can do that?”
“Yep. There’s an app for it.” You responded, happy some of your previous office experience actually translated to this position.
“Yes. Please God yes.” He said quickly.
You laughed, setting up the forwarding application. You picked up the phone to see what the number of the studio was. “Alright. I can at least triage some of the calls for you.” You said, satisfied with yourself. “Also. Ew.” You eyed a few take-out containers and coffee cups. “I’m coming back for...this.” You gestured to the room and excused yourself to get a trash bag.
Yoongi sat there slightly dazed. He rarely let anyone into his studio and yet you had just come in, fixed his phone anxiety issue, and also scolded him. He scrolled through his phone, seeing the event on Saturday. It was annoying but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with you and J-Hope there. Maybe. Even if it all was a stupid pretend performance.
You retrieved a trash bag from the break room and came back. You started cleaning without saying anything. It was becoming obvious that Jiwoo had spoken the truth, Yoongi really did spend most of his time in here. You made your way around the surfaces, throwing trash away. To your shock, Yoongi just sat there, drinking his coffee and scrolling through his phone.
“Thanks again for the towels and blankets. It was very thoughtful of you.”
“No problem.”
“Are we going to the party on Saturday?”
Yoongi looked up at you, “Sure.”
And just like that, you had committed to your first event at BigHit. “Alright, I’ll let Jin know.”
Yoongi shifted in his seat slightly, “is that who called?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Has he hit on you yet?”He asked casually, belying the fact that he was actually very interested in how you would react to the infamous flirt.
You giggled. You were almost all the way done tidying up. “Of course. Have you seen his face? He had to let me know how in demand it is at all times.” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, him and Namjoon stopped by the bar last week. Idiots.”
“Agreed.” Yoongi felt his body become more at ease with your answer. He didn’t know why he cared.
You looked around the spartan room. “Alright. I’m all done. Do you need anything else?”
Yoongi put his phone down. “Just to get back to my writing.”
You were so very curious but you didn’t want to intrude. “Sure thing. See you later.” You picked up your trash bag and left the room, shutting the door behind you. You were honestly surprised at how easy your day had been so far. You sat the trash bag down by your cubicle, unsure of where to deposit it. A text to Jiwoo about the dumpster and an RSVP to Jin about the party on Saturday and your day was almost done. You dropped the garbage off on your way to the apartment to switch out laundry. You were getting tired.
YN: Hey! I’m going to take a rain check for tonight. I am so tired and I still need to unpack ;-; I do want to though, so don’t think I’m blowing you off. Lunch tomorrow?
JM: Shit I totally forgot you would need to unpack and everything. Sorry. No worries. Also, check your schedule, we have a huge design meeting around lunch time so they will most likely have it catered. I’ll buy you a drink on Saturday if you actually get Yoongi to attend.
You raised your eyebrows. It was on the schedule clear as day, on you and Yoongi’s calendar. Why wouldn’t he attend?
YN: Of course he’ll be there. Why wouldn’t he be?
JM: HAHAHAHA good luck. See you tomorrow!
It was already after five so you didn’t bother going back down to the office. You finished the laundry and finished your unpacking. And then you stood in the apartment just staring. The sun had gone down and the windows had a lovely view of the city. You could see part of the river and one of the many lit up bridges. You turned on the kitchen light. Shit. You had no idea what the food situation looked like here. Your stomach growled. You took some rice out of the cooker, leaving enough for Yoongi and sat at the countertop.
You opened up your personal email. You had paid the dorm deposit for your brother, using your “disappear in the middle of the night and change your name again” emergency fund to pay for it. It had scared the shit out of you to pull all your money from savings and you still were secretly afraid that the job was lying about how much money it would pay you. Before you knew it, it was 9.
YN: Hey, I ate some of the rice but I don’t want to just go through your kitchen. Do you want me to order or make anything?
No response. Ok. He was probably busy. You rifled through the cabinets. If his office was any indicator there should be at least a few ramyeon packs you could eat and replace. Bingo. You made a spicy prawn one and texted one more time.
YN: I owe you a spicy prawn ramyeon pack. Thanks again for everything. See you tomorrow.
You set the coffee maker for the next day and brush your teeth. You nestled into your new bed complete with one of your new fluffy blankets. You couldn't remember the last time you had your own bedroom. It was before your sister was born. The two of you had always shared a room. And then 7 years ago you started sharing a room with her and your niece. You took a deep breath, feeling as though you were letting 7 years of bullshit go all at once. If only it were all so simple. NEXT CHAPTER @lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan @firefairy1 @cuteipat @sugaslittlekookies @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny
#bts fic#BTS suga#bts scenarios#bts suga x you#suga x you#suga x reader#suga x y/n#yoongi scenarios#bts yoongi#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#bts yoongi x reader#bts fanfction#bts fanfic#bts writing
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give it a chance ⤖ lee minho
❖ genre : college au; roommates au; friends to lovers au
❖ word count : 9,6k.
❖ warning : explicit language, slightly suggestive & mentions of alcohol
❖ summary : you convinced yourself to attend a party in order to prevent Lee Minho from doing stupid things; however it’s not so stupid anymore when your roommate said he needed to tell you something important.
❖ a/n : the continuation of what if we is dedicated to @chaninfused, so *clears throat* this is where I hereby declare that she deserves more than what the entire universe can possibly give her; oh hi furat, this is why I’ve been so cryptic all this time. I know this isn’t much but I want to thank you for tolerating me and letting me be mean to you even though we only started talking for a few months; you’re an incredibly great friend and an amazing writer, don’t ever forget that 🖤
one.
It’s been almost a week since Jisung last talked to Minho (albeit texts and FaceTime) and he wakes up to his best friend roaming around his crusty kitchen, struggling to find a bottle of honey. Seungmin’s mom has been constantly sending them thirty packets of rib soup per week. And Minho thinks the sight of Han Jisung slurping on nothing but distorted rice with pork ribs while stressing over his paper for seven days straight is more tragic than his non-existent love life.
“It’s like you’re trying to turn us into gym rats,” Hyunjin snickers lazily, flinging his bangs away from his face. “You even brought us Tupperwares, are you really expecting us not to order tacos impulsively on study nights?” He’s a little dubious about stuff like this because he can feel the actual horror of only eating chicken breast and string beans just by seeing Chan cooking them up.
Seungmin chucks a piece of lettuce towards his direction, “Don’t you have anything else to do other than complaining?” He knows that when Jisung and Hyunjin decide to order food on study nights, they’re gonna do anything but study.
“Uhm, I actually do,” he replies nonchalantly. “I’m going through Minho’s phone.”
Jisung takes a seat next to him by the counter, propping his head onto his hands, “What’s the point? There’s nothing but cat photos and cat memes...and also Y/N as his background.”
“That angle is hideous, by the way,” Hyunjin comments like the true photography geek he is, which is completely ignored by Minho because he’s too cranky to start a fight at ten in the morning. “But it’s kinda cute for you to do that, so I’m gonna turn a blind eye.”
Jisung asks out of the blue, “Who’s going to BamBam’s party this Sunday? Well, besides the other two-thirds of 3RACHA.”
“I have a midterm on Monday, dumbass,” Seungmin mumbles while washing his vegetables at the sink.
“And I’m sleeping over at Lix’s for a project,” Hyunjin informs him lamely, having no intention to attend another single frat party. At least not BamBam’s frat parties—that guy has the weirdest friends; a chick was so drunk that she thought Hyunjin was her boyfriend and almost tried to make out with him on the dance floor.
Jisung secretly hates going to parties without his friends- no, actually, he never goes to parties without people from his social circle because he dreads the whole introduction part that requires formalities and inevitable awkwardness. But it’s not like that with Minho, ten minutes into their very first conversation and he feels like he’s known him for years.
In short, he will die if Minho doesn’t come to the party. Chan can only chat with him for so long until his DJ duty occurs and Changbin’s probably gonna be too busy doing keg stands to care about his antisocial friend.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Minho gives in while chopping up the chicken breasts and this prompts Jisung to clap happily like a seal for the next twenty seconds as he skips over to the fridge to fetch a water bottle. “But we’re gonna need a ride, I’m not taking my motorbike for some crackhead to puke on it. Ask Chan later when you crash at his place.”
Jisung tosses his head back to take a peek at the clock hanging by the bookshelf, and it reads 10:07 AM. He really should be getting for his class at eleven because traffic sucks but he’s not feeling like sitting through two hours of Park ranting about marketing strategies. “Can’t Y/N just drive us? I don’t think she’d let anyone else take you home when you’re not sober,” he ponders, earning a nod of agreement from both of his roommates.
Just when Minho opens his mouth to brush it off, he stops himself to process the information again and holds back a ‘you’re right’ because he hates letting people know that they’re not wrong. He wouldn’t let anyone drive you home when you’re drunk either. “Her car’s with her dad right now,” he tries to sound casual when three pairs of curious eyes are glued onto his back. “I, uh, sorta had it run into a tree last week.”
“You what? How are you still alive?” Hyunjin’s jaw is on the floor and Seungmin accidentally dumps too much vinegar into his salad while Jisung’s choking on the iced cold water, coughing furiously after into the sleeve of his hoodie. Guess Chan’s gonna have to drive them both. After all, he can never say ‘no’ to J.One.
Minho murmurs, “A dude rear-ended me, fucking idiot.” He finishes marinating the chicken breasts and arranges them nicely onto a tray with aluminum foil on top, pushing it into the preheated oven. “And basically she’s never letting me touch her car again,” he sighs while staring into midair dreamily, flashbacking to last Friday when you immediately Ubered yourself all the way from campus to downtown after picking up his call. All he got was thirty seconds of affection; you made sure that he’s not hurt and the rest was just a monstrous tantrum. He ended up sleeping on the couch that night.
“My my, you two are just like an old married couple,” Hyunjin chuckles lightheartedly and shakes his head, scrolling through the series of texts in amusement, “What even is this? I swear your conversation consists of 60% ‘when are you going home?’, 40% ‘your lunch is here’ and 20% terrible cat memes.”
“We’re roommates,” Minho drags the word through gritted teeth, holding back all the murderous thoughts inside his head because he feels like Hyunjin’s just asking for a death wish. It’s too early for this.
Unexpectedly, Seungmin decides he’s in a pretty good mood today since he aced his OChem pop quiz yesterday; meaning, he’s gonna stick his nose into his friend’s business whenever there’s a chance. “Don’t you guys share a bed too?” he pretends to play dumb only to receive a kick in the shin from the older boy.
“We’re also broke,” Minho cranes his neck tiredly, washing the dirty knife under the tap. “Besides, the heater in the living room sucks.”
“You both even smell the same, it’s getting kinda creepy. Please don’t tell me you guys also share showers to have a light water bill,” Jisung makes a gagging noise and Minho thinks he’s already said too much. His grip on the knife tightens for a split second before letting it drop into the sink. He doesn’t trust himself with anything sharp the moment Hyunjin started this unwanted conversation. He also regrets stealing Changbin’s meal prep recipes to feed his trash friends.
Minho questions callously, “We just use the same shampoo and shower gel, what’s the big deal?” His hands go for the box of oatmeal that Felix left here last time in the cabinet full of random food. He doesn’t get why Seungmin would buy so much groceries like he’s in a pandemic knowing damn well that his idiotic roommates can’t cook for shit.
Hyunjin purses his lips, trying to prove his point, “Don’t you think that it’s weird? You don’t do those things with us.”
“Because none of you would fucking house me when I was on the verge of being homeless!”
“And why is she yelling at you through texts anyway? Bro, there’s like ten missed calls here with at least a hundred ‘where are you?’. Why is she terrorizing you this early in the morning?” Minho immediately snaps out of his semi-angry trance, chest heaving up and down.
“Oh shit,” he facepalms himself. “I promised to pick her up at ten from class, what time is it again?”
“You’re fifteen minutes late, my friend,” Jisung supplies unhelpfully. “It’ll take another ten to arrive at campus, without traffic that is. You’re so dead. D-E-A-D.” It feels weird to hear something correct coming out of Jisung’s mouth (twice in a row) and now Minho wishes he could just whack his friend unconscious on the floor with the new set of microphones that Chan gave him last year for Secret Santa.
“Oh, I left your rice sitting at ‘warm’, by the way,” Minho makes a grab for his biker jacket and helmet on the counter before fleeing out of the apartment with his sneakers half-way tucked in. It’s not even been thirty minutes since they’ve seen each other for the past week and Jisung’s already choked on water, not once, but twice because of Lee Minho. Sometimes he wonders if the universe is telling him that he needs new friends.
two.
“Your boyfriend is late.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss at Yeji while staring at Minho’s contact on your phone anxiously. There’s no reason for you to be; worst-case scenario, you can just take the 0325 home and lock him outside for the night so that he’ll have no choice but to endure Chan’s embarrassing sleeping habits. He wouldn’t even notice either way because he’d be too busy swearing in his sleep to be annoyed.
Yeji puts her hair up into a ponytail after stretching her limbs tiredly. She only has one class today and no choice but to stay on campus for her shift at the café before lunch break. Too bad Woojin can’t cover her today because of midterms. “I’m only speaking facts,” she tells you with a yawn and notices the slight pout on your face. “Hey, don’t be sad just because your stupid boyfriend can’t pick you up. I can call Chaeryeong if you need a ride here and there, she wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m not fucking sad!”
“Y/N, you look more depressed than Ryujin when she got a B+ in calc.” That’s irrelevant, Shin Ryujin already has a GPA booster after signing up for Kim’s stats class, one B+ won’t make it any less sparkly.
You only let out a prolonged sigh after checking your phone for the tenth time in the past half an hour. He isn’t picking up any of your calls, your messages probably can’t even reach him and now you’re sitting at M.I.A Cafe with a cup of plain water after standing outside at the front gate for so long like an idiot. An idiot, who’s hopelessly in love with her roommate- wait what?
Listen, you already know that this is going to happen. It’s awfully inevitable and it’s getting harder and harder as the days pass by because summer is almost here. Meaning, Minho’s gonna move out soon, according to the contract.
Are you sad about that?
Yeah, kinda.
The more you think about it the more you regret your decision that day to let him stay with you. Because now you don’t think you’d be able to sleep without him next to you, hogging the blanket all to himself; you get angsty when he’s not home even if he’s just at dance practice; you’re definitely getting way too used to sharing an earphone with him while you both are dreading your assignments silently at the kitchen counter. And now you’re getting nervous just because he’s thirty minutes late. He’s never late, not even to your Monday Movie Night where you both can pig out and binge-watch the Avatar: The Last Airbender series until you’re sick of it.
Maybe you’re relying on him too much. Hypothetically speaking, it’s not his fault for the damage of your car but you’re just making excuses to be with him. You even set him as your emergency contact. It’s kinda tedious to be your roommate, you realize. All of those things aren’t mandatory and he can simply mind his own business without having to feel obligated because of the ‘roommates’ label yet he’d still choose you, over everything else. Perhaps he’s dealing with his own first world problems and forgot to leave you a message this time.
Yeji inquires breezily, wiping a cup dry with a towel, “Also, are you going to BamBam’s party this weekend?”
“For me to carry your ass home after getting shitfaced and sit through another two-hour lecture from Lia? I’ll pass thank you very much.”
She indicates with a quirk of her perfectly dark brow, “What if I tell you that Minho’s gonna be there?” Now she sounds like she’s the one who’s crushing on Lee Minho and not you. Never knew that your friends can be this creepy but the more you learn… “Jisung just told me he found a plus one aka Mister Celebrity to attend that frat party with, you wouldn’t have the heart to let me be the loner right?” she pouts with her nose scrunched and it reminds you too much of Light Fury so you look away, knowing that you wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance if she kept this up.
“How is that my problem?” you merely roll your eyes, slightly annoyed. “And also, isn’t Jisung supposed to have his marketing class now?”
Yeji doesn’t give a damn about what on Earth Han Jisung is doing with his life so she just brushes your question off. “Would you let Minho drink irresponsibly?”
You nod without hesitation, though it feels wrong coming out of your mouth, “He can do whatever he wants...as long as my carpet remains clean after his hangover.”
“Would you let me drink irresponsibly?”
“The same goes for you,” you tell her monotonously. “And I only picked you up because Lia sounded like she was hyperventilating when you attended that one law brat’s birthday party. Na Jaemin, wasn’t it? Hate that guy, by the way.”
Yeji thinks it’s time for you to open up even more and not despise people that much. Having Lee Minho as your roommate is already a huge step-up but it’s not like there have been any modifications to your routine except the fact that another human being is simply enduring your bitchy ass of a loner. She wants you to be really out there, just not messing with shit like doing keg stands because Seo Changbin is a terrible influence. Woojin once had to drop his shift at the sushi place to drive Jeongin home because Changbin left him hanging on the beanbag chair for a game of beer pong. Jeongin has never gone to another single party since.
“You hate literally everyone!” Yeji’s getting impatient, you can feel it.
“Are you telling me it’s my fault that people are shitty?” you bark, massaging the sides of your temple tiredly. You wish you could just drop the entirety of your current presentation to Yeji because your brain cells are already evaporating one by one into thin air.
She barks back, merely sneering, “C’mon! Y/N, it’s not like you ever have plans for the weekend.”
“But I’m having midterms on Monday, I didn’t spend my time on those notes for nothing.”
She shakes her head at you almost in disapproval. Sure, you’re a coward for backing out on this because BamBam’s no stranger to you. That Thai kid has been hanging out with Chan since middle school and he always offers to buy you coffee whenever you happen to drop by as they’re working on a project together. He’s a nice guy, but you don’t know him that well. Something in your gut is telling you that he has weird friends (he totally does). And you’re not about to overdrink only to blurt out an awful confession to Minho while being surrounded by a bunch of crackheads that aren’t in your social sphere.
“I heard kids are vapi-” Yeji stops herself, thinking she should just give up, and get ready for the next batch of sleep-deprived customers coming in at lunch break before Jeongin chucks an avocado at her direction for chit-chatting too much about your gigantic crush on Minho. “Nevermind, it’s not like you’d care anyway, have fun with reviewing I guess.” And with that, she leaves you alone with the cup of plain water to dump the used coffee grounds in the trash.
It takes you at least ten seconds to comprehend what she just said. And you’ve come up with a new yet very last-minute decision: screw midterm because you’re making sure that Lee Minho’s going home in one piece.
Very timely, your phone buzzes on the wooden counter.
[10:38 AM]
lino | hey you still on campus?
three.
The blush scattered across your cheekbones just grows ten shades darker when you see Minho at the front gate leaning against his black Kawasaki; disheveled hair, hands stuffed inside his pockets, occasional puffs of smoke escaping his lips, and unbothered gaze. You’ve never told him this, you’re not telling him this now, and you’re never gonna tell him; but he looks stupidly good in that biker jacket. Again, you don’t get how someone can look this good early in the morning.
“What are you doing here?” you murmur grimly, approaching him from behind. It feels like he’s doing this to your heart on purpose, without even trying. And those girls over there are making you very uncomfortable by eyeing your roommate up and down like he’s an expensive piece of steak with a gold leaf sticking to it.
Minho turns sideways and flashes you a smile; your little heart just did a perfect cartwheel because of that, it can only take so much. “Sorry, I kinda lost track of time, but I still promised to pick you up, didn’t I?” he says casually as your face morphs into a deep frown because you’re basically confused. The only problem is: you don’t even know why you’re confused. There’s this fluttering feeling at the pit of your stomach and now you feel as though someone just gives you a blow to the head when Minho looks straight into your eyes, brows slightly knitted together.
This is not healthy.
“You didn’t answer my calls or my texts.”
Minho thinks you look cuter than usual when you’re silently fuming because you’re not the type to lash out on people. But it’s not so cute anymore when you threatened to flush his AirPods down the toilet that one time when he spilled ketchup on your carpet. He just hopes he doesn’t end up sleeping on the couch tonight like last time.
“I put my phone on silent, as always,” he reminds you of how much of a pain in the ass it is to receive a call-back or a simple reply from him.
You make a face, “Whatever, didn’t I tell you not to make a scene? Have you seen those chicks back there? They’re watching me as if I’m sabotaging their dreams of eating you alive.” Well, you can’t exactly blame your roommate for having girls gushing over him wherever he goes because...it’s his fault for looking like a snack all the time.
Minho quickly detects how you’re not overly fond of his admirers and needless to say, he’s fairly amused. “Then let them,” he puts an arm over your shoulders and pulls you flushed against him, ruffling your hair. Moments later, you’re already hearing scandalous gasps along with hushed whispers going through your eardrums like a never-ending train. It’s really setting your nerves on fire.
“Don’t you think that this is weird?”
“What?” Now it’s Minho who’s confused here.
You slightly push him away and avert your gaze elsewhere to avoid eye contact. “We’re roommates, right?” you mumble, slightly unsure about...all of this.
“Hmm, what about it?”
“Well, I don’t know…” you fiddle with the hem of your jacket and sigh. “What if people keep getting the wrong idea about us?” You sound somewhat regretful as if your decision of taking him in as your roommate was a mistake, as if you feel like it’s better off if he wasn’t in your life at all, as if the past month was completely meaningless. Since when did things become this complicated? It started with a harmless one-month contract and now Minho’s not sure of what he should do next. But that’s not it, is it? Maybe he’s just overthinking too much.
He looks hesitant for a moment there, very not-Lee-Minho of him. “We’re still cool right?” Minho tilts his head to the side, the afternoon sunlight slips through fluffs of white clouds and brings the constellations in his warm brown eyes to life. Though he looks like a scolded child, you can’t help but want to put this moment into a frame and simply cherish it for the rest of your life.
“Beats me,” you breathe out, silently hating yourself for not being able to get angry at him. It’s harder than you thought, really, and it doesn’t help when his eyes keep doing that thing to your poor little heart. “Make me pasta and we’re good,” you end up chuckling when Minho’s expression turns a solid three hundred and sixty at the offer.
“That’s not a very smart move for a business major, your loss,” he replies with a goofy smile, tossing the helmet that he got you yesterday in your direction. And if you pay attention enough, you can almost see Minho exhaling out of relief. But you’re too busy staring at the ground to douse yourself in your own giddiness to notice. “Oh crap, I think I left my wallet at Hyunjin’s,” he tells you after swinging a leg over on his shiny vehicle.
You narrow your eyes at him, “You don’t need your wallet to make me pasta now do you?”
“By the way, are you going to BamBam’s party?”
“Only if you’re going,” you scratch the bridge of your nose with your ring finger, a little embarrassed to admit that he’s the only reason why you’re ditching midterms.
Minho’s hearty laugh fills your eardrums, shit-eating grin and all. “If it makes you feel better, Chan’s driving us,” he voices without looking at you, but your chest still swells either way.
You fucking hate how you have the softest spot for him.
four.
You’re already regretting this although you’ve only been sitting in Chan’s back seats for less than twenty minutes. Crankiness takes over your body as a result of reviewing for the whole afternoon, your eyelids are getting droopy, and your head seems to be all too big for your neck at this rate. More reasons for you to not drink tonight.
“Ugh, why am I even here?” you groan, and Jisung scrunches his nose, slightly alarmed because you’re not usually this loud unless you’re high on caffeine.
Minho tells you in the most lighthearted way possible, “Because you love me.”
You wish you could just put his head through a wall because everything and anything coming out of his mouth are never healthy for your mind, or heart. “Uhm, no I don’t.”
“But you did confess your love to me,” he singsongs as if he just hit a jackpot with his lottery ticket, angling his head to toss you a wink. “I have receipts, ma’am. They’re right here, in my heart.” Minho’s never seen you so giddy before so he recorded everything, but he’s not planning on putting himself on a chopping block by telling you that.
You shove his arm and purse your lips, flaming cheeks but the car’s too dark for him to see it. “I was sick, asshole, I talk shit more when I have a fever than when I’m drunk,” you defend yourself helplessly, not enjoying the fact that he had to bring it up when you’re in a confined space with Seo Changbin and Han Jisung.
“Minho doesn’t like it when Y/N raises her voice.” Great, now he’s talking in third person.
“What are you even? Four?”
He winks at you, “Baby me, baby.”
“Oh my god shut the fuck up and get away from me!”
“You’ll never get rid of me, baby.” Eventually, you give up because you’re too mentally exhausted and there’s still a long night ahead of you. You’re not wasting your energy in pointless arguments with him because you both yell at each other on a daily basis anyway.
“Maybe he’ll zip it if you tell him that you love him,” Jisung suggests innocently with a not-so-innocent look on his face. He’s already acting dumb when he’s this fucking sober so you’re not looking forward to two hours later when vodka’s practically replaced his own blood.
“I’d rather chew off my own foot.” Changbin snorts involuntarily at your stiff remark, Chan mutters a small ‘ouch’ while Jisung’s too busy laughing his ass off. And a demeaning silence descends after that.
Minho’s right next to you, oddly unresponsive to the situation, his head leaning against your shoulder as he gazes dejectedly out the window. You don’t see how stormy his eyes are. He also misses his motorcycle tremendously because Chan’s the safest (slowest) driver to ever exist. No joke, if he keeps going at the pace of thirty miles per hour then you should just skip the party and watch a movie while getting drunk at his place altogether.
“Can you go any fucking slower?”
“Excuse me?” Chan laughs in disbelief, he’s a little offended because he personally thinks he’s a good driver, maybe a little bit too obedient when it comes to the law. Hey, at least you know you’re in good hands. “I’m not trying to get us all killed before BamBam could poison one of you guys.”
Jisung purses his lips as he’s reminded of the last party where he ran into that Thai dude. He gave him a plastic cup, telling him that it’s merely a harmless fruity vodka only for Jisung to get kicked out by an Uber driver after throwing up in the back seats. Turns out, the lemons and oranges in the cocktail were relatively spoilt.
“I’m gonna die from boredom before we could even get into a car accident,” Minho informs him unconstructively, staring at some random notifications from Instagram of people commenting on his cats’ photos, text messages from his mom and swipes them all away. Mostly to chuckle to himself like a moron because of his lock screen. Yes, your stupid face is still on there after three weeks and you don’t know if you should be crying or laughing.
Chan narrows his eyes at the rear-view mirror, “It seems like you’re entertaining yourself just fine by looking at Y/N’s face.”
“This photo does make me laugh because it’s priceless,” the younger boy states without turning his head to look at you. “But still, bored.”
The car grows silent again soon after because Chan’s already been stressed out enough from traffic since clearly, people can’t drive to save their own lives. But it’s not like your friends can keep their mouths shut for the rest of the trip anyway.
“Boreddd,” Minho voices randomly while a J.One’s song is blasting through the speaker. It’s a terribly soft song and it doesn’t help when Minho feels like he can downright sleep through an earthquake, potentially falling into an enormous crack on the Earth’s surface and still being able to nap like there’s no tomorrow. He’s just glad that Jisung grew out of ‘Wow’ and embraces his awkward self through his own music. It’s..sentimental but what’s a J.One song without that element?
Changbin looks up from his phone for half a second, wholly uninterested. “Then shut up and sleep,” he says expressionlessly. Very timely, his most recent track comes up next on the playlist and he starts rapping along with it. Minho thinks he can really use a good eye shut as SpearB is performing live right behind him because Changbin can only stay sober like this for so long until he gets his hands on one of BamBam’s sketchy-looking concoctions.
You’re starting to get bored too at this rate because usually, during times like this when the car is filled with nothing but music and everyone (except for the driver) feels like they’re falling into a food coma, a certain idiot will—
“Y/N, don’t you have a midterm on Monday?” Ah, there it is.
Jisung bends himself forward and drapes an arm over the leather seat, scrunching his nose at the sight of Minho sleeping soundly against your shoulder. He’s still bitter about the fact that Minho refuses to drive anyone other than you with his motorcycle for some reason. Exclusive things are always so annoying.
You exhale deeply because Jisung reminds you of that one kid who always asks questions that stress the hell out of the teachers back in high school. Would it kill for him to just shut up once in a while?
“I do, and I haven’t got a wink of sleep since yesterday afternoon,” you tell him rather lazily, shifting when Minho snuggles himself closer to you, his hair tickling your jawline. You pray he doesn’t know how fast your heart is beating. “A little alcohol might spare me a night of crying myself to sleep.”
Jisung lets his bottom lip stuck out like he’s a fucking five-year-old not allowed to get his favorite ice-cream flavor. “Aww, you should have asked Minho for cuddles then, pretty sure he’d be more than happy to—,” he remarks sarcastically and you wish you could just throw him in the middle of an intersection. He’s lucky because Minho’s a heavy sleeper or he would have been knocked senseless or something. The last thing Chan needs is being forced to pull over for having wild animals wrestle the shit out of each other in his vehicle.
“Hey, fuck off,” you snarl at him, knowing you should have chosen the passenger seat instead. That way, you wouldn’t be fuming inside because you can’t physically strangle Han Jisung to his imminent death. He has already tattooed that image into the back of your brain and you swear you’ve never heard a creepier chuckle from your friend.
Jisung notices the coral tint on your cheeks and sneers, leaning back against his seat. “Yeah right, as if you’re actually gonna get drunk,” he says snarkily. “You’re just gonna be there to prevent Lee Minho from making bad decisions.”
“I decided to come because Yeji wanted me-“
“Yeji who? In what world will you have time for her when you’re too busy staring at Minho like a total creep? Wanna bet ten bucks?”
That’s bullshit because Lee Minho is already your entire world.
Chan butts in, “Make that fifty.”
Changbin raises his hand, “I’d bet my Tesla.” Your friends really spelled out ‘a bunch of fucking clowns’ in bold, gigantic capital letters and you’re this close to facepalm yourself against Chan’s steering wheel. This is why you don’t go to parties with them that often because you’re stuck with cleanup duties with Seungmin until these crackheads grow out of their amateur drinking habits.
“You’re just jealous because he would rather call you an Uber than give you a lift himself,” you say pointedly and Jisung lets out the loudest, most scandalous gasp. So dramatic.
“You,” he jabs a finger at you, eyes wide in accusation. “Need a nap.”
You laugh dryly, ignoring the urge to snap a picture of his flabbergasted expression and turn it into a new meme for your group chat. “You don’t say, Han, you don’t say.”
And Changbin rolls his eyes over the moon, vividly picturing where this disastrous conversation is gonna go. Basically, he wants you to get shitfaced as soon as you step foot into BamBam’s house so he’ll have a sappy, drunk confession video to toss on Twitter tonight because Woojin just posted a picture of him with a drumstick dipped inside a glass of what looks like a watered-down Margarita. He’s highly concerned since there hasn’t been anything juicy on his feed other than his friends creeping people out with their questionable content.
“If you two don’t end up getting drunk and kiss, I’m gonna be pissed,” Changbin says casually as if it’s just an afterthought. This prompts you to chuck your phone in his direction—you can care less about your screen protector at this point if it means stopping him from taunting you further.
He asserts like a snake, “Hey, remember that time where you tripped over Kkami and totally crushed Minho under your weight?”
“I blame gravity for that.”
“But Albert Einstein said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”
“Who cares about Albert Einstein?!” you whisper-shout harshly, cautiously eyeing Minho’s sleeping figure. He scrunches his nose and murmurs something that you can’t quite hear before turning over to face you completely. His arms unexpectedly slip underneath yours like second nature. He furrows his eyebrows occasionally, other times he’d be grinning like an idiot and his lips are slightly agape, full eyelashes framing his eyes beautifully. Sometimes you wonder how weird his dreams are whenever you caught him talking (and cursing) in his slumber.
Changbin wants to pry aloud when you start staring at Minho for too long; he might as well be tossed on the freeway at this point before exasperation squeezes the little amount of oxygen left out of his chest. This is worse than Hyunjin’s terrible rom coms. He props his head onto his hand in boredom as Chan pulls over and turns off the engine. “Hey we’re here, why not wake your prince up with a kiss—”
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” you threaten.
Now there are two distasteful tattoos at the back of your head. And you will not hesitate for a heartbeat sacrificing the entirety of your bank account to get them removed. To get Lee Minho removed from your mind.
If only it were that easy.
“Mhmm,” the figure beside you lets out a low grunt and hugs your arm closer instinctively. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your denim jacket and sets your heart on fire. You’re ready to flick his forehead any second now to interrupt his slumber but before you could even do anything, Seo Changbin aggressively opens the door and you widen your eyes in horror. Where the fuck did he get a megaphone? And what for?
“Bitch wake up! Those drinks aren’t gonna finish themselves!”
It’d be a miracle if you ended up finding him alive by dawn.
five.
“Y/N you ass, give it back!
“No, we’ve only been here for three hours and this is your fifth cup already,” you tell her in a mildly serious tone before dumping her cup of whatever the fuck of a yellow substance that Ryujin gave her ten minutes ago into the sink.
Yeji plops herself onto the sofa in the living room after you drag her out of the kitchen where people are making out on the marble counter. Glad to see nothing’s changed...idiots. “God, you’re such a party pooper, I shouldn’t have told you to come,” she complains in between small hiccups, alcohol tinting her cheeks beet red.
“I’m here to save your ass and this is how you’re repaying me?” Your question didn’t come out as coherent and threatening as you imagined and every single cell inside your body is shaking for no specific reason.
Your friend narrows her eyes down into a mere glare like a detective in those crimes shows that you spend way too much time on and you’re debating whether you should be laughing or pissing yourself. She fucking knows that you’re lying. She fucking knows the sole reason for you to be here. “Give me a break, it’s not like you’re doing anything besides staring at your boyfriend from afar,” Yeji scoffs dejectedly.
“God forbids ‘Lee Minho’ and ‘my boyfriend’ go in the same sentence,” you grit, subconsciously averting your gaze around the living room to spot your roommate. All he’s been doing is being held back by Chan when he tried to murder Changbin once, catching up with his old friends from high school and hanging out with some of his classmates, ranting about how much he dreads Kim’s eight AM, gushing with Hyunjin over some senior’s choreography set. By the looks of it, Jisung must have handed him at least seven of those red party cups from the bar—thanks to BamBam who keeps restocking them every hour.
Yeji chuckles creepily when the alcohol finally hits her hard, you think you just got chills by the way that she’s leaning closer. “Of course not,” she hiccups into your ear, words slurred, “Lee Minho’s not my boyfriend, he’s your boyfriend.” You look at her in the eye, and mentally regret your life choices. How insufferable.
“I mean, seriously,” she slams her body back onto the couch and groans; you can’t tell if it’s out of frustration or the cushion is too soft for her back. “It’s like you’re living the life of the main protagonist in a Harry Styles fanfiction! Do you know how many girls and boys would kill to live in the same apartment as that?” Her index finger is pointed directly at the person you’ve been watching and avoiding all night, across the room with a dart in his hand as he stands in front of the dartboard.
“Were you aiming for the board or were you plotting to kill me? Because I can’t tell! I-can’t-fucking-tell!” Changbin shouts over the music and you momentarily cringe at the crack in his voice; it’s never a college party without one of your friends riling each other up over the dumbest things. And also, who thinks it’s a good idea to lend an unstable Lee Minho a sharp object of any kind?
You look away as heat flares through your nostrils when Minho accidentally glances at you after laughing at some corny joke that Chan made. He’s more than mildly hammered right now, you suppose, because, well, Chan can only make people laugh when they’re exceptionally drunk.
A stupid question then slips out of your lips. “With what?” It sounds like you only have one brain cell and are perpetually dumb. It makes you feel even dumber when there’s nothing but a can of Coke inside your body.
“A hottie who dances, cooks, has a good sense of humor, lowkey a genius, highkey a tsundere, shares a name with a famous actor. Far more handsome than the actor himself, if I dare.” Yeji has no hesitation whatsoever naming every reason as to why people on campus shamelessly throw themselves at your roommate on a daily basis. And now your head grows ten times fuzzier, floating mundanely in the clouds above. Basically, you feel like you’re drunk—except your confidence isn’t sky high enough to do something stupid—which makes no absolute sense.
The silver-haired girl next to you puts an arm around your neck and giggles, you’re highly perturbed that her vocal cords are gonna give in tomorrow when she convinces you through FaceTime that you should be extra careful with your notes since she won’t be showing up to class. “Oh! And he has three cats, right? Cat people are said to be more intuitive and thoughtful, that’s a bonus,” Yeji asserts and your jaw is on the floor at this rate. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance during lunch break and she already knows this much?
No wonder Minho never talked about his cats with Felix and Seungmin again.
“I bet you read that off a Buzzfeed article.”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong!”
You inhale and exhale deeply, linking your fingers together, “Yeah, but that’s all people will ever see.”
“Well, what else can they like about him?”
“I don’t know,” you say bluntly, but the rouge on your cheeks is anything but ‘blunt’. “They don’t see how stuck-up he is, how he loves hogging the blanket all to himself, how he secretly stocks up a stash of trashy snacks. They don’t see the way his eyes sparkle when he looks into their eyes during a conversation because he’s actually a very attentive listener.”
Yeji pats your back without turning her head, slightly amused, “I think you meant how he looks into your eyes during a conversation.”
Your eyes scan the room one more time to find Minho hugging his stomach from laughing too much, there are actual tears in his eyes because Changbin just lost a bet and apparently he has to belly flop himself into the pool as a punishment. You haven’t seen him this happy in a while, even when he’s potentially dying from a really bad stomachache but it still puts your heart at ease knowing he’s having fun tonight.
Needless to say, he always knocks the breath right out of your lungs without much effort. Even when he’s ditched the leather jacket and ripped jeans, you still think no one looks better than him in a large t-shirt and sweatpants.
“But I don’t get it,” Yeji looks over at you this time, real carefully because your tone just grows firmer and more serious. “How can he just stand there, laugh...and look so beautiful?”
“I told you—”
“Yeah that’s exactly what I need to hear right now, Yeji,” you facepalm almost immediately, highly disappointed in yourself.
Jisung’s getting his ten dollars on Monday when you surprise him with two slices of cheesecake from his favorite dessert place. Changbin can keep his Tesla and Chan...Chan isn’t getting anything.
You push yourself off the blue velvet couch and groan, you’re getting sore quickly because the cushions are far too soft. “Let me get some fresh air, I feel like I’m gonna to lose my mind,” you tell your friend but you doubt that she caught it since the music is all too loud for students to communicate properly. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why fistfights during parties are a thing.
“Uhm, wait,” Yeji tugs onto your sleeve and jerks her head towards the direction of Minho. “I’m sorry but what the hell does your boyfriend want now?”
“Huh where—“
Like..three feet away. Or a whole lot closer.
“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” And you find Minho standing in front of you with his arms crossed stubbornly, eyebrows knitted together and tinted pink cheeks. He looks a little pissed off, and you don’t think you’re both on the same page here.
When you give him a ‘what do you mean’ look, your roommate feels the need to unlock his phone and jab his index finger against his poor crusty screen as he shows you at least fifty messages that he’s been spamming in the last half an hour. This reminds you of the yellow Post-It note that Minho violently smacked onto your fridge the very night when he first moved in.
‘I hereby fucking declare that if we did end up going to the same party (doubt btw), we would keep our phones with us 25/8 so one can save the other’s ass from stupid decisions— lee minho’ he wrote. Minho knows all too well the only ass that needs to be saved is his. And you’ve thought about taking the note down several times but you don’t think you’d have the heart to.
“Oh,” your head draws a blank canvas and you look for your phone in your pocket. But then, “I left my phone in Chan’s car.”
Minho rolls his eyes at you and decides that he’s too impatient to wait for Chan to sober up and remember where he left his keys. “Whatever,” he manages to crack a small smile, one that shines through the dimmed LED light on the ceiling and makes your heart stuck in your throat. “Let’s get out of here, I have something to tell you.”
“Hey hey hey,” Yeji tries to get up from the couch but her limbs are too wobbly. “You can’t just tap out all of a sudden and steal her from me like that. Don’t even think for a minute you second rate—”
“Yeah, no, she’s mine.”
You’re downright baffled. But you’re not sure if it’s because of what he said ten seconds ago and your heart is going haywire, your brain cells are giving in on you or it’s because he’s tugging you by the wrist and piloting you through the impending chaos of sloppy college students.
You’re not sure if you want to know. You’re not sure if you’re ready.
six.
Fall arrives sooner than you thought and it almost makes you miss summer. Though you didn’t really have anything exciting besides an internship that refrained you from living on YouTube for too long.
The evening is oddly cold, but you’ve never had a problem with the tips of your fingers growing chilly. It’s different tonight—it’s the kind of coldness that slips through your flesh and into your bones, coming in contact with the thumping force of your heart, causing it to shiver. There’s nothing to do but keep your gaze straight forward, your feet moving on their own with the one and only goal of heading home. Clouds with the murky color of wet ashes pass by, and the ground as its dank reflection—a reminder of how humanity is ruining the planet.
The streets are so quiet and tranquil; you’re afraid that Minho might be able to hear your heartbeat. Now you’re pointing a finger at society in accusation because it’s the weekend yet no elder couples are taking their night strolls, no middle-aged ladies in fluffy jackets are walking their spoiled teacups dogs and no wasted college students are roaming the streets with ‘trouble’ spelled out on their forehead. Really, you’d rather stare at people in a creepy way and zone out than constantly thinking about Lee Minho when he’s right beside you.
This is terribly suffocating and you don’t think if you can keep this up in the next thirty minutes until both of you get home and melt into the comfort of your bed.
“Sober up, Mister Celebrity, that’s too much fun for tonight.” Minho winces slightly when you press a can of cold green tea against his cheeks as he’s about to doze off on the wooden bench next to the vending machine. While he’s taking a swig, you feel a silent obligation to take a seat but your eyes are determinedly fixed on the curb.
The bench suddenly feels far too big and the night breeze is far too cold for Minho’s liking, so he shifts his body closer, fingers brushing over yours and sending electricity down your spine. “What do you mean?” he scoffs, finding it hard to not look at you so his gaze is temporarily glued onto the can of green tea in his palms. “Tonight was nothing compared to Jisung’s birthday.” He can still feel the remaining warmth from your hands, it makes him wonder how it’d feel to actually hold them.
“Ugh, god,” you shake your head in disbelief, internally cringing. “Don’t even remind me.”
You still don’t know what Hyunjin fed him that day to the point he couldn’t remember what happened. All hell broke loose Felix posted a video of him pretending to be a stupid ostrich and trying to do a mating dance towards Jisung on Twitter. No one dares to talk about that scarred video since. Now that he’s reminded you of it, you wish you didn’t own brain cells in the first place. This is why the internet is scary.
“What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?”
Minho stops for a second at your question and places his beverage down on the bench. He stares distantly at the space ahead as if he’s fighting with himself inside his own head, seriously contemplating something. It’s come to your attention that this isn’t very like his usual self. Minho never hesitates for a second when he has something in mind. Even when he knows that you might rip his head off.
He exhales deeply, turns his head, and makes direct eye contact with you for what seems like an eternity. His eyes are as wide open and honest as a child’s, they possess something so much more the longer you stare at them. A warmth, safety. Your heart is gonna combust if he doesn’t get this over with soon.
Then, “I think I forgot to put yeast in the batter.” Wait what?
“Minho!” you punch his arm, earning a low grunt from the blond-haired boy. “Don’t fucking scare me like that!” He’s looking at you as though your eyes are turning red with rage and smoke is coming out of your ears, scared for his own life but truthfully, you’re just relieved. Surprisingly.
“Wait, so you’re not mad?” he asks you with a wide-eyed expression, trying way too hard to keep a straight face. “Aren’t we supposed to bring homemade bread for the get together at the nursing home tomorrow?”
“Old people still enjoy Bingo for some reason, they can have that instead of bread.” His mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he scoots closer to you and you can tell that he reeks off alcohol, which is making you a little dizzy. When your gaze falls elsewhere but Lee Minho, you attempt to appear casual, “But if you wanna bake so badly, I can still pull an all-nighter and start over with you.” That was doable, but you could have done better—should have sounded like you didn’t really care.
Minho flings his bangs away from his face and tosses his head back, chuckling breathlessly. “Don’t you have a midterm to stress over instead of me? I don’t want you to pick out every single strand of hair on your head after baking with me.” He finally said something nice once in a while, you sorta appreciate it. “It’d be embarrassing when my parents FaceTime me and see you as bald as my great grandfather.” Nevermind, he’s still the same old jerk.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you’ll be moving out in two weeks, either way, right?” Your tone sounds sad and grim all of a sudden; it really dampens the atmosphere because Minho is now looking at you with concern laced in his brown eyes. “Look, I get that it’s bothersome to be my roommate so there’s no need to feel bad. I’ll be fine going back to my old life where my feet don’t get cold in the middle of the night because no one would be there to hog the blanket anymore.”
Minho feels the need to clear things up here. “I never said anything about moving out,” he grabs you by the shoulders and hopes you could just look at him when he’s being serious for once. “Y/N, who even said anything about moving out? Was it the landlord?”
“No,“ you say, still not willing to face him directly. You’re such a coward.
“If so, why would I move out? Did I do something wrong? Did I piss you off or something?”
You’re trying so hard not to snap at this point. “No!”
“Then why can’t you just fucking look at me?!”
“You’re still drunk, let me buy you another—“
Minho shakes you forcefully, hoping to knock some common sense into that brain of yours. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not drunk!” he cries helplessly, not caring about the fact that he’s waking up every cat possible in the neighborhood. “Just- just look at me, will you?”
You stubbornly keep your eyes anywhere but him. “Why would I look at your stupid face?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. You’re not usually like this.”
Every single cell inside your body quivers simultaneously when he says so—good god, no, he’s testing you. Minho knows something’s off. Now to think about it again, you’d rather let him dirty your carpet than being put on trial like this.
“You wanna know why I’m acting like this? It’s because of you! You’re making me nervous! It’s your fault for making me feel this way!”
“What?” he blurts, eyes blinking numerous times in disbelief. “What did I ever do to you?”
“God, Minho, you can’t possibly be this dense. Tell me, that you’ve never, not even once, seen me turning beet red when you simply look at me in the eye. Or when you’re just sitting there, laughing your ass off about something stupid. It makes my heart flutter, okay? You make my heart flutter. Do you know how much of an effect you can have on me? You don’t go around juggling with others’ feelings like that,” your voice grows smaller and smaller towards the end until there’s nothing but an oddly comfortable silene floating midair. A sense of relief washes over you; you unknowingly exhale.
Minho stares at you in awe for a moment there, until he also speaks up for himself. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he almost snickers, and this causes you to peel your gaze away from a random bush to gawk at his response. “You’re telling me to not go around juggling with others’ feelings? If anything, you’re the one who keeps messing with my heart. What am I supposed to do? Not get drunk so that I won’t be able to get away for doing dumb things?”
“What dumb things?”
“I don’t know, kiss you?”
“Fuck, you can’t get away with it this time now, can you?”
You’re already regretting this and there’s no turning back. Because when Minho subconsciously runs his tongue over his bottom lips, you’re already fighting the rouge spreading on your cheekbones. He shortens the distance between your heads until your lips are practically a breath away from his. Impatient, you grab a fistful of his shirt to smash your lips against his. Minho stays frozen for a nanosecond, taken aback by your boldness before pulling you closer by the waist. You’re hesitant at first, but he guides you through it, telling you that it’s okay by embracing you more tightly. Dear god, Minho’s kissing you and the world just falls away. It’s slow, comforting in ways that words can never be. He slackens his jaw to deepen the kiss, smiling into it when giddiness bubbles up inside his stomach.
The world still feels like it’s spinning when he parts away, an alcoholic taste mixed with the green tea ghosts your lips, and your face grows ten times hotter. Even in this cracked darkness, Minho sees you blush hard and is fully aware that his cheeks are mirroring yours—he doesn’t even bother to convince himself that it’s from the alcohol, because it isn’t.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Minho questions though his breath is still a bit shaky from the kiss. He really didn’t lie when he said that he could never stop bothering you.
You can’t help but smile at him brightly; this causes his heartbeat to spike inside his chest. “Well, do I have to?” He shakes his head and stares down at your hands until he musters up every strand of courage left to finally intertwine them with his own. Fits like a glove.
“Come on, let’s go home,” he tells you softly, eyes crinkling into a pretty crescent moon shape. But you stop him right there when he attempts to stand up and wordlessly lean your forehead against his. Minho understands that you simply need a moment so you both hover right there, simply melting into each other’s touch. But what you say next just makes the ignited passion inside his heart flare-up. He’s at a loss for words, utterly speechless.
“I am home.”
“Welcome home then, Y/N,” Minho whispers.
Everything feels like a dream that you’d never want to wake up from. His hands are clasped on either side of your face, resting just below the lobes of your ears. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks so that you won’t drift away, your breaths mingling. Never before has your own name made your heart flutter. But you guess it’s only because Minho said it. You do know that it’s not an afterthought, nor out of impulse. It’s a promise, for whatever’s coming your way on this path, he’s never gonna leave you behind. And the moment he feels that thing beating inside his chest is in sync with yours, he slowly leans in again.
Albert Einstein once said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love. And you have every right to argue with him in the afterlife because you’ve confirmed that Minho is your gravity. Gravity keeps you grounded, always get a hold of you so that you won’t ever have to wander off too far away. It’s there for you but it doesn’t have to act like it cares. Minho’s kinda like that too—he picked you up every time you said you’re good walking home, he only stocked up the stash of candies to secretly feed your midnight cravings. They only differ so much where his heartbeat for you is loud, undaunted and he loves you fearlessly; nothing shall meddle with his feelings for you as long as the way your eyes light up when they meet his doesn’t change.
Before you met Minho, you didn’t know that it was possible to just look at someone and smile for no reason. The way his lips curl up when he smiles, his sarcastic remarks, his kindhearted nature though he’s awfully good at hiding it. That’s what people do when they’re in love, they say—to fawn over the littlest things but they’re what makes you fall so hard for him. But as time passes by, you’ve learned that it’s actually quite nice to be in love with someone. Because then, you get to spend your time and effort on their happiness as well, not just your own. In exchange, that person is capable of bringing colors to your dull world, tearing down your walls, and showing you just how beautiful life can be. Surely, Minho might not stay by your side forever in this crazy game of Monopoly but you’d risk it all for him even if the sky comes crashing and the universe turns upside down.
After all, you can’t love alone.
#stayshub#skzwritersclub#stray kids lee know#stray kids scenarios#lee know imagines#stray kids imagines#lee know scenarios#stray kids minho#minho roommate au#minho college au#lino fic#lee minho#lee know#college au#roommate au
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I wish you were here
A/N: This was requested. I thought about making this a fluff piece, but had a change of heart and re-wrote half of it. I just have a thing for Freddie, and not going to apologize for it ;)
Also I am really bad at coming up with titles
Summary: After a stressful couple of weeks apart Fred surprises you.
Warnings: Smut, swearing, NSFW
“Hey babe” you mumble into the phone. You look to your clock on your bedside table 4:17 is illuminated on the screen.
“Hey how’s it going?” he asks as you rub your eyes open.
“Good, just lying in bed” you say yawning.
“You sound tired” he says through the phone.
“Yeah most people are at 4am” you joke.
“Oh shoot. I’m sorry babe I didn’t even realize. Why did you answer?”
“We have been pretty busy, haven’t had much time to chat” you explain.
Fred returned to Denmark almost 8 weeks ago and you weren’t able to go with him due to the pandemic. You don’t have enough vacation days left; you would only have a couple days in Denmark.
You had only started dating in January, and when the NHL paused in March Fred tried to return to Denmark but the borders had closed prior to the pause. When Auston offered for Fred to quarantine in Arizona, Fred asked your thoughts on it.
If he stayed you would have to quarantine together otherwise you wouldn’t get to see him at all. That would have meant after only being together for 7 weeks you would temporarily move into his condo, and spend every second together for who knew how long. Neither of you really wanted to do that, it would be a lot of pressure on a new relationship so he opted to go to Arizona.
You hadn’t talked about labels, and didn’t know what to expect. While he was gone Fred would facetime with you once or twice a week, and you exchanged texts almost daily. He constantly complained about Auston’s terrible taste in TV shows, you complained about your roommate’s terrible attempt at baking.
You didn’t anticipate being in contact with Fred that much, but he always carved time to talk with you, he even sent you flowers a couple times and ordered you dinner from your favourite restaurant. Neither of you thought it would be almost 3 months before Fred would return to Canada.
But when he finally did, you were the first person he saw. You had just over 3 weeks together before he had to enter the bubble, and you spent much of that time together. It was so nice to have Fred back, cuddled up on the couch relaxing with him. When you finally saw him you melted into his touch, and your relationship felt like it had been catapulted forward instead of back even with the time apart.
When he went into the bubble, you didn’t expect to see him again until September, you wanted to see him but you hoped it would be three months, but it ended up being less than three weeks. He carried so much of the strain of that loss on himself, and you tried to tell him it was a team effort. The weight isn’t his alone, but the media and a lot of the fans had a different opinion. Everyone was calling for him to be traded, if the disappointing end to the season wasn’t enough that didn’t help.
He spent a couple weeks back in Toronto, but you could tell he was defeated and needed to get out. He needed to get away from the media, the rumours and spend time relaxing with his family. Fred tried to fight you on it, he wanted to stay and spend time with you. Obviously you did too, but you knew he needed this.
When he left the NHL had hoped on a December start to the season, meaning Fred would be coming back in October or early November. But as the date for the season got pushed so did his return date. You had some late nights at work, and with the time change it made it hard to talk all the time, so when you had the opportunity you took it. Leading you to this 4am phone call on a Saturday morning.
“Go back to bed skat, we can talk later” Fred says into the phone.
“No Freddie, we barely talked this week. Now that I have you on the phone I don’t want to hang up” you whine causing Fred to laugh.
“Okay, but if you get too tired Kære let me know. I don’t have any plans today so we can talk later.”
”I’m just going to make some coffee” you say getting out of bed and heading to your kitchen. ”I only planned on getting some groceries later so I can take a nap later if i want.” You start scooping the beans into the coffee maker, opting for a large pot due to the time.
”Wish I was there for your nap” Fred says to you.
”Mmm same. You are perfect for napping with” you respond.
”Oh yeah, why’s that?”
”Because you are perfect for cuddling with. I just fit perfectly in your arms, and you are like a pillow and a blanket in one.”
Fred laughs into the phone “you just use me for my body eh?”
“Well can you blame me?” you joke walking back to your bed with your mug in hand. “No I don’t actually, I mean it’s definitely nice –“
“Nice? My body is nice? That’s what you use to describe a haircut” he jokes.
“Obviously it’s much better than nice. I just meant it’s nice that you have that body, but I wouldn’t care if you didn’t. That’s not why I’m with you though.”
“Obviously not if you just think it’s nice” he mumbles jokingly. “How was your week?”
“It was so long, I had to stay late almost every night, and there was 3 nights I didn’t leave until after 9. My boss actually wanted me to work today but I had to say no. I felt like I was getting sick from lack of sleep, so it’s nice to have the weekend off.”
“You work so hard you deserve the time off” he says to you.
“Yeah, I have a couple vacation days left, maybe I’ll take a long weekend or something.”
“Yeah you should do that, don’t want to get run down working so much” Fred replies.
“But what would I do? I wouldn’t have enough days to fly to another province. And parts of Ontario are shutting down” you explain.
“Have a staycation, I’m sure a couple days doing nothing would be nice” he replies.
“Yeah I guess” you say.
“So how are my plants doing, kill them yet?”
“Nope, they are still alive, but I should get over there today to water them” you respond.
“When you say alive, do you mean alive and thriving or clinging to life?”
“Uhh, somewhere in the middle” you say causing Fred to laugh.
You continue to talk for another hour; you curl up in your bed wrapped tightly under your duvet. You can feel your eyes getting heavy, but you try to stay awake to talk to him. You are unsuccessful and end up dozing off.
When you return to work on Monday you talked to your boss who approved for you to take Friday and Monday off work, giving you a four day weekend. You are excited for your days off, but you have to get to end of day Thursday. Your week is filled with multiple zoom calls and long days, you are actually surprised your boss is okay with you taking time off.
When Wednesday comes you are completely drained. You had multiple meetings, angry clients and have to finish a project before you take off for the weekend. You were so busy you didn’t even notice you hadn’t had lunch until it was almost 3.
It’s almost 9pm when you walk through your door with some papers and dinner in hand when you hear your phone ring. Your apartment is dark and empty, your roommate away at her parents. You drop everything on your table, answering your phone as you head to your room to change.
“Hello?” you say not even looking at the caller-id, turning on your bedside lamp.
“Hi min kære, how are you?”
“Hey Freddie” you put him on speaker phone to change out of your work clothes. “I’m good, got home not too long ago.”
“Another late day eh?” he asks.
“Yeah I was trying to get my project done before my holidays tomorrow” you explain.
“Finish it?” he asks as you move to the kitchen to start eating dinner.
“Almost, should only take a couple hours tomorrow.” You look to your stove and see the time 9:09 illuminated on the screen. “Fred why are you calling so late; it’s like 3am there.”
“We haven’t talked since the weekend, and you haven’t sent many texts the past couple days” he says lightly.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy with work. I’ve been having late days and have basically gone straight to bed. I also didn’t want to call you so late, I know you had a golfing trip one day” you begin to explain.
“Oh I know babe, you don’t have to explain. I just thought you could use a pick me up” Fred says to you.
“Honestly I would love one. My week has been brutal and it’s only Wednesday. Can’t wait for tomorrow” you say sitting at your table. You didn’t realize how stressed you had been until you sat down and thought about the week. The angry clients and long hours have really taken a toll on you. Stopping to think about things brings a lump to your throat, as you feel your eyes begin to well up.
“(Y/N) you there?” you hear through the phone. You zoned out trying to not cry, you thought you could wait until you got off the phone with Fred to break down. You were wrong, and now you are trying to stifle your tears so Fred doesn’t hear you, but are unsuccessful.
“Skat, what’s wrong?” he asks hearing your quiet sobs through the phone.
“I don’t know” you cry into the phone. “I don’t think I realized how stressed I am, and tired. Just everything. It’s a lot.”
You move to your bed and crawl under your duvet, wrapping yourself tightly into a cocoon. Fred stays on the other end; he doesn’t say anything for a while, letting you cry in silence. After a couple minutes your eyes begin to get heavy, as your sobs have stopped.
“I wish you were here” you say lightly.
“Me too kære” he says. He stays on the line while you lay in bed, not hanging up until he hears your soft breaths through the phone.
“You should go” your boss says poking her head in your office at 3pm. “Start your weekend a couple hours earlier” she says smiling at you.
“You sure? I don’t want –“
“(Y/N) this place won’t fall apart without you, enjoy your time off.” With that your boss walks away, you shut down your computer and grab your jacket. You reach to grab your phone and see the blinking light. You unlock it to a text from Freddie.
F: Don’t forget to water my plants
Y/N: I watered them Monday…
F: That’s 3 days, you trying to kill them? ;)
You laugh at his message. Instead of responding you decide to go to his condo and send him a picture of you watering his plants. You jump in your car and head to his place. You park in the underground lot and make your way to the elevator. You walk down his hall and unlock his door when you hear music playing in the kitchen.
You don’t remember even listening to music when you were last here. Did someone break in? But who breaks in and plays music? You set your bag down and look around not noticing that anything missing or broken. You walk through the living room and hear clattering in the kitchen and panic sets in someone is in here.
If you weren’t so panicked you would have noticed the bag in the living room, and the pair of shoes by the front door. You hear footsteps in the kitchen and turn around to run and hide when you feel hands on your hips.
They spin you around and pull you in tight to their chest and wrap their arms around your back. You go to push yourself off the person when you smell the familiar cologne.
“You’re off early” he mumbles kissing your head.
“Fred?” you whisper in disbelief, looking up at the person in front of you.
Your eyes meet his golden brown eyes, and red hair. You bring your hands up and stroke his beard “what are you doing here?”
Instead of answering you he smiles and kisses you. Your hand tangles into his hair when he pulls back slightly “I missed you” he mumbles against your lips.
“I missed you too” you say smiling. Without warning you jump, Fred catches you and carries you into the kitchen setting you on the counter.
“Can’t believe you’re here” you say pulling him to you for a kiss.
“I know, I didn’t know when I was going to come back but after last night I knew I had to come see you. Hearing you cry broke my heart, but the worst part was not being able to do anything about it.” He brushes a piece of your hair behind you ear “I booked a flight right after you fell asleep.”
He leans in to place a soft kiss on your lips, you snake your hands into his hair, stroking his beard on the way. You pull him closer, locking him in for a passionate kiss. You don’t want to ever be apart from him again, and you groan slightly when Fred pulls away from you.
“I wasn’t expecting you for a little bit longer. I wanted to have dinner ready when you got here to try and salvage the life from my plants” Fred jokes looking over at his wilting plant on his table.
You laugh “yeah sorry about that. I was doing a good job at it, then work got crazy and I didn’t get over here as often as I’d like” you explain to him.
Fred kisses your neck “its fine, I didn’t expect them to be alive” he mumbles.
“Rude” you say turning your neck to allow him more access as he peppers kisses. Fred laughs before walking away from you. He walks over to the cupboard and pulls out two wine glasses and pours you each a glass.
He walks back and hands you a glass, he puts his other hand beside you on the counter.
“When did you get in?” you ask.
“About 2 hours ago” he replies kissing your cheek. “8 weeks is too long to be away from you.” You take a sip from your wine and turn your neck to allow him more access.
Fred runs a hand up your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “We’ve gone longer than that Fred” you whisper.
“Yeah because the border was closed” he whispers kissing your collarbone.
“Wait it’s still closed, how did you get in?” you ask pulling away to look at him.
“I have a Visa to play on the Leafs, it allowed me back in. Should have come back sooner” he mumbles kissing down your neck again. His hands lift your legs; he places his hands under them pulling you closer to him.
“Why didn’t you?” you ask running your hand up and down his biceps as Fred sucks on your neck.
“I’m a stupid man” he mumbles his hands stroking up and down your thighs, nipping on your neck. You moan lightly, placing your wine glass on the counter. Fred moves his hands to the back of your thigh and hoists you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you down the hall to his bedroom.
He kicks his bedroom door open and reaches to the wall to turn on the light. He gently places you on the bed, his mouth attaches to yours as he hovers over top of you. Your hands gently rake through his beard, as his tongue swirls in your mouth. His hand slides up your shirt gently, his thumb pressing circles onto the skin of your stomach.
Fred grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head; he sits up on his knees and removes your pants from you leaving you in your underwear.
“This is nice” Fred says taking in your matching red set, his finger lightly grazes the fabric.
“It’s new” you respond “thought of you when I bought it.”
Fred grins, stroking a finger over your clothed core. He quirks an eyebrow at you when he feels the wetness that has accumulated “it’s been a while” you say smiling at him.
“Let me fix that” he says pulling your underwear down your legs. He lies on his stomach, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He stares into your glistening pussy for a minute; his beard rubs against your thighs his breath makes you quiver.
He finally attaches his tongue to you, licking up your juices. You moan at the contact, his tongue is still dancing outside your folds. He groans at the taste of you, before he pushes his tongue inside you. You throw your head back into the pillow as his tongue slips inside your walls.
He brings his hand up to your clit and begins to press circles into it, as his tongue slowly licks the inside of your walls. Your hands slide down to his shoulder and you squeeze them firmly as he keeps fucking his tongue in and out of you.
“Freddie” you moan as his tongue continues to press deep inside you.
You grip his shoulder and attempt to pull him up to you. You feel Fred chuckle against you, but he doesn’t stop, pressing his thumb harder into your clit.
“Babe” you groan pulling harder on his shirt “I need you.”
Fred pulls back slightly staring at you with eyes dark from lust “you have me smuk” he chuckles. He attaches his lips to your clit and sucks on it, a fuck falls from your lips. Your legs begin to squirm slightly at the feeling.
“Fred…Fred…Fuck…I” you can’t form a coherent thought as he slips two fingers inside you, sucking on your sensitive bud.
His fingers begin to pump in and out of you as he pulls his mouth from you and begins sucking on your hip. He alternates between sucking and biting on your hip. Your hip arches off the bed as he continues to pump his fingers inside you.
“This what you want babe” he asks bringing his other hand to your bra, massaging your breast.
You bring a hand down to his wrist and clamp it. He stops moving his wrist and looks into your eyes.
“I need you Fred, I can’t wait” you say panting. Fred grins and slips his fingers out of you, and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You reach up and grip his neck pulling him down to you. You lock lips with him, your hand slides up and down his firm bicep. Fred slides a hand under your back and unclasps your bra, freeing your breasts.
His firm shirtless body is pressed against you; you can feel his erection straining through the fabric of his clothes. You palm over his pants lightly before sliding your hand around to his back. His mouth leaves you and slides down to your breast and begins sucking on it, he brings a hand up and starts rolling your other nipple through his fingers, pinching it slightly. Your hands slide down his back and reach his sweat pants; you begin to push them down his large thighs.
Fred pulls away and pushes his pants and boxers down his legs and onto the floor. He falls on top of you and returns his mouth to yours; you roll and push him onto his back. You straddle him and begin grinding against his hard cock, desperate to have him inside you.
You hear Fred mumble in Danish as you continue to rock your hips against him. You fall forward kissing Fred, his hand tangles into your hair locking you in a passionate kiss. You reach over to the side table and pull a condom out.
You pull back and tear the foil, sliding it onto his hard member. You give him a few strokes before you rise up and line him up with your entrance. Fred brings his hands to your hips; you slowly start to drop down on him.
“Fuck” you mumble at the feeling of Fred inside of you, your hand goes onto his abs and you brace yourself. Fred is longer than any man you have been with, you had started to get used to his size but then he left to go to Denmark. You know Fred will hit areas nobody has ever hit before, but you just need to adjust.
“You okay smuk?” Fred asks looking up at you.
You keep dropping yourself down on him “yeah” you whine “just been a bit.”
He chuckles pulling your head down to his. You moan at the change of angle before Fred kisses you lightly.
“Don’t worry, take your time. I’m going to get you used to it soon” he smirks kissing you.
You haven’t taken all of him but you rise up and drop down on him. You moan into the kiss, Fred’s hand holding you to him, his other hand rests on your hip. You pull away from the kiss, Fred sucks on your bottom lip as you rise up and drop back down. Fred bottoms out in you, your ass hits against his thighs as you thrust on him.
“Ahh” you moan feeling him hit the deep spot inside you. Fred is still under you allowing you time to set the pace and get comfortable with him. You continue slowly thrusting on him, pushing yourself up. Your hand returns to his abs as you increase the pace.
Fred snaps his hips and pushes in you, as you drop onto him. His hands are on your hip, gripping you tightly as he helps guide you, keeping the slow pace. Your head falls back as you thrust on him; Fred slowly increases the pace under you.
You push into his stomach as your pace increases, rocking your hips against him. You bounce on top of Fred, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. He brings a hand up to your breast, cupping it as you ride him. He rolls your nipple through his fingers, as your nails dig into his firm stomach muscles. Your hand slides down his treasure line, pressing hard into his groin as you feel your high approaching.
“You gonna cum baby?” Fred asks noticing you are chasing your high. He squeezes your breast hard, pinching your nipple in the process. You hum in response unable to form words. Fred releases your breast and slides his hand down to your clit to press circles into it.
“Yeah, cum on me baby. I want to feel you, feel you’re cum drip down me” he says pressing harder into your sensitive bud. His hips snap and the pace is fast, you are a mess on top of him. Sweat is dripping down Fred’s stomach; you can feel it under your hand.
“Fuck Fred” you scream out, your orgasm is close. With every thrust Fred his your g-spot, your skin flapping has filled the room, followed by occasional curse words. You notice Fred becoming erratic under you as you continue bouncing on him.
Your orgasm crashes over you, the most intense one you have had in a while. You clench around him, your walls tighten, and you feel it in your stomach. Your eyes roll back into your head as Fred continues to thrust inside of you. Your juices dripping down his cock.
He strains to keep going, allowing you to finish your orgasm. As you finally come around you feel Fred still under you. You collapse onto his chest, his arms wrap around you. You lie on him, both your breaths slowly return to normal.
A couple minutes later Fred rolls to be on top of you, he kisses you briefly before heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He pulls on his boxers and throws a t-shirt to you. You smile and pull it over your head; Fred climbs into bed and pulls you into his arms.
“I was going to make you dinner, but I think I’m too tired now” Fred jokes, stroking up and down your arm. “You okay with ordering in?”
You look up and into his golden brown eyes “sounds perfect” you respond. Fred leans down and kisses you, wrapping you tightly into his arms.
“So you should spend your long weekend here with me” Fred mumbles against your lips.
You smile and stroke his beard “I don’t plan on leaving; I want to spend as much time with you as possible. When are you heading back to Denmark?” you ask lightly, not really wanting to know the answer.
“I’m not” Fred replies. You look directly into his eyes “not unless you come with me” he says lightly kissing you again.
#Freddie Andersen#fred andersen#frederik andersen fic#frederik andersen smut#freddie andersen smut#freddie andersen fic#fred andersen smut#Fred Andersen Fic#toronto maple leafs#Frederik Andersen#toronto maple leafs fic#toronto maple leafs smut#nhl fic#nhl snut#carolina hurricanes
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Clayton Keller: Part 5
Word count: 2081
I roll over in bed, stretching out my leg to release the tension in the muscle. It hits something hard on the other side of the bed and I shoot up in surprise, instantly regretting it as pain ruptures through my head.
Betsy groans, causing the pain to worsen and she turns towards me, innocently blinking her eyes open.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice husky.
“Bro we got so drunk last night,” she lets out a quiet laugh and I can’t help but wince at that.
Every single noise that is occuring is making my head want to explode.
“I was too wasted to go home so you told me to crash here.”
“Okay, but why are you in my bed?”
She shrugs lazily. “You wanted someone to cuddle with.”
Yep, sounds like me.
She rolls over onto her back, splaying across the bed. She shows no hint of caring when her arm hits my body. “And you started whining because Clayton’s not here so I figured hey, I’m the next best thing.”
I watch her carefully as her eyes flicker back closed. I thought she would tease me about wanting Clayton here but I guess she’s too focused on her intense hangover to do that. I won’t complain about it, though.
Everything in my body is yelling at me to stop as I pull myself to a standing position, stumbling my way into the kitchen. I almost begin to cry at the sunlight streaming through the windows but hold it in, quickly grabbing two bottles of water and some Tylenol.
“Hey, babe.” I get Betsy’s attention quietly as I enter my room again, handing her a water bottle and two pills.
“Give me another.”
I give her another pill before taking three myself, drinking half of the water bottle before deciding it’s enough and laying back down on my bed. I’m just about asleep when my phone vibrates on the bedside table, light illuminating the dark room.
“Turn that shit off,” Betsy mumbles tiredly.
I squint my eyes as closed as they can get before grabbing my phone, turning it on ‘Do Not Disturb’ while catching a glance at the sender of the text. Clayton, of course. I groan from both the light and the absurdity of our situation and Betsy throws a pillow at me to get me to shut up.
I set my phone back down and turn to face her, falling into a nice slumber.
~
I feel better when I wake up but I’m still hungover as hell. I don’t know what I drank last night or how much, but I don’t think that I’ll be doing that for a while.
I feel ridiculous wearing sunglasses into the kitchen but when I spot Betsy making food at the stove with her sunglasses on, I don’t feel so bad.
“I don’t even remember what happened last night,” I murmur, leaning against the counter and staring down at it.
“Well, long story short, you couldn’t stop thinking about the Coyotes game you went to and how you met all of Clayton’s teammates and their partners and shit so you called me to get your mind off of the topic and oh, I did,” she smirks.
It would be more effective without the bulky sunglasses covering half of her face.
“Thanks for the booze, you should bring it to Tyler’s birthday party next week.” The words slip out of her mouth easily.
She just reminded me of another thing to be stressed about. Tyler’s birthday is next week and we celebrate hard every year. It takes months of planning in advance and shit, I forgot to plan it.
“You forgot his birthday didn’t you?” Betsy asks once she sees the look on my face.
I nod, pressing my head into my hands.
“Y/N, it was your turn to plan it! And I reminded you a bunch of times too!”
“You don’t think I know that, Betsy?” I snap. She becomes quiet and I sigh. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, it’s just, shit.”
“You can figure it out,” she reassures me. “You know all he really wants is to hang out with his friends, get drunk, and then get laid.”
“Yeah but I didn’t tell anybody and I didn’t buy any alcohol yet, hell I don’t even know how much money I have for alcohol,” I sigh.
“Ask Clayton to pay you early.” She shrugs.
I don’t respond, my mind racing with all that I have to do. I have to plan this birthday party, my midterms are coming up this week, my sister might be coming to visit me, and oh, yeah, I have to do whatever Clayton wants too.
My mind stops spinning when Betsy sets a bowl down in front of me, taking a seat at the counter beside me.
“Stop worrying, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“I guess so.”
~
My chest burns from lack of oxygen and I glare at Betsy’s car in the back of the parking lot. Why are there so many people at the grocery store in the middle of the day on a Monday? And why did so many people have to park like assholes?
“Hello?” I answer my phone breathlessly as I quickly grab a cart and walk through the store towards the alcohol section. I wanted to grab some booze for Tyler’s party before I had to rush back to campus for class but I don’t know how well that plan is working out.
“Y/N,” the other person lets out a wail and I pull my phone back in confusion, unsure of who it is.
It’s my college roommate from when I was a freshman. We talk once and a while but she’s still as obsessed with her boyfriend now as she was a couple of years ago, something that I can’t really related to.
“What’s wrong, Paige?” I ask, picking up a pack of beer in my free hand and putting it in my cart. I grab another pack and put that in my cart as I wait for her to collect herself.
“He cheated on me!” I have to pull the phone away from my ear as she screams it.
“Andrew cheated on you?” I question, sending her into another fit of sobs. I mentally curse myself out, grabbing a bottle of wine and a bottle of tequila off of the shelf. I decide to go for another bottle of tequila.
“Yeah, I just found the texts with the other girl and she’s gorgeous and she goes to Harvard and-””Here’s the plan, Paige,” I grab a pack of margarita mix, knowing that Paige would appreciate that much more than any other type of alcohol I would grab. Then I grab some more random bottles for Tyler’s party. “I have class soon so I’ll swing around your apartment and cry with you in about two hours. I’m bringing alcohol and I’ll grab some cookies, too.”
I grab the cookies off of the shelf as I pass it, stopping at a cash register and loading the alcohol onto the belt.
The cashier eyes me as the crying on the other end of the line slows down. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you soon.” I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet to get my ID out. “How are you today?”
“I’m good,” the cashier gives me a small smile, checking over my ID to make sure I’m over twenty one. “How are you doing?”
My phone rings instantly as her question ends and I pull it out, letting out a sigh. “Busy. Hello?”
“Why didn’t you answer my texts last night?” He asks.
Exhaustion fills my body as I realize this will lead to another fight, something I can’t handle with how little sleep I got last night and the hecticness that’s occured today. “I have things to do, Clayton.”
“But you can’t even take a minute out of your day to respond to my texts? Bullshit,” he spits.
I rub my eyes tiredly, pushing my card into the slot with a tug in my heart, knowing that I’ll wince when I see my account balance after this. “It just slipped my mind, okay?”
“Your job slipped your mind?”
Oh that’s right, this is technically my job. Even though it might not be a job with designated hours or tasks, it’s still something that I’m getting paid for, so I have to throw my heart into it as much as I just want to brush it off.
I never got to brush my part-time jobs off so why would I get to just brush this off? I guess I just assumed that Clayton would be more understanding.
“Okay, sorry.” I hurriedly push the cart into the parking lot, knowing that I’m definitely going to be late to class between loading everything into my car and the traffic. “I’ll come over as soon as class ends- wait, shit, I promised Paige I would go see her-”He scoffs at that and I bite my tongue. “I’ll come over around nine o’clock tonight, okay?”
“Whatever.”
I roll my eyes at his attitude. It’s really the last thing I want to deal with today, and quite frankly, as attractive as the guy is and as nice as he can be at times, he’s bothering me with this whole conversation and seeing him is the last thing that I want to do but I’m obligated to. “If you don’t want me to come over then text me. But otherwise I’ll be over then. I have to go, I have class.”
~
I grumpily ring the doorbell, not happy to see Clayton after our argument on the phone and watching Paige drink away all of her problems while not being able to because I needed to be sober enough to Uber over to Clayton’s house.
“Well look who it is,” Christian opens the door, greeting me with a friendly smile. “Clayton said you would be coming over!”
“Yeah,” I mumble, unsure of how to react to his words. He steps to the side and I enter the house, taking my shoes off and setting them beside the door.
“He’s just in his room, you know where that is, right?” He asks.
I nod, giving him a polite smile before walking down the hall towards the room I’ve been in a couple of times now. I walk in to see Clayton slouched against his headboard, video game controller in his hands and his eyes on the TV.
Really? I came over just to watch him play video games?
He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t even look at me, but he lifts his arms and motions towards his lap, a sign for me to climb in. I make myself cozy against his body, watching whatever stupid shooter game he’s playing.
Despite the annoyance flooding through my veins, I snuggle closer to Clayton, cherishing the few moments of the day that I get to rest.
“How was your day?” He questions, montone.
“Hectic. You?”
He hums, pressing a button extra hard on the controller. Once he loses all three of his lives I ask, “So do you want to do something now?”
“Yeah, play another round,” he responds, restarting the game.
“So you knew that I have a busy week but begged me to give you attention and now you’re sitting here playing video games.” I sit up in his lap, turning to make eye contact. He avoids my eyes, staring at the TV screen. “Explain that to me.”
“I don’t know what you want from me, babe.”
I blatantly roll my eyes. “I literally just told you what I want from you. An explanation.”
“Is it too much to ask you to just sit here and watch me play video games?” He asks, exasperated. “Ugh, you made me die.”
“You would’ve died anyways,” I mumble, crawling out of his lap and sitting on the bed next to him with my arms crossed.
“If you’re going to pout then you can just leave.”
My head snaps towards him and I notice that now he’s staring back at me with a blank expression, giving me his full attention.
“What?”
He repeats his sentence and I scoff, sliding my feet onto the floor. I leave without another word, not pleased with the way I leave things but not happy with the way he’s treating me either.
#Clayton keller imagine#NHL imagines#Clayton keller fanfiction#Clayton keller fanfic#Clayton keller story
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two years too late, chapter t e n
Alyssa’s lips pulled towards the ground--the expression on her face twisted into anger as you waited for her to respond. “This weekend? Of all weekends you have to go this weekend?” Her voice echoed through the small living room, her eyes searching your face for some sign that you were kidding.
“Yeah--he’s got a meeting or something. It’s part of his birthday, too!”
“It’s my company’s big gala, Y/N! You’ve known about this for months and you’re bagging the week before?”
“M’sorry, okay? I wouldn’t just be bagging if it was for someone other than him.”
She let out a groan at that, her hands flopped against her side, she moved towards the kitchen as if starting to cook dinner would be calming. You stepped back from her, feet hitting the hardwood floor as if being in her path was dangerous.
“Fine--whatever. I’ll just go by myself and look pathetic because everyone else will have a date.”
“Alyssa!”
“Don’t!” She turned around quickly, her eyes wide and hands on her hips. “You’re bailing. Call it what it is and don’t try to make an excuse.”
“I’m bailing for a good reason, though!”
“Because your popstar friend asked you to go away with him?”
Silence for a second. The afternoon was baked in winter sun, dipping beneath the buildings that created a skyline above. You wanted to correct her--more than a friend at this point--but you didn’t.
“What happened to the Y/N who thought this was all a good joke? The one who thought he’d head back out on tour and forget about you again?”
You bit at your lip. Her words were salt on a wound, but you didn’t tell her that.
You could ask yourself the same question. Where had she gone? How had the logical, realistic voice in your head who’d been convinced that all of this was too little too late suddenly be willing to jet off into the sunset with the boy who broke your heart?
“You’re sounding a lot like Jessie,” you observed, a scowl coming over your own face as she stared back at you. “Unsupportive, pessimistic, Jessie Alby.”
She rolled her eyes at this, a shake of her head before she headed for the kitchen again.
“You’ll be with co-workers!” You reminded her, trailing behind as she opened up the fridge.
“Pat and Erin are both bringing dates.”
“What about that Lauren girl?”
“Laura,” she corrected.
“She’ll be there!”
“With her husband.”
It was your turn to groan now, you leaned against the counter and watched as she pulled a knife from the drawer to start chopping an onion. The blade met the cutting board she’d set out before you broke the news--you wondered if she imagined it was you she was chopping to bits.
“Well Jesus, Alyssa--it’s not like I’m bailing for the grocery store. This is California! With him! He said it’d be romantic!”
She didn’t say anything. She kept her eyes on the vegetable in front of her and kept her mouth twisted into a grimace. A noise from out in the hallway--neighbors home from a Sunday afternoon trip to Whole Foods.
It wasn’t that you didn’t understand. After Harry fell asleep the night before, a smile on his face when you agreed to go with him, reality set in. You’d promised back in October to be Alyssa’s date the first weekend in February, her company’s big fundraising gala and she was required to go.
There’ll be free alcohol and cute investors there, she enticed. You can even tweet about how stuffy it is if you don’t name the company.
It was shitty--she was counting on your companionship and six days beforehand was a bit short notice to bail. But like you’d said. You weren’t bailing for just anyone or anything.
“I’m really sorry, okay? But this--it feels really different and really good and I just--I really like him. I mean, what was I supposed to do, say no?”
She set the knife down calmly, her hands on the counter when she turned to face you. “No but--you could have least talked to me before deciding.” She wasn’t as angry now, she had a look of disappointment in her eyes when she turned towards the sink.
There wasn’t much you could say in response. I’m sorry, I suck, I’m a shitty friend. None of it would change the way she felt and none of it held space for the excitement in your chest at the thought of a house in Beverly Hills all to yourselves.
So you gave her space. You packed a bag and headed to Harry’s. An apology text before bed went unanswered, a meme you sent on Monday at work didn’t even get a thumbs up.
The apartment was empty when you keyed in that night, you figured she was at a spin class or out to drinks with a coworker. You’d showered and shimmied into your sheets before she came in--straight to her room without even saying hi. The only sign she was home was the jiggling of the doorknob and the living room light that flooded under the crack below your door.
It was the same on Tuesday. She made coffee in silence and left earlier than usual for work, her words sparse and distant when she headed out the door.
When you sat on the couch at Harry’s apartment that night, his eyebrows pointed towards his nose, his head tilted as he listened to the words spill out of you.
“I get that she’s mad, y’know? I get that I told her I’d go and that she doesn’t want to be alone there, but come on! It’s you. I’m not bailing to hang out with Carly or some random guy I met on Tinder! I just wish she’d be a bit more understanding.”
He was quiet, clearly unsure if you had more to say. When you took a deep breath, he smiled a bit, a laugh escaped his pink lips in the dim living room.
“Maybe you should stay.”
“What?” You pulled away from him, the leather of the couch letting your leggings slide effortlessly. “Harry, no! I already said I was coming, I want to!”
“I know, lovie, but--I dunno, I feel bad knowing Alyssa will be by herself.”
You felt a thump in your chest, you weren’t used to nicknames aside from Smalls.
“She’s fine,” you said, waving a hand to truly convince him that your roommate would be alright by herself. Selfish. Fine--you could admit that, own it. You were excited for a weekend with Harry where you wouldn’t have to pretend to be anything but what you were.
Friends who became more and now somehow lived in the unknown territory that felt remarkably similar to being friends with benefits. Good benefits. Sleeping at his house and toothbrush in his bathroom benefits.
And Los Angeles was full of celebrities, right? Harry wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb and it gave a perfect excuse to make some type of low key announcement.
Pictures of you and Harry heading out to dinner? Work. You tagging along to business meetings with Harry? (You imagined them to have coffee and sparkling water and interns who waited on him hand and foot). Work! It was all work.
There was plenty to do in Los Angeles that could give you the cover of it being a work trip, for both of you. And it was, sort of.
But you got back on track. “Alyssa is one of the most extroverted people I know--she doesn’t need a date.”
He offered a look of disappointment, one that pulled a groan right out of your mouth.
“I know I suck, alright? But hear me out: we go to LA, people will undoubtedly see us together. I announce that I’m working on the story. All is well in the world.”
He pushed his lips out, deep in thought. His left eyebrow twitched a little, he swallowed. “What about the people who go digging and find old photos of us and realize that--” he trailed off. When you raised your eyebrows, he spit it out. “It’s more than work?”
You let out a soft laugh. “I mean, I deleted every photo of us from all of my social media accounts. Jake and Adam are private on instagram, I think Bryn is too.”
“So what about Jessie?”
“I’ll ask her to take down whatever photos she has of us.” You shrugged as if it was casual. As if asking that of your boisterous and bold friend wouldn’t open up a conversation that you didn’t want to have. It’d been almost a week since you’d spoken and now didn’t feel like a good time to give Jessie more ammunition to tell you what a moron you were.
“Think she will?”
You rolled your eyes. Jessie was the type of person who’d say no just because she didn’t like being told what to do.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his words quiet when he rose from the couch. “I know you know this, but, I don’t mind if people know.”
His words were simple, they hung in the air when you watched him walk over to the kitchen for a glass of water. Of course he didn’t mind--it didn’t put him at risk.
Unlike him, at night when you couldn’t sleep, you’d lay away and think of all the things that could happen. You’d count the taxis that honked their horns and list off the terrifying possibilities one by one.
I could lose my job. I could lose friends in Whitney and Carly. People would think I’m using him for fame. People would hate me because I know him.
And then what happened when it was all over? When Harry’s schedule got the best of him again and when it whisked him away to prance around on some stage in Switzerland?
The dust in your life would settle and you’d be left unemployed, labeled a liar by the New York pop journalism scene. You’d go back to take out on the couch with Alyssa (if she didn’t cut you out for good) and watching him from afar on social media. Maybe you’d go back to getting Happy Christmas! group texts.
Jessie would tell you how stupid you were, Adam and Bryn would agree, Jake would pretend to be neutral until he couldn’t stand the tension.
Fractions of scenarios grew into life altering situations. No job. No friends. No Harry. You couldn’t imagine anything worse.
You could be hopeful that it wouldn’t shake out like that. Maybe he wouldn’t just leave you behind again--maybe Whitney wouldn’t hate your guts and fire you on the spot.
But the same voice that once tried to tell you this was all two years too late now echoed a new mantra. If this was all going to fall apart at the beginning of March, at least you could have fun while it lasts.
Because it won’t last long.
**
You decided calling out sick on Friday wasn’t the way to do it. You didn’t remember Harry having such a penchant for honesty, but he (along with his assistant) had successfully convinced you to get the okay from Whitney to be out of office for work purposes. Harry would have loved it if you came out with it altogether (what do you want me to do, you asked, tell her how great you are in bed?), but you reminded that patience was a virtue and that Whitney would be more likely to forgive your lies if she’d already read an impressive and exclusive interview.
So you told her at lunch on Wednesday that you had an update for her--she scheduled a block of time for you to come sit in her office, the tiny people in windows across the street were a reminder that life continued outside of the nerve wracking meetings in her office.
She was excited--rambling at first about how her bagel rating instagram had reached one hundred thousand followers. Whitney was one of the few people at The Scoop to have more of an internet presence than you. Her love for bagels and her obsession with The Bachelor franchise seemed to gather people into her corner.
“So,” she set her phone down after showing you the recent message she’d gotten from a bagel company in Michigan (a supply of one hundred bagels if she’d review them at 5 stars). “What’s up? How’s Harry?” A wiggle of her eyebrows let you know that she was just as enchanted by your famous friend as the rest of the world was.
“Well--actually, that’s why I’m here. He, uh, he invited me to go to Los Angeles this weekend. He’s got some meetings about his tour, finalizing some things. Said he thought it might be a good opportunity for the interview.”
Her eyes were wide. “Like, with him? This weekend?”
You nodded. “For the story, obviously.”
She thought on it for a second, her lips pursed together and she fiddled with a pen on top of her desk. “I like it--it’s like one of those day in the life pieces but you’re getting so much more, obviously, if it’s a few days.”
A sigh of relief.
She shrugged. “Kind of shocking he asked--he’s a pretty private guy from what I’ve heard, but as long as you’re okay doing that? I know you’d lose a weekend.”
“S’fine, yeah--no, it’d be cool for sure. Anything for a good story, right?”
She laughed, “how many times have you sat with him now?”
“Three,” you lied.
“And what have you touched on?”
“A lot of stuff about being solo, his take on life after meteoric fame, the things that make him normal,” you shrugged. That was all true--those were the things you talked about. But sometimes it was over a glass of wine on his sofa or when you stared at the ceiling before bed at night.
Her eyes lit up and she dropped the pen on her desk. “It’s going to be so good, Y/N! I can’t wait to read it!”
You nodded, forcing a smile before standing from the chair opposite her desk.
“So--I’ll talk with Tiffany and get a flight booked for you? I can have her reach out to his manager and get that squared away.”
“No, no--it’s not--he said I can go, like, on a plane with him.”
“With him?” Her eyebrows rose, a smirk on her face when you nodded. “You must be making a pretty good impression.”
“He’s just friendly,” you corrected. “Really down to earth.”
She laughed, leaning back in her chair and checking the text that lit up on her phone. “Probably the whole British thing--makes him feel at home, I bet. Hey--you don’t--did you live anywhere near him before he was famous? Have you bonded over tea or the Union Jack?”
The words tumbled out of your mouth, spilling onto her desk and landing in her lap before you could even process her question. “No, I grew up close to Leeds and I don’t know where he did. But yeah, I’ll be gone just Friday then for this and I’ll uh, I can get you a draft or something?”
“Well, it’s running online March 1st--so I’ll need the final by February 20th or so. Let’s just meet when you’re back and talk about the direction, sound good?”
A nod, a desperate nod to end the conversation in hopes of getting your heart rate somewhere near normal. You hurried out of her office and back towards your desk. A text from Harry waited on your phone.
Harry S (4:36pm): Can you stop and get cream on your way home from work?
A blush on your cheeks--you were headed to his, not yours, but he still called it home. As if it was yours, too.
**
If you weren’t convinced the first time, the second time really did you in. Champagne was much better at 30,000 feet.
The tiny plane was a recipe for motion sickness though, so after the first few sips, you didn’t have anything until dinner that night. A French restaurant in Malibu. One his friend had suggested.
He had a meeting the first morning, which gave you time to sleep in before he insisted on heading to a tiny beach. Barely ever crowded, he said. He watched you dance around on the sand, much warmer than anything in Britain. The waves were tall and strong, apparently dangerous if you didn’t know what you were doing.
He showed you how to get past them, dunking under the current when they rolled by or floating over them, face up towards the sky and belly in the sun. He kissed you in the car afterwards, signing at the top of his lungs when his own song came on the radio.
Always been a cocky boy, you chided.
On the second day he wanted to show you some of his favorite places. A diner on the Pacific Coast Highway, the house where he’d stayed with the band when they came for the first time. A smile stretched across his cheeks when he listed off the memories at each one, pulling you into a world of his that had existed without you for the last five years.
You tagged along to a casual meeting with his tour manager in the afternoon, lunch was an outdoor cafe with ivy growing up the egg-shell white walls. You’d felt the nervous energy in your chest--it wasn’t new.
But being in LA was. It was warm and sunny and Harry seemed to know the city like the back of his hand--he had a confidence here that he certainly lacked in New York.
It was also new to be sitting across the table from him, sunglasses over both of your faces while you sipped mimosas, almost free of worry about being recognized or photographed.
You’d talked it all out the night before, too. He reiterated the words he’d said in his living room a few days back. Don’t worry about it, s’gonna be fine. You can announce the story and people will believe it.
So when you came through the doors of the house hidden down a winding street off the coast, you didn’t expect to feel so frantic when you saw a picture of his hand on the small of your back. He’d disappeared into the kitchen, placing leftovers in the fridge that you’d insisted on taking home.
When he found you in the bedroom upstairs, knees to your chest as you zoomed in closer, his voice startled you.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?”
You looked up quickly, pulse rising as he came over to the bed to wrap his arms around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, a noise tumbling out of his mouth when his eyes landed on the picture--still pulled up on your phone.
“Oh.”
You bit your lip, keeping your eyes on it when he pulled away. “S’a little close, huh?”
Anyone who looked at the photo would undoubtedly notice the way you both seemed so comfortable, his fingers grazing the hem of your shirt as you rounded the corner of the restaurant, heading for his parked car on the street.
“S’fine,” you said quickly, catching on to the nervousness in his voice. You wiggled your toes when you set the phone face down on the duvet. “S’alright--we knew they’d get one.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, his hands now on his hips. He’d taken off the sweater he’d worn to dinner--he was now clad in a simple t-shirt. “Have you looked at Twitter? S’there anything happening?”
Your lips inadvertently pushed out, avoiding his eyes for a few seconds before he shifted on his feet. He raised his eyebrows and nudged his chin towards you, a silent direction to open the app.
You pulled it up, tapping over to search your name. He stepped forward, chin over your shoulder while you scrolled.
“Honestly not terrible--they’re not really attacking you.”
“Yet,” the word slipped out between your lips, eyes peering up when he frowned at your insinuation. He stepped forward and laid down on the bed, chin in his hands as he looked up at you.
“Have you thought about what you’ll say?”
A shrug of your shoulders as he adjusted on the white duvet. A telly was mounted on the opposite wall--he promised you could watch a good movie before bed tonight.
“Just something casual. Might say that the story will be out in March. Dunno.”
He nodded, looking over his shoulder quickly to the attached en suite bathroom. A sigh escaped his lips, he turned back to look at you, eyes as wide as silver dollars when a smirk pulled at his lips. “Want dessert?”
“What?”
“I could go for fro-yo.”
“Fro-yo?”
“Yeah,” his brows furrowed together. “You’ve had it, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, Harry, I know what fro-yo is. You’re just extremely off topic.”
“Just don’t want you to stress. Let’s take a bath.”
You pulled your head back, amused by the wiggling of his eyebrows as he hoisted himself up from the bed.
“A bath?”
He was already barefoot on the tile floor, reaching over the empty tub to tug on the faucet. It took him a minute, but when he pressed the right button and twisted the right knob, water gushed down towards the drain, the sound immediately steadying your heartbeat.
He turned around, a cocky grin on his face as he waited for praise.
You repeated your question. “A bath?”
“Yeah,” his voice was so nonchalant. “I promised a romantic weekend and m’going to deliver, Smalls.” As if his not doing so would be tragic.
You shook your head, amused as he turned back around to check the temperature. He put his hand beneath the faucet, nodding proudly when he looked back to see you. “S’good.”
He reached his hands down to his waist, his fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt to pull it up and over his shoulders. He let it drop to the floor, his gaze meeting yours when your eyes trailed up from the ink on his tummy. He shoved his hands between the skin of his hips and the waistband of his trousers, pushing them down to his knees before shimmying out of them altogether.
“Going to join?” The smirk on his face welcomed the dimples in his cheeks, his eyes playful as he removed the pair of boxer briefs around his hips. You felt a blush tint your cheeks. Even though it wasn’t a new sight, the clumsiness of sleeping with one of your best friends suddenly flooded the bathtub alongside the water Harry climbed into.
He watched with greedy eyes when you followed the same pattern of undressing, far more modest than he was when your skin was exposed to the air around you. He smiled up at you, the water just passing his hips.
“M’going to have to wait until there’s more water--you’re hogging all of it.”
He looked down, a mocked expression of panic crossed his face. His hands moved through the bath with smoothness, a confused look on his face when his eyes met yours. “Uh oh--looks like you’re going to have to be near me.”
“Piss off,” you quipped, a quick roll of the eyes as you lifted a knee to place one foot in the water. It was warm, goosebumps traveled up your thighs when he took your hands to offer support, your other foot followed suit until you stood between his legs.
You lowered yourself down to sit, the water settled below your belly button in the big tub, a warm sensation spread over your cheeks when he smiled at you. “What?”
“Nothin’--you’re just,” he shrugged, “pretty.”
You let your eyebrows raise quickly, falling back down when a small laugh escaped your lips--muffled by the still running water. “My eyeliner is probably smudged,” you told him, letting the pads of your fingers reach up to wipe beneath your eyes.
He reached for your wrist, pulling your hand to his mouth before pressing a kiss to the backside. “Thanks for coming with me,” he paused. “I’ve never taken a bath with someone who’s interviewed me before.”
“Okay,” you narrowed your eyes. “You ruined a perfectly sweet moment.”
He splashed a bit of water in your direction, giggling when you pulled another face.
“Alright,” he relented, clearing his throat when you watched him expectantly. “I, uh, I really like you, Smalls.”
The right corner of your mouth twitched up, the vulnerability in his voice was evident. His eyes seemed to search your face for emotion, something he desperately hoped to find.
The water still ran, the steady sound from the faucet kept time, seconds ticking by as you sat, naked, in front of him.
“Are you going to say it back?”
He looked fearful, like the silence between you was a threat to his sanity.
You waited, a bit out of fear and a bit out of a desire to make him squirm. “I like you too,” you said, a small nod. It was true, four words that would go down in history as a factual statement, but they didn’t even begin to capture the complexity of your relationship.
It wasn’t as simple as saying you liked him or saying you had fun with him. It wasn’t as easy as saying the sex was good and it was fun to sleep in his king sized bed and get driven around by Roger.
It was more than the lounging on his couch or the sneaking in and out of each other’s apartments.
Because what those words didn’t convey was the tightness in your chest when you thought about the weeks ahead. The interview, the tour, the rest of life as you knew it and the way it would cease to exist.
Saying you liked him didn’t explain that you were nervous he’d leave you again for the excitement of fame of fortune. It didn’t even begin to demonstrate the anxiety that coursed through your veins when you thought about the power he had over you now.
If he broke your heart back then, what could he do now?
You brought your eyes up to meet his, a deep green against the various shades of bathroom beige. He reached to turn the water off, “What is it?”
You licked at your lips, a drip from the faucet broke the silence, you forced a smile. Shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t have the words to begin.
“Y/N,” he said your name seriously, sat up more straight like his posture would pull it out of you.
Dipped eyebrows, a pout on his lips.
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?”
He reached for your hand underwater, his thumb rubbing a circle on top of your skin. You twisted your lips, bit at the inside of your cheek as you contemplated all the possible answers.
But that was when it hit you.
Maybe it wasn’t all his fault that things seemed to be two years too late. Maybe the real issue was your own inability to speak up--to tell him how you felt and wait for a response before running and hiding and cursing him out.
So, you took a breath.
“M’afraid.”
“Of what?”
A sigh. “Of you, I guess.”
He didn’t say anything, he watched you shrug again and laugh as if this was all silly. As if sitting between his legs in a bathtub in Beverly Hills was silly. As if flying to California and writing a story about him was silly. As if pretending you hadn’t always loved him would somehow change the narrative.
When he still didn’t speak, you knew he wanted more.
“Of what could happen.” You decided to edit that. “Of how this could ruin our friendship.”
Still quiet. He took a breath and let it out, blinked a few times before he let his eyes drop to the water, bending a knee to rest his elbow on top. “I know, Smalls--and that’s kind of why I didn’t want to rush to label anything, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
He ran a wet hand through his hair to keep pieces from falling in front of his eyes. “S’why I said a while ago that I wasn’t seeing anyone else. I didn’t want you thinking that this,” a pause, he twisted a palm towards the vaulted ceiling, “means nothing. It means a lot.”
You nodded--it wasn’t necessarily that you believed him or knew what he meant, but you wanted him to keep talking. When you were silent, he took it as his cue.
“I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. But so far it feels like it’s just made our friendship better. Enhanced it, even. I kind of think that’s how relationships should be, yeah? A best friend that you’re attracted to, one who’s good in bed. I mean, that’s the whole package.” A smirk tugged at his lips and he tried to regain composure. “I’d rather you be my girlfriend than my friend, anyway.”
He shifted in the water, eyes on yours.
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
He reached forward and pulled you close to him, your legs tangled beneath the water, fingers likely getting pruney. He kissed you, his lips all over your cheeks and your nose and your chin before he landed on your mouth, you could feel the way his lips curved into a smile.
“Only took you about a decade.”
He rolled his eyes, playful and exaggerated before reaching up to brush hair behind your ear. “Now you’re the one who just ruined a perfectly sweet moment.”
**
There was breakfast at a cute cafe, another meeting on Sunday morning before you met a few friends of his for lunch. A baseball cap offered privacy from the sun and the photographers that seemed to linger around every street corner--it took everything inside of you not to reach for his hand.
The hum of the airplane cabin on Sunday afternoon threatened to lull you to sleep, but you decided to use the time to brainstorm possible starts and middles and endings of the story. Words and sentences were jumbled on the screen of your laptop, Harry’s eyes were closed in the seat across from you.
There’d been photographers at the airport--there always are, he said. They called his name and somehow knew yours too. You wondered how much this would blow up on the other end of things, but luckily you had six hours in the sky to calm your nerves.
And writing usually helped. Hearing the sound of your fingers on the keyboard typically gave your heart something to beat along to. But this time, Harry’s hooded eyes closed after take off, a cup of tea was your only company as you tried, desperately, to draft up what felt a lot more like a confession than an interview.
A car waited at JFK--blacked out windows and a smiling driver that you didn’t recognize. You were dropped curbside at your apartment, insisting that you didn’t need any help up to your apartment. After all, there were likely enough suspicious photos from the weekend--evidence of Harry helping you into your flat was really just fuel for the fire at this point.
So you climbed the stairs alone after a kiss in the backseat, promising to text him later and probably even see him tomorrow.
He was happy--he seemed it, at least--when he referred to you as his girlfriend that morning on the phone with whoever was arranging your ride to the airport.
But you weren’t about to bust into the apartment and tell all that to Alyssa. Despite a few text messages that had been exchanged during the trip--including your guilt-ridden inquiry about her work event--you knew you had to tread carefully. You were still working your way back to baseline.
She was on the couch when you keyed in, pulling the hat from your head and hanging your keys on the hook beside you. She muted the telly, asking the normal pleasantries you ask someone after a trip, her curiosity seemed genuine, her excitement sincere.
Eventually, you handed her the small canvas tote bag you’d seen inside a store in Thousand Oaks.
She turned the fabric over in her hands, eyes inspecting the colorful display of landmarks. The Hollywood sign was painted on the front, the Capitol Records building and the Venice Beach sign adorned the lower corners.
“Figured you needed a new one since the one you use has a hole in the bottom.”
She laughed, eyes flickering over to the canvas tote that hung on a hook beneath the counter. You’d watched her stuff it to the brim multiple times. Spices, vegetables, baguettes and desserts alike. She’d gotten it when she first moved here--a few months before you. It was a tote from the Student Activities office of her former university.
“Thanks,” she said, still admiring it. “S’nice of you to think of me.”
“Alyssa,” you rolled your eyes, a bit dramatic to get a laugh out of her. “Just because you were mad at me for being a dick doesn’t mean I’d forget about you.”
She let out a sigh, standing from the couch as she tried to mask the smile on her face. “I, uh, have something to tell you.”
“Yeah?” You folded your legs beneath you, leaning forward on the cushions in excitement. You’d been home for less than an hour and things felt relatively normal--at least, as normal as they could.
“I met someone this weekend.”
“You did? Who is he?”
She shrugged her shoulders, eyes fluttering--a sure sign she was trying to play it cool. “His name is Owen.”
“Owen?!” You bounced in place, the smile on your cheeks stretched from ear to ear.
Alyssa rarely went on dates and she rarely talked about them afterwards. “It was fun and he was nice--asked me to see him again and I’m going to.”
And she never went on second dates.
“Bloody fuck are you mad?!”
“I just like him,” she laughed, lifting the empty tote bag over her shoulder, eyeing it in the mirror between your bedroom doors. “Looks good,” she said casually.
“Don’t change the subject,” you stood from the couch. “When are you seeing him again?”
“I dunno--later in the week maybe. Friday or something. Be cool about this, okay?”
“Okay, yeah,” you smoothed out your hair and cleared your throat. “I can be cool about it.”
“If you get freaked out about it I’m going to get freaked out about it.”
“M’not freaked out,” you lied. “Not at all.”
“Me neither,” she said, shedding the bag and letting it fall to the coffee table. “So it was good, the trip?”
You took a pause, settling back onto the sofa. You wanted to be honest with her without rubbing it in her face that you’d ditched her to fly off to LA for the weekend. You settled for a happy medium. “It was fun--we uh, had a good conversation about us.”
“About the two of you?”
You nodded. Pulled a piece of hair over your shoulder to braid it mindlessly while you spoke. “Yeah--he said he isn’t seeing other people and I’m not either so he said it kind of just makes sense to label it.”
The corner of her mouth curved up. “Yeah? Did he propose while he was at it?”
“Oh sod off,” you shot back quickly, thankful that the banter had returned to it’s typical state.
“Sounds pretty serious,” she padded over to the kitchen, the bottom of her sweatpants dragged on the floor when she walked.
You watched her reach for a bottle of wine, she raided the utensils drawer for an opener. “It was a good amount of seriousness,” you concluded.
She twisted the screw in, placed the bottle under her arm but looked up at you with wide eyes before she yanked the cork out. “That’s all you’re going to divulge?”
You pulled your legs up to your chest. “S’all there really is. He only said the ‘g’ word once.”
“The ‘g’ word?” Her ‘r’ was sharp when the cork popped out. “‘Girlfriend?’”
“Yes ‘girlfriend.’”
She giggled to herself, pulling two glasses from the cabinet before pouring them. She brought them back over to the couch after wiping them off, handed one to you, and sat.
“How’s that feel?”
You bit at your lip. Thoughts about it all had swirled in your head the entire flight home--especially when he pressed a kiss to your lips in front of the driver.
“I mean, we’ll see. I kind of addressed the whole distance thing over breakfast today and he said we can make it work. FaceTime and texting and trips out to see each other.”
“Phone sex,” she twisted a palm to the sky, her face serious before bursting into laughter.
“Alright--you’re unbelievable.”
“I’m kidding!” She pleaded, an eye roll in your direction when you reached for your phone on the table.
“I should probably tweet something about the interview anyway. There was a fair amount of photographers who saw us at the airport.”
You fell into a comfortable silence, thumb stretching along the screen to catch up with whatever had happened on Twitter over the last few hours. Alyssa hummed mindlessly and sipped at her wine, you almost scrolled right past it.
She was in a tan coat--one that dipped below her knees--a scarf that was green and gold. His arm was extended around her waist, the photo was hidden inside another tweet. You tapped your thumb to expand it, lips parting when your stomach sank.
Her lips were on his. His were on hers. Another photo--in a series of four--that showed their entire farewell embrace, outside of Harry’s apartment.
Nina Winters was a model--you knew her name and you knew her face, but that was about it. Long black hair that skimmed her dainty shoulders.
“He’s kissing Nina Winters,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the car that passed by your building on the street below.
“Hmm?” Alyssa looked up, her lips pursed together as she waited for you to repeat yourself.
You turned the phone around, shoving it in her direction without words--you didn’t want to speak them out loud again.
“Whoa--what the fuck is that?” She leaned forward and took it in her hands. “When is this from?”
You could see her scroll down, her fingers pinched the screen to close the photo out. “It’s from December,” she answered her own question. “The eighteenth. S’not now, at least, right? I mean,” she looked up at you again, face hesitant.
“No, s’not better! That was before he kissed me but it was when we were going home for Christmas and it was--I dunno, I thought there was already something there at that point.”
“Okay--so, we don’t know when they stopped seeing each other,” she said, her voice steady as she relocated to the cushion beside you. “Maybe that was the last time they spoke.”
She exited out of the Twitter app, her thumb pulling up a Google search. You watched her type it in. Harry Styles Nina Winters.
“Three million results?!” You pulled her hands toward you, eyes desperate for a closer look. “Great, fucking shit!”
You didn’t know if it was anger or sadness that swirled between your lungs. Both, maybe, with a bit of jealousy mixed in.
She selected a new photo--this time they were heading out of a restaurant, more space between them, a jacket over her shoulders in the cold New York night. “January,” she said, her voice more quiet than before. “This one is January 9th.”
You took it from her hands, a throbbing in your head as you looked over the picture. You knew the coat he was wearing, knew where it hung in his flat. “So--after we came back. After he kissed me and fed me all the rubbish about having feelings for me since 2010 or whatever the fuck he said.”
“What are you gonna do?”
You looked around the room, the swipe card to his flat catching your eye. It hung beside Alyssa’s keys near the door, you’d left it here while you were in LA.
“M’gonna go tell him to fuck off.”
Her eyes went a bit wide at that, she watched you push yourself off the couch as you scrambled for boots and a coat. “Are you sure? Do you want to like--wait a day or something?”
“No--I don’t owe him anything.”
“I’m not saying you do!” She corrected herself quickly, voice frantic as she stood from the couch.
“I’ll be back,” you grabbed the ring of keys from the hook, offering a sadistic smile over your shoulder. You shut the door, headed for the cold streets, and that’s when the tears hit.
You counted the blocks as you went--filling your mind with the arbitrary numbers kept you from trying to retrace every step. He’d fallen off the grid when you’d gotten home--didn’t text for a few days. His communication was shit when he was in California the week before last.
The time in his flat when you asked him about things he said to all the other girls.
But everything this weekend seemed perfect--a mere eight hours you ago you were floating on cloud nine as fifteen-year-old dreams had finally come true.
You didn’t even wave to the man at the front desk--Mark, you’d learned, was his name--before you hit the button and swiped the card Harry had given you two weeks back. Your heart worked harder than the lyft, thumping in your ears before the doors split open, pouring you into the living room, tear stained cheeks as a greeting.
He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The living room was empty--a blanket on the couch, a suitcase in the middle of the floor, half unpacked.
Humming drifted down the hall, when he rounded the corner, surprise crossed his face and he stopped in his tracks.
“Wh--what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You didn’t know how to say it. There was no sweet way to soften the blow or sugarcoat it. He’d never bothered to do the same, so at this point, you figured you didn’t need to offer kindness.
“I know about Nina.”
His face was straight, his body still. He blinked twice and a noise escaped his lips, but it didn’t form a word. Instead, his eyes locked on yours and a wave of anger spewed out a more coherent thought.
“I know you were making out with her inside of some restaurant in Chelsea right before you paid for my ticket home for Christmas.”
A pause--trying to collect his thoughts. You imagined his heart beat climbing, rising in to his chest and trying to settle in his lungs when he cleared his throat.
“Y/N it wasn’t like that,” his words were hollow--deflated and desperate when he took two steps closer.
“Fuck you,” you said quickly, the emotion bubbling in your chest. “I don’t care what it wasn’t. I doubt the pictures were doctored--were they? Is that was you expect me to believe?”
“No--I just--it was stupid and--”
“Shut up!” You screamed, more tears spilling onto your cheeks as your clenched hands shook by your side. There was a rage inside of you--one that wanted to break things or punch walls or type furious messages to this girl who had a hold on his heart before you did.
He didn’t say anything--he watched you carefully and seemed to be waiting for you to offer something more, as if you hadn’t given enough. Your boots were glued to the floor beneath you, the rubber soles that had carried you on slushy sidewalks to his flat had grown roots and planted themselves in the center of his living room.
He watched as you caught your breath, you counted in threes like your mother used to when you were a child. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Smalls--I ended things with her--”
“Before or after you kissed me?”
“Well, after--”
“Did you see her after we came back from Christmas? After we slept together?”
A sigh--an answer in and of itself, one that didn’t need letters or vowels.
“Great--great, Harry! This is why I tried to stop all of this,” you motioned around his flat as if the couch held the memories of late night movies or the miso soup he’d spilled all over the carpet. “Because why would this ever work for us, Harry? We had plenty of time back then!”
He brushed over your admissions, voice louder when he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You don’t even know what happened, Y/N! You don’t even know what I said to her or why I saw her.”
“What I do know is that there is plenty of proof that there was something going on between the two of you while there was something going on between us.”
“I met her in August--we went on a few dates, I barely know her!”
“You snogged her in December!” The words flew out of your mouth and landed before his feet. He looked down, watching them puddle on the floor in front of him.
“If you don’t want to hear what I have to say, then why did you come here?”
The churning of a washing machine hummed in the distance, the suddenly mundane noises of kitchen appliances seemed suffocating.
“To tell you it’s over--whatever this was. This was stupid, it was all stupid!”
His lips parted, another squeak that didn’t amount to a word, one that floated over to you and hovered overhead.
“I’ll see you around,” you told him, wiping the tears on your cheeks and the snot from your nose. He didn’t try to stop you.
read the other parts here
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Superposition
a deancas college roommate-AU
Chapter 7 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.
The Gift of Memory’s an Awful Curse
Dean woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before answering with a groggy “Hello?”
“Dean.” It was Bobby’s voice on the other line. “How you feelin’?”
“Fan-friggin’-tastic.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Bobby chastised. “The guy who drove you to the hospital came by the shop yesterday, told me what the doctor said.” Dean groaned. “You’re not comin’ back in until Thursday, you hear?”
“Come on, Bobby,” Dean protested, rubbing his eyes with a free hand. “Honestly, I’m already feelin’ loads better.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Bobby deadpanned. “No, you stay at home and get some rest. I can hold the fort for a week.”
“Whatever you say, old man. Hey, have you looked at Ca- at the guy’s car?”
“Barely. But, seein’ as it’s an old Honda, my best guess is valves are bent.” Bobby was quiet for a moment, then, “Dean, the guy told me his name was Cas Novak.”
Dean closed his eyes, silently begging the powers that be to grant him strength. “Weird name.”
Bobby snorted. “So you’re tellin’ me that’s not the same Cas Novak you met at WSU? The same one you brought home for Christmas? Well, that’s mighty strange, considerin’ he looks exactly like —”
“All right, all right,” Dean said. “Yes, it’s him. Why are we talking about this, anyway?”
“Just wonderin’.”
“Is Ellen still comin’ down for Christmas?” Dean asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Castiel.
“She called this mornin’, said she and Jo’d be here on the 23rd.”
Ellen and Jo were family, mutual friends of John and Bobby. Since Dean could remember, John had been sending him and Sam back home to Lawrence to spend Christmas with Bobby. He didn’t realize until he was older that it was less “go have fun with your Uncle Bobby,” and more “I can’t stand the holidays and would like to be unconscious for most of them.” A few years before his dad died, when Dean was maybe fifteen, the Harvelle’s started joining them. It became a tradition, the Harvelle-Singer-Winchester Christmas affair.
“I can’t wait to see ‘em,” Dean said, smiling up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, well. When’s Sam gettin’ in?”
“Tonight,” Dean replied. He looked at his watch. Was it really already noon? “‘Round eight, I think.”
“Damn, am I excited to see that boy,” Bobby said. “Well, you two head down here when he’s done gettin’ settled. He’s finally old enough to have a few beers.”
Dean rubbed his mouth for a moment. “Bobby,” he said, “he’s not even gonna be here. Well, he is, but he’s hangin’ out with some girl in friggin’ Kansas City after Christmas.”
“Good for him. ‘Bout damn time, too, he hasn’t even mentioned a girl since that Ruby broke his heart when he was sixteen.”
Dean thought he was going to explode. Was he the only one who saw how cosmically wrong this whole thing was?
“Right,” he grumbled. “Well, I gotta go to the store, get some actual food in the house.” Dean pretty much lived off of ham sandwiches and the occasional fast food burger. “I’ll see you later.”
Dean stood up, testing the waters of movement. He didn’t immediately feel like vomiting, and the room didn’t start spinning, both good signs. Turning on the light in the kitchen, he noticed he still had a mild light-sensitivity, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Satisfied, he grabbed his keys and the sunglasses Cas had given him, and headed out the door.
As he drove to the Wal-Mart at the edge of town, he wondered idly if he would see Cas again. Dean supposed, at the very least, he might see Cas when he and Bobby had his car fixed. Unless Bobby fixed it before Dean got back to work. He snorted at the thought. That was unlikely.
Thinking about Cas led Dean to thinking about his final days in Wichita, as it always did. He didn’t remember most of that May, or the rest of the year, for that matter. He’d spent the nights drunk and the days endlessly hungover. Dean couldn’t remember going to a single class after his father died in January.
What Dean could remember, what he always remembered, was Cas. Cas waiting for him to return from whatever dorm party he had found, Cas forcing him to drink water, Cas taking his vomit-stained clothes to the laundromat. Cas bandaging his hand after he punched the brick wall of their dorm room one too many times. Cas holding him as he cried.
A honk startled Dean from his thoughts, and he realized he was sitting at a light that had obviously been green for far too long. He sped forward. Maybe he wasn’t okay to drive.
Dean groaned as he pulled into the parking lot. It was packed. He wasn’t sure what he expected — Christmas was little more than a week away. Shit. He had been so busy in the shop that he had forgotten to buy a single gift. Bobby was easy — a fifth of Maker’s Mark and new trucker cap would be enough to bring tears to his eyes. Sam was more difficult; he lived in a different world. Dean thought he remembered that Sam liked Lord of the Rings in high school…
The year before, Dean had written him a check for ten thousand dollars, with “college” written in the memo. Sam had tried to give it back after realizing that was essentially Dean’s entire savings account, built up from working at Singer Auto Repair during the day and bartending the college joints at night. Two years straight. When Dean refused to take it back, saying, “You go and you get a damn degree, all right?”, Sam hugged him until he couldn’t breathe. Dean smiled at the memory. No way he was outdoing himself this year.
Dean picked up the basics from Wal-Mart — eggs, milk, some salad kits for Sam, a couple bags of coffee, some orange juice. He felt like a douchebag, wearing the sunglasses inside, but the fluorescents were unbearable. He grabbed two six-packs of beer to bring to Bobby’s, then surreptitiously added a pack of hard seltzers for his apartment, because, hey, he liked to switch it up.
Dean paid for his groceries and headed to the liquor store to pick up the whiskey for Bobby. Upon seeing a case of boozy eggnog, he couldn’t help remembering his first and only Thanksgiving in Wichita. They downed two pints of the stuff while watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Dean teased that maybe Cas, with his angelic namesake, was his Clarence. Then he fashioned a halo out of toilet paper and they laughed until their ribs hurt.
Dean grabbed a pint at the last second. For good measure.
Sam arrived at Dean’s apartment just after eight, and, Kansas City be damned, Dean was beyond happy to see him. Sam coughed out a laugh as Dean whacked him on the back in the midst of a hug.
“‘S good to see you, Sammy,” Dean said, radiating warmth. “Let’s go, Bobby’s itchin’ to give you a beer.”
Dean let Sam drive the Impala to Bobby’s, peppering him with questions about UT the whole time. Sam gushed about his pre-law classes, which Dean tolerated only because he had just gotten home.
“How’s your head?” Sam asked when he had finished nerding out.
“Fine,” Dean replied. “Fluorescents still make it hurt like a bitch, but honestly, I’m fine.”
Sam turned into the shop parking lot, the windows of Bobby’s apartment above providing the only light against the dark. “Hey, you never really answered my question yesterday.”
“What question?”
“That guy, who drove you to the hospital,” Sam said, carefully. “Was it Cas?”
Dean shut his eyes, willing himself against getting out and slamming the door behind him. He was not looking forward to this conversation. “Yeah. It was Cas.”
“He’s back?”
“No. I don’t know, man, he’s on his way to Kansas City for some big boy job.”
“Did you guys… You know…”
Dean gave him an incredulous look. “What, did we kiss and make up like some Hallmark movie?”
“Dean —”
“Sam, just leave it,” he growled. “Come on. Bobby’s waitin’.” The kid had been home for thirty minutes, and he was already giving Dean a headache.
Bobby greeted them with the biggest smile Dean had ever seen him wear. He pulled Sam into a tearful hug and clapped Dean on the shoulder. The three made their way to the kitchen.
Dean was driving, and still concussed, so he contented himself with a diet Coke and a few slices of the pizza Bobby had ordered while Bobby got beers for Sam and himself. Sam asked how the shop was going, earning about ten minutes of Bobby begrudgingly praising Dean for all his hard work. Dean fidgeted in his seat, face flamed from the compliments, doing his best to insist that it was a team effort, really. Sam beamed at him.
Dean changed the subject, prompting Sam to tell them both about college, despite having already heard the spiel on the drive over. Dean let his mind wander while Sam talked.
Bobby had been the one to call when Dean’s father had died. Dean remembered, it was the Monday after his nineteenth birthday, a snowy January morning. Classes had been cancelled, so he and Cas were watching Dead Poets Society in their room to celebrate.
“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this. Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”
“Dean, I hate to be the one to tell you this. John…”
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
“He’s dead, son. I’m sorry.”
Dean had dropped his cell phone on the floor. It shattered.
Dean remembered emptying his school backpack and filling it with clothes, his toothbrush, some shampoo. He walked straight to the Impala, his hands shaking, tears clouding his vision.
“Dean. Dean! What happened?”
“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.”
“Dean, the roads — we have class!”
“Screw the roads and screw class. Family emergency.”
He’d made it to Lawrence in record time.
He hadn’t even told Bobby he was coming, but he was waiting for Dean anyway. He found out that John had had one too many at the bar that night, but insisted on driving home, anyway. He ran into a tree going sixty, died on impact. Sam had been spending the night with a friend. Bobby drove him down to Amarillo, where John had been working one of his odd-jobs that was sure to dead-end when he started leaving beer bottles on site. Dean didn’t speak the whole way there, not until they picked Sammy up. Sam was crying. Dean wished he could cry, too. He felt like he was going to fracture into a million pieces. But he’d felt that before. Not this bad, never this bad, but broken all the same. He did what he always did. He hugged Sammy tight and told him it was going to be okay, everything is going to be okay.
The next thirty-six hours were spotty. A small funeral, just the three of them. Dean telling Bobby he wasn’t going back to school, he had to take care of Sam. Bobby staring daggers. He’d take care of Sam, Dean would finish that degree if it was the last thing he did. An argument, the only time Bobby had ever yelled at him. Dean and Sam sitting on the couch, sharing headphones and listening to Black Sabbath. Bobby pushing him out the door. Driving back to Wichita, numb.
The painful memory was interrupted when Bobby said his name.
“...We’d love to meet her, right Dean?”
Dean shook his head and blinked. “What?”
“Sam’s girl,” Bobby supplied. Sam blushed, looking at Dean.
“What about her?” Dean grumbled.
“I was gonna bring her around,” Sam said.
Dean wanted to be righteously angry with Sam for not telling him sooner, and for dipping out on him at the first sight of something better. But the kid just looked so damn hopeful.
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d love to meet her.”
They stayed at Bobby’s until midnight, reminiscing about past Christmases, the years Sam and Dean spent under Bobby’s roof. Eventually, Bobby whined about being too old to stay up so late, and that was their cue. Sam was properly tipsy, and Dean was exhausted. They bade each other good night, and Dean and Sam headed home.
Dean didn’t bother putting on music for the fifteen-minute drive. The Impala was silent as Dean drove, watching the yellow streetlights pass.
“Dean,” Sam said, “What’s up with you today?”
He was talking with the level of verve only achievable through alcohol. Dean gripped the steering wheel a little harder. Drunk people always asked too many questions.
“Nothing.”
“No, no, no, man.” Sam waved his hand for emphasis. “You’re messed up. You’ve been messed up. You know what —” he shifted upright in his seat “—you gotta talk to Cas.”
“I’m not gonna do that,” Dean said shortly.
“Why not?” Sam demanded.
“I’m just not, okay? Jesus. You need to go to sleep.”
“Not true,” Sam argued. “Listen, I know that he left or whatever, but I’m sure he had a good reason, you know, and you loved him, Dean —”
Dean slammed on the brakes. The Impala screeched to a halt as the light in front of them turned red.
“What?” He asked in a low voice. “What did you say?”
Sam scoffed at him. “I mean, you weren’t trying to hide it or anything.”
“Sam,” Dean warned. “Stop talking. I mean it.”
“I’m just saying, the way you talked about him, the way you two were at Christmas, I’m pretty sure nothing he could have done —”
Dean punched the steering wheel. The Impala’s horn sounded. Sam looked at him in shock. The light was green. Dean took a deep breath and hit the gas, both hands gripping the wheel for dear life, now.
“We’re done talking about this,” Dean said.
He felt like he was having deja vu. After Cas left school, just after spring break, Bobby had called Dean to see how he was getting on. He’d put Sam on the phone. Sam was only fourteen, but already smart as hell, sometimes able to see through Dean’s bullshit.
“How’s Cas?”
“He’s a shithead, that’s how he is.”
“Dean, what? I thought —”
“Yeah, well, stop thinking. Fucker is gone. Guess he found someplace better to be.”
“What happened?”
“Fuck if I know. But this is the last time I’m talking about that son of a bitch.”
Dean pulled up to his apartment, anger and regret swirling in his head. He shouldn’t have yelled at Sam. He knew that. But Sam — well, sober Sam — knew better than to bring up Cas in any capacity.
Sam exited the Impala silently. Dean’s outburst must have been enough to shatter the alcoholic haze. Dean locked the doors and led Sam up to his door.
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
Dean looked up from fumbling with his keys. There was a brown paper bag taped to his door, his name written on the front in clean, capital letters.
“No clue,” Dean replied, ripping the bag off the door. He unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom.
“Dean, come on,” Sam started, but Dean interrupted him.
“We can talk about it in the morning. Get some rest,” he grumbled.
Dean closed the bedroom door and set the bag down on his bed. He took off his jacket. Shed his t-shirt. Unlaced his boots. Splashed some water on his face. Brushed his teeth. Traded his jeans for sweatpants.
Finally, when he could avoid it no longer, he opened the bag.
Inside was… the Tombstone DVD. Dean picked it up, brow furrowed. He opened it, and the disk was there, along with a Starbucks napkin, tucked into the left side. This, too, had his name in that same, clean script. He unfolded the napkin, and read:
DEAN—
I WAS IN THE AREA THIS EVENING, SO I STOPPED BY TO SEE HOW YOU WERE FEELING, BUT YOU WERE OUT. YOU GAVE THIS TO ME IN COLLEGE. IT’S ABOUT TIME I RETURNED IT TO YOU.
IF YOU NEED ANYTHING, FEEL FREE TO CALL.
—CAS
Cas had written his phone number below the note. Dean frowned as he looked at the DVD once more. That dumbass. Dean had given it to him, it had been a gift. If this was some sort of peace offering, it was crap. He grabbed his phone and punched in the number.
DW (12:52 am)
movie was a gift, u keep those
DW (12:53 am)
but i guess u don’t want shit from me anymore
He knew he was being a dick, but, well, Cas had been a dick first. And it was late, anyway. Cas was probably already asleep. He didn’t expect a response tonight. Actually, he didn’t expect any response, at any time. He threw his phone on the pillow and got up to turn out the lights.
Dean flopped into bed, but was surprised to feel his phone buzz.
CN (12:55 am)
Apologies. I did not intend to upset you.
Dean squinted in consternation. Why was Cas even awake — wasn’t he some capital-A-adult, now? He was an accountant, with a job at an honest-to-god accounting firm. Shouldn’t he eat his BLT for dinner and be in bed by eight p.m.? Dean snorted at his own mental image.
He didn’t bother to respond, finding nothing more to say. He laid back down in bed, but his thoughts were too loud for sleep. He stared at the ceiling fan. It offered no advice.
Dean sighed. He was pissed. At Sam, at Cas, at himself. Still at his dad, always at his dad. So he did what he always did when he had nowhere to direct the anger.
“You motherfucker,” he whispered to the fan. “You waltz in here, with your college degree and your cushy office job. You drive me to the hospital and pretend you care. Well, guess what, you’re not allowed to care. You left, okay? We were friends, we were… We were family. I needed you, but you didn’t care then. So you can’t care now. You don’t get to come back here and remind me of everything I almost had. Fuck you. In every possible language, fuck you, man.”
The pressure behind his eyes lessened. The anger was still there, still burning beneath the surface, but this was enough for now. A temporary catharsis. A way to keep his sanity. He didn’t believe in God — couldn’t, really, after everything — but this was the closest thing he had to a prayer. He’d started after John died, after he’d realized that burying the guilt and the sadness in alcohol was killing him. When Sam got the scholarship to UT, he’d done it again, voicing the jealousy and fear that he’d never allow himself in the daylight. He didn’t know if it was healthy, but he also didn’t care. It kept him going. He could walk into work every day with a smirk on his face, call Sammy and crack jokes, flirt with female customers after he changed their oil. Screaming into the void kept the “passed-out drunk” nights to a minimum. It kept him from becoming his father.
His only lifeline. He was not, would never be, John Winchester.
-----
tagging @nguyenxtrang :)))
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So, I’ve decided to write up this post about my pet peeves even though literally no one asked. This focuses on a lot of things but the majority of it speaks about male readers. I’ve noticed the majority of people who write male reader are cishet girls and while it’s great that more male reader content is being made, the content is not always the best when it comes to accuracy. These are all things I’ve noticed as a gay man and I feel like should be addressed and fixed.
Something to keep in mind is that I say gay man throughout this but you can put in any sexuality or gender (besides cishet) in there that makes more sense for you. Obviously mlm doesn’t mean gay men but gay relationship because man loves man. Just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.
Submissive Reader
Okay, so the reader being submissive is totally cool and everything but not when it’s literally every single male reader post out there. Now, submissive in this case isn’t just sexually but ‘personality’ as well. The media depicts a lot of gay men as very feminine and over the top or incredibly soft, which everyone says is submissive. This idea feeds into heteronormativity, which means “denoting or relating to a world view that promotes heterosexuality as the normal or preferred sexual orientation.” You could also just say that it’s forcing straight roles onto lgbt people, even though they’re not straight.
The reader doesn’t need to be all soft spoken and uwu just because you want the Haikyuu guy to be the dominant one in the relationship. Personality doesn’t go with what you’re like in bed because why would it be? Do girls always act like the way you’re writing submissive male readers just because they ‘bottom?’ No, they don’t. It’s very aggravating to read because it literally discredits every guy who doesn’t act or dress that way and may ‘bottom.’ I know gay guys who literally just wear ratty t-shirts, cargo shorts, and sandals they bought three years ago and drink beer like no one’s business. They’re still gay submissive men who are being looked over because people want to use heteronormativity when it shouldn’t be.
Over Sexualization + Fetishism
This is not always the case but I’m going to mention it. A lot of cishet women read or watch yaoi and find it so incredibly hot and then become obsessed with mlm relationships. If that is your reasoning for writing male reader, then don’t. It’s already disgusting enough that me being in a relationship with another man has gotten me messages asking who tops and who bottoms and what the sex is like. It’s really easy to see who sees mlm relationships as yaoi and fetishizes it and who sees mlm relationships as relationships between two men. There are blogs who are ran by gay men and them posting nsfw things dealing with mlm is completely different than a woman doing so. We are not your fetish.
Also, the over sexualization of gay men is when you’re always thinking about mlm couples having sex and you have to make everything sexual is starting to become more and more prevalent in any fandom and real life, which is disgusting and ridiculous. When a mlm couple goes to the store to get groceries, don’t find some way to make it where they’re going to have rough sex when they get home. Let them buy their fucking groceries and have a fluffy moment. You ruin the quality of the writing when making everything sexual.
If you write smut, then make them use lube and a condom. Spit hurts so fucking bad, an asshole isn’t like a vagina that self-lubricates, so use lube. I’m literally just saying that I don’t know any gay men that would rather have spit be used to prep instead of lube. Also, I know you all think it’s so hot for guys to come in each other, but it’s so unsanitary. Of course, if they’re each other’s firsts, it’s not as disgusting (still disgusting) but if they’re not each other firsts; have them wear condoms. They should be getting tested after every sexual partner to make sure they’re not getting any STDs. There are some STDs that literally never go away and they need to wear a condom any time they have sex or else they could infect that other person. Yes, I know that you’re writing where they’ve never had sex with anyone before but let’s be real with some of your prompts. Majority of men have sex in college and when they got to bars, so it’s not unlikely for them to not be a virgin.
Sexualizing Minors
I know everyone has an opinion on this, so here’s mine; don’t. I don’t give two shits if it’s fictional, you are still sexualizing minors. I don’t understand why you are all so dead set on only writing them in high school when there is literally a whole time skip to use. According to Japanese law, you become an adult when you’re 20, which means that high school guys should not have any smut written for them.
None of the Haikyuu boys were even thinking about sex in high school. The fandom has made some of them sex gods when they were all volleyball losers who only thought about school and volleyball. It’s confirmed Kuroo was in college prep classes and he also forced Kenma to be on the volleyball team. He only thinks about school and volleyball, sorry guys. Ushijima is literally only volleyball and it is so funny you guys think he’s all sexual. The guy is too stupid to realize common things about earth and it’s gravity, do you really think he’s going to be all ‘daddy’ with anyone?
Another thing is how I don’t see the appeal for anyone to have sex in the gym or club room or in public due to the number of germs there are. This goes back to people over sexualizing mlm relationships but there’s no need to have so many public sex things written about high schoolers. Instead of doing all that weird shit, write for the Haikyuu guys when they’re 20+ and do like college AUs (my favorite) or just follow the time skip. I promise you, it’s not that hard when there’s a whole Haikyuu wiki page just about the timeline that breaks everything down into years and months.
Americanization
Buckle your seatbelts boys because this is going to be a long one.
I notice in nearly everything I read is that you guys Americanize it. Sure, you don’t know Japanese culture, so you write what you know. This is really annoying though because you’re taking away from the culture Haikyuu comes from. If you want to make it like it’s in the United States, then make it an alternate universe instead of doing whatever you’re doing.
I have been writing Haikyuu fanfiction for years and have done plenty of research when it comes to Japanese culture from Googling things to intense reading to taking notes from what I notice in different animes. One thing I’ve been working on for awhile focuses on Hinata, who is a trans guy. There are a lot of people who would just make it as American as possible but I’ve been researching about how Japan is with the lgbt community. Just because I want to write a character to be something doesn’t mean I’m going to Americanize it. Let me share what I’ve read.
Gay marriage isn’t really a thing in Japan. Two prefectures have it but it literally means about nothing when it comes to the government. If they just want to get married because they really love each other, then that may work for them but they will not be seen as married to the government. It is still taboo for people to be gay in Japan, so no one really screams it from the rooftops that they’re gay and dating someone of the same gender. Transgender people are just now getting places to go to get hormone replacement therapy and if I remember correctly, it’s maybe a handful of places but at least one for sure. LGBT things in Japan are not the same as they are in the United States, so don’t write it like it is. I’ve been told I’m writing it that way to create angst when in reality it’s because that’s how it is over there.
I’m going to come off as rude here but how the fuck are you guys writing their schools wrong? They don’t go to different classrooms each period; they literally stay in one class all day and the teachers change for each period. This is one of my biggest pet peeves because why do you have to Americanize this thing when it’s literally clear as day something that doesn’t happen over in Japan. Here are some things about Japanese schools.
They start at 8:45am and end at 3:15pm. Schools in Japan go from Monday to Friday but used to be Monday through Saturday. There are three terms: April to July, September to December, and then finally January to March. Each term gets a report card and finals. Classes are 40 minutes long with 10 minute breaks in between to do whatever as long as you’re back in your seat before the next class. Elementary and middle schools always had some type of field trip, so if you could always have reader meet one of the boys on the field trip because maybe both of their schools went to the same place.
It’s not that hard to look this stuff up. To look all of that up, it took maybe 30 minutes because I was checking different sources to try to fact check somethings. I’m just one for accuracy and it drives me nuts when someone doesn’t put in the same effort I did into making things as accurate as possible.
Settings
I’ve already discussed school setting, so let’s go into some settings that are typically written incorrectly. This is usually because people don’t have actual experience with that environment.
University
I can’t find just a whole lot all about university in Japan but I’ve found some, so I’ll share what I’ve found. University students take fashion seriously because they’ve been forced to wear uniforms for the last six years. In the United States, we value comfort over fashion and I’ll admit I’ve gone to lecture in pajamas before and not cared because it was an 8am class but it’s not like that in Japan. Everyone tries to look as good as possible because they finally can.
Dorms are not like they are in the United States. My living situation right now is more like theirs than the U.S. aka I live in an apartment by myself (I need a roommate though because rent is so fucking expensive). About every student lives in an apartment and there are no dorms unless you are a foreign exchange student and you’re still technically in an apartment but you have a roommate you didn’t pick. Characters can live in the same apartment complex if you want them to but Kenma literally lived in a house in his second year of university if you want to have that accuracy.
They don’t change their major once they start college. As much as I could see some of them constantly changing their majors, you just don’t do that in Japan. It’s a pretty weird concept because my mother changed her major six times before she stuck with nursing and I know a guy that has been at a two year college for five years because he keeps changing his major. They decide what they want to do because they start university and have to hope they’re going to like it.
I read an article from someone who went to university in Japan and the entrance exams to universities are apparently the hardest part about university there. You don’t have to really work much to pass classes in Japan because all you need to do is show up to get the units for the course. Some classes don’t even require attendance, you just have to write a report by the end of the semester. This is so different than university in the United States where you are literally drowning in homework every single day and debate on dropping out constantly.
Hospitals
As someone who has multiple family members who worked in hospitals, which made me be in hospitals constantly as a child, and had a lot of medical issues, it is the most annoying thing to see people write hospital wrong. There is so much information online that you can look up as well as just asking people you know who have been in hospitals as either patients, visitors, or employees. This is going to based off of American hospitals because I was having a difficult time finding things about
In regular hospitals, you cannot leave the floor without anyone knowing. There is literally no way to break out of there without someone knowing. This applies to at night too because there are always nurses there at the nurses station because they have to check up on patients and give medication as well as help people go to the bathroom. Doctors don’t stay at night because their shift is during the day. You may not have the same nurse twice while in the hospital because they work 12 hour shifts. I don’t know if this is the same system as in Japan but nurses don’t work every single day if they work in a hospital, they do have days off where other nurses will take their shifts. In the United States, some hospitals have four 12 hour shift days in a row and then three free days. Nurses change patients a lot because of the people taking that shift or they have to go work on a different floor.
You are required to eat, even if it’s through an IV. Also, you always have an IV in your arm if you are admitted to the hospital because it’s just how it is. Typically regular hospitals aren’t all that pretty and I’ve been to like dozens for multiple things, but psychiatric hospitals usually have the prettiest grounds. That’s just a random thing that I’ve observed in my 21 years of going to hospitals.
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it’s nothing funny just to talk (p. 1)
What happens when you text that random number graffitied on a bathroom stall in your favorite bar? Jo Wilson is about to find out. - In which Bar Princess and Doctor Evil Spawn meet via text.
More Jolex on your timeline because y’all seemed to love what I posted before! Also I’ve posted this whole piece on AO3 as well so it might look familiar.
this idea came to me in a fever dream and i am not sorry that y'all have to deal with it. 99% of this fic will be in "texting" format, so be prepared for that.
Jo is regular Alex is italics
Saturday 11:04 PM
heeeeey is thiss doctor evil?
I gotta say ur phone sex namee needs sum weerk
u soud like a comic book village
fuck
village
VILLAIN
Who the hell is this? And how did you get my number?
i’m just a girl at thee bar!!!!
Joe’s Bar?
noooooo
i’m at enerlad city bar
You didn’t answer my question.
u asked a quesitoon?
whata was it?
i’m goos at takifjg tests
How’d you get my number?
it qas in the bathrooom!!!
it said “for a good tiem txt dr evil spawne”
so I did
I am ready to havee fun
You’re drunk, obviously, and I’m going to have to kill Cristina for putting my number up.
ooooooh is thatt ur girleifnd?
hirlefiend
girlfriend**
Wow you’re really gone. And hell no, she’s my roommate. One of them.
ooooh how many do u hav
roomees not girlfriends
Three. Two girls and a dude.
intereeesting...
well it’s tome for fireball shoots
steph is yeeling at me 4 txting too much
goodbey doctor eviel apawn!!
Oh lord. Tell Steph you need water. Or an IV.
I’ve got her. she’s throwing up on her shoes. thanks doctor. - steph
Sunday 10:11 AM
You know you’re pretty funny, Bar Girl.
jesus christ what fucking time is it?!
10 AM
I’m assuming you have a massive hangover.
hold on I can’t hear you over the sound of me vomiting
TMI as the kids say these days.
what’re you a grandpa or something??
No I just don’t know how to use text lingo. Except WTF. I know that one very well.
quick question
who the fuck are you?
Dr. Evil Spawn. You found my name graffitied in the bathroom of Emerald City Bar.
holy shit
I thought I dreamed that... WHAT THE FUCK
Nope. I’m real.
holy shit i’m so sorry
my texts were so annoying
Who hurt you? I mean you were shitfaced, I’m assuming someone broke your heart into tiny pieces.
the opposite actually, I was at a bachelorette party
not mine, i’m so single it hurts
Ahhh that makes sense. So you got shitfaced in solidarity?
exactly you get it
you seem like you’d be the DD at a bachelorette party
Well seeing as I’m a dude I don’t do Bachelorette parties.
Well I did go to one, but that’s a different story.
hmmm you seem like a very interesting man doctor evil spawn
going to bachelorette parties, living with women who aren’t your girlfriend
OMG ARE YOU DATING THE GUY YOU LIVE WITH?!
George? No absolutely not. And before you ask, my other girl roommate is gay.
so you’re single?
i’m only asking so when you murder me the police have as much information as possible
Haha very funny. I would be a terrible murderer.
you didn’t answer my question
Fine. Yes I’m single.
i’ll note that in the “serial killer file” i’m building
gotta go, I have to do work :/
Have fun, don’t die.
Sunday 8:38 PM
Arizona is trying to set me up on a blind date.
who’s arizona?
My gay roommate. She wants me to meet this “bubbly blonde” she knows from her pilates class.
ahhhh. why don’t you go?
Bubbly blonde is not my type. Sounds like she’ll spend the whole date talking about how much she loves dogs or her knitting hobby.
Plus she does pilates, that tells me more than enough.
you’re making some good points. I don’t pity you.
You better not. How was work?
the longest day of my life
it was just paperwork, I don’t actually work on the weekends
What do you do?
hmmmm that’s exactly what a serial killer would say
i’m an elementary school teacher
Oh so you sing and dance and paint pictures all day?
what school did you go to?
were working on multiplication tables and basic photosynthesis tomorrow
Wow that sounds like a lot.
it’s may, ive got three weeks of school left so I have to cram all the crap we didn’t cover into these last few weeks
Ahhh that sounds more accurate.
and what do you do?
besides text strangers that you don’t know
I’m a pediatrician.
oh so you make kids cry and wipe snotty noses all day? two can play at that game
Well we both have to deal with snotty noses sooo...
I GET IT!! Doctor Evil Spawn!!
why evil spawn though?
I wasn’t this nice when I started med school. My personality is an acquired taste.
ha! that’s a funny joke.
so if you’re a fancy schmancy doctor why do you live with three other people?
I’m only a resident, not making the big bucks yet. Everyone else is a doctor too.
are they all pediatricians?
No. Arizona is too but Cristina is a cardiologist and George is a trauma specialist.
interesting!! I too live with my coworkers. it’s not fun.
the table is always covered in craft supplies.
Well I can never read the grocery list on the fridge. Stupid doctors script...
oh that’s a classic. you’re pretty funny Dr. Evil Spawn
Thanks Bar Girl.
I gotta go. monday tomorrow and you know how fourth graders can be. night!!
Night .
Monday 9:47 AM
there’s not enough coffee in the world for monday mornings.
Monday 10:52 AM
Sorry I was yelling at the interns. We have a decent coffee cart here. Keeps me alive. Are you texting in class?
no it was recess
now they’re at spanish class
i’m not totally irresponsible
Oh good to know the future of America is in good hands. Teacher Princess is “not totally irresponsible”
teacher princess?
Well, Cinderella lost her shoe, you puked on yours. Same thing.
wooooooooow
that was so uncalled for...
I thought it was funny. Gotta go set a broken arm.
broken arm vs. adverbs... can we switch? have fun lol
Monday 3:26 PM
I don’t even think I know what an adverb is.
how did you become a doctor??
Don’t need to know adverbs to fix a couple broken bones and snuffy noses.
oh darn I should’ve gone to school for seven more years then
Haha. How were the adverbs?
better than expected, grading papers while I wait for my roomies to be done
we carpool, saving the environment and shit
Okay Eco Warrior.
you text like a 60 year old man
you’re not a 60 year old man are you?
No I’m a 28 year old man though
28 a doctor and you’re single? your personality must be worse than you described
I’m a busy man, I don’t have time to settle down. And I have no desire to.
yet you have time to text a complete stranger?
hmmmm interesting...
Ouch, that one hurt Princess.
steph is making me socialize with the other teachers
if I don’t respond, they killed me or dragged me to an essential oil party
Hahahaha
Monday 5:18 PM
Did you get roped into a pyramid scheme?
nooo but therew as wine
I should sotp drunk texting you so often
It makes your presence that much more entertaining. And bearable.
woah woah dude
i’m a gem
I can tell. Elementary school teacher with a heart of gold.
awwww your too sweet tome
It’s a Monday. Who the hell gets drunk on a Monday?
teachers
we deserve it
You’re a teacher and you’re single and still going to Bachelorette parties. You’re what, 23?
i’m 25 and i’m doing greta thanks you very nuch
cnat believe that i’m supplying my perosnal info to a serial killer
What makes you so sure that I’m a mass murderer?
ur weird nickname and ur intimate knowledge of the himan body
Mmm yes well a good amount of women do find themselves screaming around me often. Or under me. On top of me...
omg are you sending me dirty jokes
you’re crazy
What can I say.
Gotta go, I’m on call tonight. Get to bed safe, Bar Princess.
mmmkay thanks Doc
Wednesday 11:29 AM
What do you think is worse: School lunch or hospital food?
hospital food, no doubt
thursday is mac and cheese day here... I could bathe in that stuff
We have Spaghetti Wednesday but that’s the only good thing here.
mmm how depressing
the teachers do a pot luck once a month and that’s always good
the art teacher next door to me makes the BEST blueberry muffins.
Lucky. All I get here is vending machine cookies. Anything interesting happening in the elementary world?
a first grader got lice last week so naturally we all have it now
I had to chop off six inches of my hair
Holy crap. Lice can be vicious, be thankful you didn’t have to shave your head.
it feels like I did, my hair hasn’t been above my shoulders since the backstreet boys were still touring
Wow. I’m glad to know you’re well cultured.
of course I am
gotta go, kids are back from music class
Don’t be too hard on them, they deserve a break every once in awhile.
Thursday 3:06 PM
Incoming Voice Call
“Jenna you forgot your lunch pail. Have a good day!”
“Hello?”
“Hi Mrs. Peters. I didn’t grade Henry’s test yet, I’ll have it tomorrow. Thanks bye!”
“Helloooo?”
“Steph I gotta grab my things, I’ll be there in a seco- oh shit. Hello?”
“Bar Princess?”
“Doctor Evil Spawn? I must’ve butt dialed you, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay I... I don’t mind the interruption. Are you leaving work?”
“Just about, we’re wrapping up the solar system and I have to bring home the diorama.”
“I was never good at the models, I prefer working with the real thing.”
“Oh ho, a man that works with his hands. I can appreciate that.”
“You know now we’re officially talking and we still don’t know each other’s names.”
“Well around here I’m Miss Wilson, but you can call me Jo.”
“Jo. Hmm I like chicks with dudes names. I’m Dr. Karev but you can call me Alex.”
“Well nice to kinda meet you Alex. I’ll talk to you soon, I gotta get out of here.”
“Talk to you later.”
Thursday 4:34 PM
I wouldn’t mind if you were my teacher.
how did I know you’d send me something along those lines
I’m predictable. I’m still calling you Bar Princess.
as you wish doctor evil spawn
I get to assist on a surgery today. Tonsillectomy.
like removing tonsils? that’s awesome
for you, not for the kid
Oh she’ll be fine, she gets ice cream and jello for a week.
okay yeah I might be jealous of her now
id love to be off work for a week and have you waiting on me hand and foot
the ice cream is a nice bonus
You think that’s my job?
well you said you aren’t making the big bucks yet so.... yeah
Keep dreaming. I’ll talk to you later, gotta scrub in.
have fun!!!!
#jolex#jolex fanfic#jolex fanfiction#jo karev#jo wilson#jo wilson karev#alex karev#alternate universe#jolex fic#jo x alex#greys anatomy#greys fanfic#INFJTT#nina writes
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Just the Two of Us - Chapter 1
Synopsis: Izzie's finishing her senior year of college. The end is on the horizon. Her life is great with an amazing boyfriend and the world's greatest friend. Izzie feels like she can accomplish anything.
What happens though when someone from her past comes back into her life.
Warnings: mild smut
Word Count: 2,444
ENJOY!!
Prologue
Do you remember how old you were when love hurt you for the first time?
Not just a slight tumble on the schoolhouse playground, love will never leave just a scratch or a bruise.
No love is painful. Like a gunshot wound to the chest, like failing at everything you touch. Like seeing true happiness only to know that it’ll be ripped away from you, never to be experienced again.
Love is different for everybody. But the one thing that everyone has in common with love, is how far it can pull you down. Love can suck you up and suck you dry.
And you’ll let it. We all go so deep for love. The only way to feel that level of emotion is to either experience it with your whole body or not at all.
But to be in love you must be sure. True love is not a half-assed attempt. When you can’t decide, when you can’t figure out what love is best for you, people get hurt. You hurt the people you love the most. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Love isn’t easy. But...
It’s always worth it.
Chapter 1
Senior year was kicking Iysha’s ass. She was only taking four classes for the fall semester, but each class required huge time-consuming projects. Not to mention working part-time, maintaining a social life, and spending time with her family. Iysha felt like she couldn’t breathe, and with it being her first semester without her boyfriend Bucky on campus going through it with her, she felt completely alone.
But she was sure that Bucky felt the same way too. With his new job at Stark Industries and a demanding boss like Tony. Iysha knew that Bucky was just as stressed as she was. Which is why she had something planned for him right after she got out of her Business Ethics class. Switching between listening to her professor discuss moral issues in business and writing out a grocery list of all the things she needed to pick up from the store before going home, she felt herself becoming giddy from getting to see her boyfriend again.
With all the stress of the new semester. Izzie hadn’t been able to spend time with Bucky for about three weeks. Of course he called her every night and helped her study over facetime, but Izzie could tell that Bucky was getting a little irritated from their lack of time together. And Izzie missed him so much that the thought of another night without him might just her crazy.
A deep sound of relief left Izzy’s throat when her professor wrapped up the lecture early after getting a call from one of her children. Izzy quickly packed up her notes and purse and made her way out of the classroom. Dodging and weaving her way through the quad, she waved hello to the few people she knew on campus. She made it to her dorm room and practically ran into her room. Ignoring her roommate and first college friend, Leona, who was sitting at the table.
“Wow, Izz, you just walked by and can’t even speak?” Leona said walking into Izzie’s room. Leona watched Izzie buzz around her room picking up different items and clothes stuffing it into her overnight bag.
Izzie glances up to look at Leona. A smile spreads across her face. She quickly moves to give her friend a good long hug.
“Sorry Lee, I’m a girl on a mission. I wanna go see Bucky tonight, and I have a lot to do before he makes it home tonight. Gonna make him that meatloaf he loves.” Izzie smiled and went back to packing.
“Uhh, What does this have to do with meatloaf,” Leona smirked as she held up Izzie’s forest green Savage Fenty lingerie set that she pulled from Izzie’s overnight bag.
Izzie felt the tip of her ears burn in embarrassment, leaning over the bed to snatch the outfit away from her laughing friend.
“Stop. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him okay. I figured he would like a surprise. Besides, aren’t you the one who constantly reminds me that Bucky is a man that needs to be pleased?”
“I’m not shaming you, honey, I say go for it. Because as soon as you leave here, I’m inviting Thor over for the time of his life. The last time we met up he had me weak for days.” Leona moved her hips in a sensual manner. Izzie threw one of her stuffed animals at Leona.
“Gross can you not talk about your sexcapades!” Izzie squealed.
“Izz please don’t act all holy saint on me. Like I didn’t hear you and Bucky together constantly last semester. Almost every time I came home, all I’d hear was your high pitched moans and his grunts.”
A blind man could see the embarrassment on Izzy's face.
“Shit Lee, I didn’t know you heard us! Why didn’t you say anything? I would have stopped if I knew you would be coming home on those days. I always thought you were with Thor.”
“It’s cool Izzie because I know you did the same thing for me when you came home to me and Thor on the couch that one time.” Leona burst into laughter as she watched Izzie’s face fall.
“Why did you have to bring that up! I had finally scrubbed my mind clean of that!” Izzie buried her face into the sleeves of her hoodie and scratched at her eyes. Lee rolled her eyes in response.
“All I’m saying is that you act so innocent but whenever Bucky is around he makes that act fly right out the window.”
“Whatever Lee, I’m gonna finish packing. I need to stop by the grocery store before he makes it home, so I’m kind of in a rush.” Izzie went back to packing.
“Don’t mind me. And don’t complain to me either when you're sore on Monday.” Lee smirked and got up to saunter out of the room. Izzie responded by sticking her tongue out at her.
“Save it for Bucky. We all know it has been a while.” Lee ducked out of the room quickly as the pillow Izzie threw at her just barely missed her head. Izzie could hear Leona’s laughter as she walked away.
A short ride to the grocery store, and a meal prep later, Izzie could hear Bucky’s keys jingling in the doorway. Izzie ran to attack her man with kisses as soon as he stepped through the door. Bucky dropped all his stuff to catch his girlfriend's hips and wrapped her thick legs around his waist.
Bucky kissed her back even though he was surprised to see her. He felt Izzie melt into his embrace and knew then that her month had been just as long as his. He missed her so much over the past couple of weeks and he made plans to take her on a surprise trip the following weekend. He’d booked a cabin for the two of them up in the mountains. Izzie loved to go to the cabins around this time of year because of the leaves falling and changing colors. And Bucky did whatever he could to keep his girl happy.
“I missed you, love.” Bucky whispered into his girlfriend’s ear as he walked the two of them into the kitchen. He placed her gently on the counter and stood between her legs, softly rubbing the outer part of her shorts. He glanced down to take in the outfit that she wore which consisted of one of his T-shirts that she used to sleep in whenever she came over, and a pair of extremely short shorts.
Bucky groaned inwardly. It had been too long since they’d seen each other in person. Never again would he allow this to happen. Sure they were adjusting to him working fulltime and being out of college. But they could adjust together, besides Bucky knew he wanted Izzie in his life more often than just when they could catch up.
“I missed you too, Mr. Buchanan,” Izzie smirked and played with his hair.
“You’re playing with me. After a month, do you really think that’s a great idea?” Bucky pressed his lips into the side of her jaw.
“Mmmhm maybe not but,” Izzie gasped when Bucky nipped at her spot. “You know I can’t resist you when you let your hair grow out. Besides,” She gently pushed him back so she could jump down from the counter. “I’m making your favorite. So the real fun can wait a bit I think.” Izzie walked around to the oven which she had preheated and slid in the potatoes and meatloaf that she had prepared.
“Mhmm, it could.” Bucky’s mouth watered at the idea of Izzie’s homemade meatloaf, but it also watered when she bent over to put the food in the oven. Izzie turned around to start cutting the vegetables and Bucky approached her from the back, trapping her against the counter. Izzie smiled and looked back to kiss Bucky. He quickly asserted his dominance through the kiss and made sure she could feel him. “Then again your meatloaf takes about 30 minutes to cook. So that’s about…” Bucky pretended to count using his fingers, his package still pressed against her. “That’s about 3-4 orgasms if my tongue I mean calculations are correct.”
“They are not correct!” Izzie squealed as Bucky picked her up and put her on another part of the kitchen counter. “Do you not remember the last time you did this, the food burned!” Izzie huffed, she knew there was no real way to reason with Bucky when he got like this because she was the same way.
“Yeah, that’s because it was your mom’s leftover lasagna. I hate her lasagna. I love your meatloaf babe. No way I’d let that burn.” Bucky made quick work of removing your shorts and the thong you wore underneath.
Izzie giggled as he placed a series of kisses up and down her thigh. She gently pushed at his head.
“Hey! My mama's lasagna is good.” Izzie sighed as Bucky placed three gently kisses on her clit.
“Not when she keeps forgetting key ingredients like ricotta, or the one time when she forgot the cheese!” Bucky’s finger came into play as Izzie grew wetter on the counter. “Now that the negotiation talks are over, lay back love, I’m gonna eat you now.” Bucky shot Izzie the slyest smirk right before he got to work.
“You really do like my meatloaf.” Izzie watched Bucky eat with fervor. Almost as passionately as he had just eaten her pussy only moments before.
“I really do like your meatloaf babe.” Bucky shot Izzie a wink from across the table. His mouth is full of moist potatoes and seasoned broccoli. “How’s school going?” He asked, he knew that was the main reason Izzie hadn’t been able to spend any time with him.
“It seems to be slowing down, or I have finally gotten adjusted. Either way, it doesn’t matter because studying for midterms starts up in two weeks and I’ll be a hermit once again.” Bucky shot her a puppy dog look. “Not from you babe. I can’t ever go this long again without seeing your cheeks stuffed full like this.” Izzie giggled as she poked Bucky’s puffed out cheek that was full of food.
“Agreed babe. I love seeing your mouth stuffed too.” Bucky smiled cheekily at Izzie, the innuendo sending a vibe straight down her core.
“Can you not.” Izzie’s high pitched voice waned as she shifted in her seat. She stuck her fork in a piece of broccoli and shoved it in her mouth as she tried to think of anything else other than her mouth being full of him.
Bucky leaned over and pulled her chair close to his.
“You know I’m just messing with you, babe. I missed you so much. I planned a getaway for next weekend. I was going to surprise you. But it looks like you did it first.”
“A trip? Where?” Izzie worked hard to contain her excitement, she loved when Bucky planned trips for the two of them.
“Up to the mountains. I got us that cabin you wanted to rent the last time we went up there.” Izzie jumped out of her seat and into Bucky’s lap peppering his face kisses.
“Buck. You’re the best.” Izzie slid to the floor in front of him, her hands on his belt. “You always know how to make me the happiest girl. Let me show you how happy you make me.”
The music in Bucky’s favorite bar was loud. Bucky’s arm wrapped around Izzie tightly, bringing her into his lap as he sat at a stool at the bar. Izzie happily accepted his warmth and the drink he ordered for her. She occasionally leaned back to talk to Lee who was sitting cozily next to Thor.
“Thanks for coming out with me babe. Last night was fun, but it’s also nice to show the world how cute my girlfriend is.” Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“No problem, besides you promised me you would help with my homework if I came out with you today. And there was no way I could pass that up.” She smiled and flicked Bucky’s nose.
Bucky got Izzie’s hand and took a fake chomp out of it. Izzie giggled and pulled back bumping into the person behind her. Izzie turned to apologize but her words caught in her throat, the man flashed a soft smile and stepped away from the two of them quickly disappearing into the crowd. Izzie's heartbeat shot out of her chest.
“Babe, did you see that?” Izzie looked at Bucky who was in a heated football conversation with Thor. Bucky’s hand gently rubbed at the sides of her hips.
“See what babe?” Bucky looked down into Izzie’s eyes, concern etching into his face. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a second.” Izzie pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips and made her way to the bathroom.
Izzie splashed her face with water to calm herself. A few moments to collect herself was all she needed. She stepped out of the bathroom and started to make her way back to Bucky when a hand gripped her wrist.
Izzie turned to the person who stopped her. When she saw who it was she couldn’t breathe. Her heart stopped.
“Erik?” His smile stretched broadly across his perfect white teeth. His smooth brown skin as radiant as ever.
“Hey princess. Long time no see”
TAGLIST:
@aislinnsilver @wawakanda-btch @chaneajoyyy
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A New Home | Neighbour AU | Prologue
Prompt: “Hey, I locked myself out, can stay at your place until my roommate comes home?”
Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader, Tom Holland x Fem!Reader
Summary: Y/N’s life couldn’t have been more ordinary. She lived together in an apartment with her sister, while being a student at the nearby college. The small flat next to hers stood empty for a while now, until one day two young men moved in. What at the beginning seemed like a simple new encounter, tured out to turn her world upside down.
Warnings: swearing (future warnings will be added to each chapter as the story progresses)
Word count: 3.1k
A/N: I’ve finally got some time to write again. Imma be honest with you, I don’t know how far I’m gonna be able to take this story. I’m going to write it as long as I have ideas and have fun doing it. It also depends on the feedback this is getting, if no body wants to read it, i’ll probably not continue writing it. Anyways, I used the prologue to kind of explain the readers situation and to get to know her surroundings. I hope you enjoy!
Prologue Chapter 1
—
Your day was not really eventful, but still at the end of it you found yourself exhausted on the couch in the living room, glad that you made it through another day of work and college. You were lying there already changed into your PJ’s, a plate of noodles placed in your lap, watching the new season modern family on Netflix.
At the moment, you should actually be doing your homework but you figured that if you’d get up earlier the next day, you could still do your homework in the morning right before class. You hated that you were the kind of person who had to procrastinate everything and get it done at the very last minute. Even though at the end, you always had your assignments due on time, you had to give yourself credit for that. You just hated that you put yourself through all this extra pressure due to lack of time. But maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get anything done, ever.
You had finished your dish, put it in the dishwasher and allowed yourself to have a drink. So, you took a glass and a wine bottle with you on your way back to your comfortable couch. After pouring yourself a glass, you were just about to press start on the third episode of the season as your front door opened.
Your head shot up in a quick movement and you were greeted by the figure of your sister and roommate, who apparently just went grocery-shopping then she was carrying three grocery bags and was currently struggling to get the door open.
“A little help?” she yelped, one bag slowly slipping out of her grip.
So, you got up and held the door open while taking a bag from her. As the bags were all put on the kitchen counter, she mumbled a quick “thanks” and went to take her shoes off. The two of you started to put the groceries away.
“How was your day?” you asked her while putting the butter and the cheese into the fridge.
“Bruh, don’t even ask.” she started, still kind of on edge, “After I dropped Frankie off at our parents’ house, my car suddenly broke down so, I was late to work on a day I was specifically told not to be late. And after that my whole day basically just went to shit. And the worst part of it all, at the store they were out of my favourite ice cream.”
Frankie was your dog. The cutest little corgi someone could ever imagine. Sometimes you had to give her to your parents, though. Every time you knew the both of you were going to have some rough days or even weeks and with that probably not enough time to properly take care of a dog, you decided to give her to your parents. Also, your parents loved her. They would never admit that because they were always against you two having a dog in your own apartment, but after meeting Frankie for the first time, they instantly fell head over heel in love with her. So, they didn’t mind watching her from time to time. And with your finals coming up and your sister being especially busy the next few weeks at work due to a project she soon needed to present, there was sadly not enough time for a dog at the moment.
You didn’t like giving Frankie away. Not because you didn’t trust your parents with her. You knew they were going to take good care of her. Much rather because you always felt bad. To you it always felt like someone could think you didn’t want to take time out of your day for her, to pet her or play with her, which was definitely not the case. You just simply couldn’t. Also, you hated not having her around. She was your favourite part about coming home. She always lightened up your mood and you loved playing with her or simply just cuddling with her in bed after a stressful day. But you knew it was the best for her to give her away for a few days, because you knew you couldn’t take care of her, the way you wanted to.
Your sister was working in a graphic office and was on her way to become a concept artist. She started there as an assistant. Like, the kind to bring you your coffee and your lunch. She didn’t really do much artsy stuff. But as time went by, she started to really proof herself to her boss and everybody else at the office. So, after two years of working there, she was involved in little design projects here and there and often was asked for her opinion. A few months back she got the chance to develop a project all on her own. She always told you it was nothing big, but you knew this was really nerve wracking for her. She started to work more and come home late. So, at evenings you were often alone. At the start you felt kind of lonely, because you were used to your sister coming home and eat dinner with you for your whole life. But as soon as you realized how much this actually meant to her, you found a way of dealing with it. At the end, you always still had Frankie.
“What about you? Did you finally talk to that cute guy from work you’ve been talking about for days?” she teased, the smirk on her face growing. She knew she would get on your nerves with that one.
“No, I didn’t. Well, I kinda did because I have to work with him. And I’m not talking about him often, shut up. I don’t even know him!”, You flinched back at her.
“Maybe you should change that.” she started. You wanted to interrupt her, but she just kept talking, “Y/N all you ever do is come home and be in your room, studying or lay on our couch all day. You barely go out anymore. And it has been over three years since you introduced me to someone you really like.”
You rolled your eyes at your sister. She knew that meeting new people and especially dating wasn’t as easy for you as it was for her. Since she was sixteen, you’ve never witnessed her being single for more than three months.
“You sound like Mom.”
“I’m just worried about you.” she assured you and slightly stroke your hair.
“Well, don’t be. I’m doing great on my own, thanks.”
The bags that only ten minutes ago were filled with groceries are now empty and its content safety stored in your cupboards and fridge. You decided it was time to end this argument and go back to your series.
“Anyways” your sister changed the subject, which you were very thankful for, as she was following you to the couch in the living room, “I wanted to tell you that the new neighbours are gonna move in on Monday”
You groaned and threw your head back, new neighbours, great. You knew it was silly and not going to happen, but you hoped that the apartment right next to yours would stay empty forever. Or at least for as long as you lived in this apartment building. Your last neighbours weren’t quite the match. Also, on Monday started your two weeks off. You got a whole two weeks off of college to study for your finals. So, you were actually hoping for it to be a rather quiet day.
“I know, I know. But I heard it’s going to be two guys, around our age. Maybe they are cool.” your sister explained a little bit too optimistic for your liking.
“I thought maybe we could, I don’t know, bake them a cake or something” she suggested.
“A what? Why would we do that?” your head shot up and you looked at your sister in confusion.
Meanwhile, she spotted the wine bottle on the coffee table in front of you and made her move to pour herself a glass.
“Because maybe it will set us of for a good start. And who knows, maybe they are cute.” she pointed out, shrugging her shoulders while a small smirk was forming on her face.
“Lu, you have a boyfriend!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air.
“I meant for you! For fucks sake.”
There we fucking go again. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this comment. Your sister wasn’t wrong, though. Maybe a kind gesture like that could set the foundation to get along well in the future, because you really didn’t want history to repeat itself. And maybe who knows, you were going to have a somewhat decent relationship with your new neighbours.
“Fine, lets bake them a cake, whatever.” you agreed.
“Great!” your sister smiled “you’ll have to make it though.”
“What? Why?” you hissed at her, getting up from your comfortable lying position, sitting up straight to be eye to eye with her.
That was typical for your sister. She suggested something and at the end you had to do all the work to make it actually happen. You loved your sister, but that was a character property that really got on your nerves.
“I have to work on Saturday and on Sunday I’m at Matt’s.” she casually explained, taking a sip wine from the glass you originally put there for yourself.
“I really can’t believe you”, you took the whine glass out of her hand and emptied it, “Fine, I’ll do it.”
Matt was your sister’s boyfriend. They were dating for almost a year now and you could tell that your sister really liked him. You liked him too. He was always nice when he was around and he was good for your sister.
Shortly after your little argument, the two of you just continued watching Netflix where you left of. At around eleven o’clock your sister decided it was time for her to get ready for bed. So, she got up and wished you a good night, putting a kiss on the top of your head.
“Good night, love you.” you retorted, watching her on her way to the bathroom.
“Love you too.” she closed the door behind her.
At around twelve you also got up to call it quits for today. You cleaned up the living room and soon after went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Ten minutes later you were found in the warm comfort of your bed sheets, fast asleep.
Saturday afternoon you were standing in front of an empty bowl in your kitchen, the flower and milk standing right next to it. Fuck it. You went to get your car keys from your nightstand, put on some shoes and were off to the supermarket where you ended up buying a cake which you could easily make look like you did it yourself.
You’ve barely seen your sister all weekend which meant you had the whole apartment for yourself, which you usually liked. But after quite some time it can get kind of lonely. You took the time to prepare your studying for the next two weeks, though. Which for you meant, making sure there were enough snacks around.
On Monday, your sister still hasn’t shown up. You were up at around 9 am. You made yourself breakfast and ate it while continuing watching modern family. At ten o’clock you decided it was finally time to get some work done. Studying went great for the first half of the day. The new neighbours were always at the back of your mind, though. You were wondering when they were arriving and what they would be like.
At around two in the afternoon, you first heard some people talk outside in the hallway. You instantly assumed the new neighbours arrived. So, you got up from the kitchen table and went to prepare the cake. For you their arrival came at the perfect time, because you really needed a break from starring down at your books. If you were honest, they could have shown up at any time of the day and you would have been glad to have a reason to not study.
The cake was done quickly. You just melted some chocolate and used it as cake glaze and after you also put some sprinkles over it. Even though you barely did anything, you were proud of how “your” cake looked. You also continued to hear people walking and talking in the hallway, right next to your apartment, which assured you that the new neighbours were actually here.
So, now you had to plan out how you were going to do this. Was it easier to wait until they are finished getting everything in the apartment? They don’t need some random girl trying to put something in their hands while they are busy carrying boxes. On the other hand, they’re maybe glad about a snack as strengthening.
That’s also a point you very much disliked about yourself. You overthought everything. Even such a silly and innocent thing as bringing your neighbours a cake. At this point, your sister was usually taking over. She was way better at talking to strangers and new people in general. She just had way more charisma than you. Bad thing for you was just, your sister was no where to be seen. So, you could either wait until she got home, even though you had no idea when she would show up again, neither did you want to listen to another of her speeches about how you have to handle stuff like this on your own and just talk to people. “It’s not that difficult, you just talk to them.” Yeah, no shit Luna. Never would have come up with that idea…
As you were thinking about the scenario in your head you ultimately decided to just bring the cake over like right now. Just to prove your sister wrong. Within thirty seconds you were standing in the hallway carefully carrying the cake on a plate. As you turned your head to the right, you saw multiple packing boxes pilled up in front of the front door of the apartment next to yours. As you spotted them, you instantly regretted the decision you just made about a minute ago. You were about to turn on your heel and walk straight back into your apartment, but as you were about to turn, a young man around your age, carrying yet another box to the entrance of their flat, turned the corner and with that irrevocable appeared in your sight. The boy, much to your dislike, spotted you instantly and you froze in your tracks.
“Oh, hey” he started and placed the box he was currently carrying on the ground and made his way over to you. “I’m Harrison. You must be our neighbour. Nice to meet you.”
He held his hand out for you to take it.
You had to agree on with your sister on one thing: This boy right in front of you was quite the eye-catcher. You’d never say that out loud, though. He had somewhat short, ash blond hair and was not extraordinary tall, neither was he small. You could also get to the conclusion that he was doing sport when you looked his figure up and down. But the feature that most stood out about him, were his ice blue eyes. You had never seen eyes like this before.
You were struggling to shake his hand with the cake still in your hand. He must have noticed that, so he just went in for a short one-armed hug. Ah, A hugger, you thought.
“Yeah, hi. I’m Y/N.” was everything that you said before your mind went blank. That’s what always happened. You already pictured yourself standing here in an awkward silence for another five minutes until you began to slowly moving backwards into your apartment while he dedicated his attention back to his boxes.
But to your relief, Harrison was quite the talker.
“So, for how long have you been living here” he asked, seemingly still excited about the new encounter.
“About two years now.” you somewhat stuttered, your mouth speaking before you could even think about the question.
“You think we made the right choice with the apartment then?” he wondered, pointing at his open apartment door.
“Yeah- yeah, sure. The apartments are great. And it’s also pretty quiet around here as well.” you somehow managed to answer and at the same time hoping this wasn’t about to change with their arrival.
“Sounds great” Harrison retorted, an excited smile forming on his face.
It was quiet for a few second as Harrison’s eyes spotted the cake you were carrying in your hands once again. As you realized what he was looking at, the purpose of this whole thing came back to your mind.
“This- This is for you by the way” you held the cake right into his face.
“Really? Thank you so much!”
Just as he was about to the cake out of your hand his friend appeared behind him, also who would have guessed it, carrying boxes.
“Hey Harry, we got like the best neighbour ever” he looked over his shoulder at his curly haired friend which speared no time to make his way over to the both of you, “She made us a cake!”
“It’s from me and my sister, to welcome you in the apartment building and as our new neighbours” you explained, your hands now behind your back since you didn’t know what else to do with them.
“Awesome, thank you. You gonna regret that, though” the curly haired boy said and smirked slightly as he went back to carry the boxes into their shared flat.
“He’s just joking” Harrison clarified, making a note in his head to slap his friend at the back of his head later.
“Would you stop flirting and help me with our stuff, dickhead?” you two head harry shout form inside the flat. Oh, this boy is definitely going in for it, Harrison thought.
If your eyes did not completely betray you, you could see a slight blush forming on Harrison’s face, which you unintentionally mimicked.
“I gotta go, sorry. But thanks again for the cake”, Harrison thanked you a last time.
“Yeah, totally. I also gotta get some stuff done. And it’s no problem.”, you slowly started to take little steps backwards in the direction of your apartment door.
He waved at you and soon disappeared through the door frame into his apartment, “For fucks sake, what was that for?”, you could hear him slightly hiss, before you yourself closed the door to your apartment.
So, you know officially met your new neighbours. But not even in your wildest dreams you could have imagined what was about to come.
#Harrison Osterfield#Tom Holland#Harrison Osterfield x Reader#Harrison x Reader#Tom Holland x Reader#Tom x Reader#Neighbour AU#AU#Fem!Reader#Reader insert
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